I am thirty-nine years old and I am broken. I am broken because of my past, though this is the first time I have ever admitted that. If you were to meet me on the street, you would think, “Wow, that woman is so confident, so put-together.” You might even call me a super woman, but it is all a lie a cover up for what is really going on.
I am always on the go. I returned to school at the age of thirty-six, all while being a single mom to two children and a foster mom to three, sometimes four, others. I work, I am active in the community, and I do everything I can to be the top of my game or as I see it distracted from myself.
I am thirty-nine and I have never once in my life felt like I had someone just for me. My parents sucked, my brother raped me for years, and the role is just not fair to my own kids—but I am empty and alone. Now it is time to figure out how to fix this mess before the facade fade and the truth takes over.
