Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the amazing people in the world who often feel invisible, the little girls and boys struggling to find their voices, and those who feel like rock bottom is the only foundation they have. Healing takes time, patience, and a level of commitment that I was once fearful of discovering. This journey will not be easy but it will be the greatest journey of all. 

Acknowledgments

There are no words that will ever describe the gratitude I have for the overflowing love and support my

family, friends, and publishing team have shown me during this process. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I don’t know where I would be without all of you!

A special thanks to my beloved husband. You have stood by my side through every twist and turn, never wavering from the bond and commitment we made to each other. You are my very best friend, my backbone, my rock, and my foundation. Thank you for believing in me, loving me, and making me see how strong I have always been.

To my amazing children, you are my inspiration and motivation to push through every obstacle that comes my way. You have shown me the beauty in every storm, the sunshine in the darkness, and the joy behind the sorrow. You are the light of my life.

Introduction

We often second guess our decisions, blame ourselves for undesirable outcomes, and wish for

the chance to reset our lives. However, we are not the authors of our own stories! If we were, everyone would be happy right? 

At least those are our thoughts anyway. If it were up to us we would all be rich, have perfect relationships, the desired number of children, no sickness, and no suffering. But in that world, none of us would understand the true meaning of love, empowerment, or appreciation. With love comes pain and out of pain a stronger, more meaningful love with lasting purpose is born. 

I spent a lifetime searching for a purpose that already dwelt within me and I don’t want you to do the same. My desire is that my story allows you to learn from my mistakes and fears. My hope is that this book compels you to open up your heart and be willing to heal before you are left feeling defeated, looking in the mirror one day fearful of the person staring back at you. When we endure pain, it creates anger and in an attempt to shield our brokenness we put on a mask to hide our hurt from the world!

I want you to be able to look in the mirror with the understanding that you are remarkably made with a purpose greater than you could imagine, and you are not alone!

You are not the result of any negative circumstance that has occurred in your life, and you deserve to have people in your corner that celebrate the fact that you are a big fucking deal! Refuse to settle for less! 

Don’t be ashamed of your past! We all experience wrong turns and rough terrains in our lives. We must be willing to climb every mountain, stand in every storm, shoot past the stars, and never give up in order to identify our purpose, experience victory, and learn from our journeys.

Life can be a wonderful maze of growth and overflowing aspirations if we allow it to be. Trust the journey you are on even when you don’t understand it. Find peace in knowing that in your darkest times you are not alone, believe you are worth fighting for. 

Let’s go on a journey together. A journey of pain, resentment, and loss, so that we can discover the true meaning of life, and the power of loving ourselves! 

Prologue

"Why?" I muttered, eyes still closed and head hanging low.

I don’t know! Dan responded.

My heart raced faster and faster as a lump filled my throat.

Are you kidding me!? I deserve an answer. WHY?? 

I don’t know. I don’t remember that night the way you do. Do you really think I raped you? 

My whole body began to shake, covered in goosebumps, my blood literally boiling!

Are you fucking kidding me!? There is no way you believe I wanted this! That I wanted my life and spirit ripped from my body! Do you really believe I wanted to live in fear, never trusting anyone or anything, questioning every decision I make in life?

I don’t see that night the way you do. I am sorry that you think I did something to hurt you or something happened that you regretted after the fact! 

I jumped from my chair in a rage, fists tightly closed, heart beating so quickly it could be seen through my shirt! 

You DON’T deserve to breathe! You have taken everything from me! 

I could feel my rage taking over. I was going to hurt Dan. If I could have killed him right there, I would have.  Calm down Kristina Blue-Eyes screamed. 

I was losing control of myself. How did I let it get this far? I hate the person he made me! 

***

Have you ever stopped and thought, I can’t do this anymore? Has the pain ever been so intense, that you struggled to breath? Have you ever longed for something so much that you could not stand? Have you ever found yourself surrounded by people, but still felt alone? 

These questions seized my thoughts and occupied my dreams for years, stunting my growth and hindering my ability to love. I soon found myself consumed with a world full of stereotypes and over suggested expectations, which quickly led me down a very troublesome road, struggling with self-identity. I never quite knew where I fit in, and always found myself living in the shadows. The lonely truth is that many young boys and girls are struggling with self-identity like I was , but it doesn’t have to be! 

Thoughts of insecurity and hurt plagued my existence, crippling my steps, clouding my judgment, and misguiding my path until I was finally brave enough to accept them as my truths and face them head on. Let’s take a deeper look into my pain, the demons that lay within, and the secrets untold!

Broken Pieces

I am stronger than I think, smarter than I know, and capable of more than I will ever imagine.

–Unknown

I grew up in Michigan, raised by my stepfather and his family, who always loved me as their own. My

two older siblings and I are from my mother’s first marriage (we are all French, Canadian, German, and Polish) and to the naked eye we look white. My younger siblings are biracial (white and black) and from my mother’s second marriage to my stepdad, the only dad I truly know. My stepfather also has three children of his own from previous relationships. We are a family of thirteen total: five girls, and six boys, along with mom and dad. We were a real life Brady Bunch, although our life wasn’t as fun loving as the family on T.V.

In my mind, memories of my childhood are like broken and shattered pieces of glass. I have flashbacks of certain events from earlier memories but cannot quite put together all the pieces. I am the third child, and youngest of my mother’s first marriage. My eldest brother is six years older than me, followed by my older sister who is four years older than me. 

We did not get to see our biological father much growing up due to his illness and distance. Unfortunately, I never knew the healthy version of my father. He was diagnosed with Huntington’s Chorea when I was very young. Huntington’s is a rare, genetic disease that causes a progressive breakdown of the nerve cells in our brain. The sprinkled memories of my father consists of a very slender man, long dark beard, hunched stance, slurred speech, curly hair, with the prettiest smile and eyes you have ever seen!

My older brother, Stewy, was my father’s twin, minus the curly hair. Sadly, my earliest memory of Stewy was also of him being sick. He inherited Huntington’s Chorea from our father. He was eleven when he was diagnosed so I was far too young to understand what was happening. As time passed his demeanor began to diminish. He would shift from the fun loving, playful brother that I adored to a manic, confused child searching for an outlet to escape not only the pain on the outside but the pain on the inside. At times he would get so angry, his eyes would almost turn black. It was like you could look through his soul. Watching him sit in the room and rock back and forth, with a blank stare, and no words was hard to process as such a young girl. I hated seeing him that way and didn’t want to accept that this is who my brother was. Although he never said he was sad or upset, he was sick and like anyone who cares about their siblings, I just wanted to fix it for him! 

I always admired my older sister, Tiffany. She was tall, thin, with very long, dark brown hair. At first glance, her hair looked black. It was so silky and shiny like a cat's coat. Her eyes were big, and bright, with a stunning shade of emerald green. I wanted to be just like my big sister, I was definitely her shadow! She and I were extremely

close. She was my protector and always let me tag along with whatever she was doing. 

I don’t have many childhood memories of my younger siblings, I just remember spending time with my greatgrandmother (on my mother’s side of the family) as our immediate family grew. During holidays my older siblings and I would go to my mother’s side of the family, while my younger siblings got to spend every holiday with Mom and Dad. It was as if the house was divided.

Part of me felt like I was being pushed out of my family. My parents seemed to be preoccupied with my younger siblings. As time went on, we seemed to be in two different groups conducting separate lives. My older brother Stewy was becoming sicker with each passing day, more frequent mood swings, aggressive behaviors, and tantrums that made it difficult for us to help him. Ultimately resulting in my brother going to live in a group home, dividing the two groups even more. 

Stewy would come home for the holidays and weekends but as a child, I felt like I lost my brother. In my mind, he was discarded and separated because he was different. At the time I did not understand the depth of his mood swings or how they could negatively impact our younger siblings. My lack of understanding left me confused with feelings of rejection and abandonment. As my younger siblings grew, the attention shifted to them, and I was left feeling isolated. With Stewy gone most of the time, and Tiffany getting older and staying out more, I couldn’t help but see my family differently now. A loving family that was once all circled together, had now pushed me off to the side, left to figure out life alone, forsaken by all to find my own happiness during a time when my mind was full of imagination and a growing desire to be seen. 

My parents were complete opposites. My dad was loud, funny, affectionate, giving and always the life of the party! My mother seemed quiet and distracted most of the time, never really engaged with my day-to-day activities. Dad was the only parent that worked outside of the home until I was in high school. I watched him come home every day, the routine was like clockwork. He’d burst through the door, this tall, stocky man with deep chocolate skin and a baritone voice, I’m home. He would announce as he came through the door from work. He was always happy. His deep, unforgettable voice would fill the house with joy. He was always telling some stupid joke that made zero sense but would always have us rolling with laughter. 

Where are you getting this stuff from, Dad?! I would scream, letting out a deep, powerful laugh that came from the pit of my stomach, stealing all of my breath and bringing me to tears. 

With a huge smile hidden under his scruffy beard, he’d lean down and kiss me on the forehead and say, 

How was your day blue eyes? 

There was nothing I loved more in this world than those special moments with my Dad. In a sense, the longing I had to know my biological father pushed me closer to my dad. My connection with him seemed to help fill the void for all the unanswered questions I had related to my father. 

While I was enjoying the time I spent with my dad, I seemed to be losing more of my mother every day. As the needs of my younger siblings grew, my mother became more preoccupied with taking care of them and less invested in having a relationship with me, pushing me ever closer to my dad. It didn’t matter if he was going to the gas station to get beer, going to play the lottery, or going to get weed, I wanted to go. The bond we had made me feel less abandoned. When I was with my dad, I was important, I belonged, I was part of a family. I was daddy’s little girl when we were together, and no one could take that from me. 

As I began to drift even further from my mom, feelings of alienation and thoughts of not being good enough created an enormous wedge between my mother and I, which made it impossible for us to build a real relationship. I couldn’t fully understand why I pushed her away so much or why I never told her how I felt. I was young and deluded and wasn’t sure that she would care. My thoughts of what a family should look like and how a mother and daughter should bond did not match my reality. 

With time, I started to realize that I blamed her for leaving my father, pushing me aside when my siblings were born, and not showing me that I was important. Every time I was in the room, it was as if the energy was being sucked out by a vacuum cleaner. No matter what the atmosphere was before I walked in, it would always shift in the most awkward way. Maybe it was because I was in dire need of attention and mom always seemed too busy to be bothered with me. It didn’t take long before my mind convinced me that I was a burden and needed to take care of myself. 

Maybe I remind her too much of my father. Maybe she is scared I will get sick too, so it is easier to push me away, I would presume. My thoughts would send me into a whirlwind of assumptions, trying to figure out why I couldn’t get the same amount of recognition as my siblings. 

Nothing I did seemed good enough. Each day mirrored the one before it: full of criticism and reminders of all my mistakes. Somehow, even that seemed better than being ignored. Things were so different with my dad. I could tell him anything without judgment or thoughts of insecurity. 

Dad was the only person in my bubble that loved me for me, or at least that’s how I imagined it at the time anyway. No matter how busy he was, he always found time for me and my older siblings. He never made us feel like his stepchildren. Anything he did for one, he did for us all! Some of my younger siblings will tell you he did more for the three of us than for them. It was almost like he could sense the need for extra attention and went out his way to fill the void. 

Even with all of the love my dad showed me, I still felt a part of me was missing. Dad and my older sister were the only people at home who seemed to care to be around me. My mother and her family had several differences which made it nearly impossible to build a true connection with them. My only lifeline to my mother’s side of the family was my great grandmother Helen. 

Tiffany and I spent a significant amount of time with Grandma Helen, but only saw my mom’s extended family on holidays. Mom and her family were estranged. It was never talked about much growing up, but it was clear they did not agree with my mom marrying outside of her race.

I did not really know my biological father’s family except for one uncle. The differences my mother had with them seemed to trickle over onto the three of us, preventing a relationship from being formed at all. The relationship between my mom and my biological father is very cloudy, the only piece that remains clear is the resentment I held for her leaving him in his time of need. The rest of the pieces seemed insignificant compared to my longing desire to know the other half of me. With each passing year, I found myself in a game of tug of war, desperately seeking an identity that fit in all aspects of my life.

What must I do to make my mother’s family love me and want to be part of my life? Why does Mom love my younger siblings more than me? What do I have to do to make her see me? WHAT DO I DO? 

Standing in the bathroom each morning, I found myself drifting off into the eyes of my reflection, searching for something unknown–something I would not find until much later in life. I wanted to know who the person was behind my reflection, only if she had the answers I was in need of. 

As middle school approached, the atmosphere in the house seemed pretty consistent. Dad was still the life of the party, so we all looked forward to him coming home. Our house always seemed full of people and noise, everyone talking over each other, T.V. playing in the background, and kids running in and out of the house. 

As a child, I simply thought my family was loud. Dad especially, seemed very expressive and obnoxious. Every conversation seemed to echo through the house and bounce off the walls. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I realized, the loudness was just the pain, pushing its way through all the barriers put in place to hold it in. With time the loudness could no longer disguise itself as just conversation, it was finally being revealed as the constant and consistent turmoil it truly was. 

Everything in our house was a debate, an argument, and more times than not a one-sided conversation. Our talks that started as healthy dialogue, often ended in unresolved disagreements due to the steadfast unwillingness to hear each other out. The older I got, the clearer the picture became. Our house was just a roof and walls, with food and furniture, lacking consistent love and sustainability. Our house would never be a home! 

It’s funny how we believe the barriers we construct in our lives will protect us, yet somehow we always remain in a constant state of war—an internal fight that becomes stronger and stronger with time, until we find ourselves looking for any way to throw in the white flag. Sometimes the pain gets so intense and the future can be so uncertain that surrender seems like the only option. Accepting my family’s loud, chaotic nature as normal was so much less painful then acknowledging the dysfunction as the consistent disruption that it was. 

Welcome to the Real World

August 1991, Middle School here I come!

The first day of school was at hand, and I was overwhelmed with excitement and nervous all at the same time! I was finally old enough to make my grand entrance into middle school and I could barely contain myself. My days of being a little kid were over and I was looking forward to seeing what life had to offer. I tossed and turned, fighting to get comfortable, but my mind would not let me rest, flooded with thoughts about what the morning would bring. After drifting off in my imagination, I finally fell asleep only to wake up in what seemed like moments later. Bursting with exuberance, I jumped out of bed tossing clothes all over the closet before I noticed the moonlight through the bedroom window. 

What time is it? I thought to myself as I dashed to the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. 

4 AM! I shouted as I plopped back down on the bed in frustration. There was no going back to sleep now! 

Aggressively turning to the side, I grabbed my pillow, glaring at the alarm clock as if my staring could force the time to change. Come on come on, be time already I said in frustration. Getting ready too early meant playing the waiting game but I suppose there was no way to avoid the wait... So, that is exactly what I did. I waited and waited and… waited.

Before I knew it, the time lapse was over, and my alarm was echoing through the room. Beep!! Beep!! I jolted out of the bed as if someone forcefully pushed me. Jumping right over my blanket I made my way back to the closet in search of the perfect outfit. 

Tiffany! I screamed, calling for my sister. Tiffany!

What girl? Stop yelling, you will wake the dead! She said. 

What do girls in middle school wear? I asked, as I folded my arms demanding she answer me. 

Just be yourself! Everyone will love you! She responded as she pulled me in closer, messing up my hair and laughing. 

I spent a lot of time overhearing my older sister talk about middle school. It always seemed like such fun with all the sports and the band performances. It was like I was stepping into a