Making Sense of How it all started...

In my early years, a sense of displacement often enveloped me, threading through the fabric of my existence as the middle child in a family of five – a tapestry woven by the presence of my parents, sister, and brother. Amidst the familial bonds, I couldn't help but feel a subtle detachment, a unique essence that set me apart.

Within the confines of my family, the dynamics painted a portrait of struggle and unspoken pain. A mother, haunted by a traumatic childhood marked by both physical and verbal abuse, drifted through our lives with a palpable sense of detachment. Her wounds ran deep, leaving an indelible imprint on her soul, casting shadows that extended into our shared experiences.

My father, thrust into parenthood prematurely by the untimely loss of his own mother during his teenage years, carried the weight of unhealed wounds. As a father before his time, he grappled with the complexities of fatherhood while still nursing his own emotional scars. A simmering rage, born from his unresolved pain, lay dormant within him, erupting with a fierce intensity at the slightest inconvenience.

The tapestry of our family history bore the threads of trauma and unspoken burdens. Each member, a bearer of their unique anguish, navigated the delicate dance of relationships within the confines of our shared space. Our family was painted with the hues of resilience and struggle, where love and wounds coexisted in a delicate balance, shaping the contours of our collective journey.

Yet, amid the labyrinth of uncertainty, I embraced my uniqueness. My journey was a mosaic, each piece a reflection of the myriad emotions that coursed through my veins. As the middle child, I found solace in my divergence, a compass guiding me through the landscapes of my own identity.