Content Warning: This post discusses sensitive topics such as violence, sexual assault, and trauma. Reader discretion is advised.
In this post, I want to take you deeper into my childhood and share more of my backstory. As you get to know me, I hope it offers you insight, whether it resonates with your own experiences or helps someone else. For me, reflecting on my journey is a way to envision my growth and progress as an individual.
From as far back as I can remember, I have always had a disconnect with people in immediate environments. As children, it starts off with our peers, right? I've been taunted for my skin tone, my cornrows, my forehead dimple when it was its most prominent, all sorts of stuff! But what if I explained to you how it actually starts off in the home?
If you’re familiar with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD), then you know it often stems from our relationships and how deeply they affect us. For me, people were always a source of pain. When my parents split, I felt pain. When my mom moved on, it was painful. Her relationship with her ex-boyfriend became painful for us both.
This is why PTSD can take on a “complex” form—the cycles of abuse, mistreatment, and assault feel endless. These are not experiences any child should endure. And I want to pause here to be transparent: I suffered abuse and sexual assault at the hands of my mom’s deceased ex-boyfriend. I share this not to dwell on the details, but so you’re not left wondering about the “who” or “why.”
Children aren’t equipped to process these kinds of experiences. They can’t control their environments or the people around them. They look to their guardians for safety, protection, and love. But when that safe space is shattered by betrayal—when the person who’s supposed to protect them causes harm—it creates a deep and lasting wound. Children often don’t know how to process such betrayal, and it leaves them harboring complex emotions: anger, hurt, resentment, and confusion.
For me, that confusion and hurt led to isolation. By isolation, I don’t mean lying under a blanket in darkness or never seeing daylight, though depression has certainly crept into the cracks of my life. Isolation for me is an inner world, a tight, guarded space where human connection feels distant and difficult. It’s one of the most recognizable symptoms of C-PTSD.
What’s complex about this type of isolation is that it doesn’t always look like loneliness on the outside. You can still show up for friends, family, and even yourself. On the surface, everything might seem fine. But inside, there’s a whole world you keep locked away. And it takes immense strength and effort to navigate life while carrying that burden.
After some triggering events in my childhood had took place. This new thing that weighed on me, isolation, I didn't realize the effect it would have on my socialization. I wasn't in a headspace to where I felt safe to have peers around me. My home wasn't a safe haven with a whole child predator hanging around. And also, trauma had this way of making me feel like an unworthy, unwanted version of myself. Children tend to blame themselves, out of not understanding their trauma.
I had a friend, named Logan, he stayed right across the street from me in our neighborhood, we were great friends as his Mom babysat me whenever mine had to work. I also had one best friend, Rachel, that I knew since I was in kindergarden. She knew everything about me, I knew everything about her. I found sisterhood in her. My school was a predominantly white school, the town was predominantly white. It wasn't easy being one out of 7 black children in the entire building. But I found her and then it wasn't so bad.
She made me forget when kids would tug on my hair, or point and laugh like I was a circus act simply for not looking like them. We had sleepovers, we went to these cool festivals and Disney plays together, we both enjoyed singing. I'll never forget we both knew Emeli Sande's "Read All About It, Pt. III," and that was the first time someone told me my voice was soft and pretty. I was never told anything nice about myself.
Rachel made me forget about my home life. I was constantly under her Mom's roof, hopping around, laughing, doing what children should be doing. And I'll always have love in my heart for Rachel's family, for being the bright spot in my life that I desperately needed during those times. Eventually before I hit my teen years, my mom packed up all of our things and we moved away to Las Vegas, Nevada. It was so abrupt, one day she sat me down to tell me her plan and what she needed me to do, and the next, we were gone.
I was saying bye to my old life. I remember being so excited to start a new journey with just me and my mom. I was so relieved that she was done with him, who shall not be named. And optimistically, I hoped maybe she would put me in some counseling. I knew I needed help. I was a very smart child, I was 11 maybe 12 years old. But to stay on track here, before we officially settled in Las Vegas, my mom drove me to Texas where her new boyfriend lived. She scooped him up and brought him to Las Vegas soon before marrying him.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. He hopped in the car, they smiled at one another, and then he turned his head to the backseat when I sat in pure shock and disapproval. He said, "She looks exactly like you." And I just continued staring at him. Thinking to myself in my head, "No, no, no. Not another man."
I ask that you bare with me because this is where it gets very difficult for me emotionally. I was not ready at all to be living under a roof with another man. I wanted it to be just me and my Mom, I was completely devastated and angry. Life has shown me very early on how cruel and unexpected it can be. That was a moment of liberation and empowerment, my mom walked away! But then my personal empowerment and liberation, well it didn't matter.
To clarify, my mom and her husband have now been married for over a decade, and I couldn’t be happier for her. My reflections here are not about blaming her but rather exploring how these experiences contributed to my Complex PTSD recovery.
Moving to Las Vegas was bittersweet. My mom left an abusive relationship, something many women aren’t able to do, especially with a child in tow. She risked everything to give me a better shot at life, and for that, she will always be the fiercest woman I know. But even acts of bravery can have unintended consequences.
I felt uprooted and disconnected. I lost Rachel, my best friend, my safe haven. And I resented having to live with another man. Once again, I didn’t feel safe, and the trauma I thought I had escaped only followed me to a new city.
Las Vegas brought new challenges. The bullying I faced in California was amplified. Kids in my neighborhood were rougher, and I struggled to make friends. I had one friend, Teyana, who lived in the same apartment complex and shared my sense of humor. But even that friendship didn’t last long. None of them ever did. By the time I reached high school, I was constantly fighting—physically and emotionally.
At the time, I would’ve said these fights were because people kept picking on me, and in part, that was true. But now I see how much of it was tied to my trauma. It was easier to lash out, cut people off, or cuss them out than to deal with the deeper wounds.
Throughout my adolescence, I struggled to maintain friendships. Relationships were short-lived and often ended in betrayal, mirroring the dynamics I experienced growing up. This cycle left me feeling abandoned and exposed. I hope by discussing my stories, it opens the door to more discussions around upbringings and how they shape who we become as teenagers and young adults.
My therapist often reminds me that deep down, I crave connection—I love connecting with others. But being hurt so many times has made it hard to let people in. I've recognized that my abandonment issues began when my parents split. As a child, I didn’t understand custody battles or why my dad disappeared from my life. I was too young to comprehend when he passed away just a few years later. All I knew was that my world kept changing without explanation, leaving me feeling unsafe, unworthy, and confused.
Talking about these experiences helps me identify the patterns. It helps me understand why I felt betrayed so often, why I struggled with self-esteem, and why I isolated myself. These stories aren’t just mine—they’re part of a broader conversation about how our upbringings shape who we become.
Trauma may keep us confined, but talking about it creates space for healing. And for that, I’ll keep sharing. Take time to see if this relates to you or anyone you know. What kind of emotional, mental, or spiritual growth have you experienced? Do you ever wish you could go back, or are you just grateful for what you've learned? Thank you for reading and I look forward to next time. Much love, xoxo.