If life was a highway…
If life is a highway, then I accidentally went down a dirt path at some point and have been lost since I was 19 and telling everyone I have met on this “life highway” that “I’m fine,” “I’m not lost,” “I know where I’m going….” And people believed me. The fools! (I’m kidding.) Even though I’m out here lost and not okay, I keep falling into unique opportunities and circumstances. I made the most of those instances; even my last career, which had culminated over eight years and allowed me to achieve a six-figure salary for the first time EVER, was an accident. It started as an entry-level position where I made less than $20K my first full year. I made the most of it, though, even with every handicap I encountered there, from some severe pay inequality to being sexually harassed and assaulted on company trips. I’m so good at making the most of my situation that everyone around me -including myself- believed it.
Des IS totally fine.
I SO haven’t been “fine.” Not by a long shot. It’s not just adulthood that has made me lie to myself. I have been in denial much longer than that…
I have lived my life based on self-deception, generationally passed down until it found me. As a child, I was convinced that “happy families” don’t exist and that “normal families” are a myth. If it did exist, if it was attainable, I definitely didn’t deserve it. That was until I met my mentor. Initially, she was assigned to me when I was in 4th grade after my sister and I moved to Sunnyslope with our mother into transitional housing. We’d come from the Guiding Star program; it was a drug and alcohol rehab program for Native American women, and my mother had just completed the first part of the journey to sobriety. The transitional housing program entered us into the Phoenix Homeless Children Mentor Program. (It no longer exists.)
I remember being shy the first time I met her, maybe even into the second time, but there weren’t many interactions she had with me before I became attached. I adored her, admired her, and wanted to be like her. I wanted her to be my mom; she hugged me, acknowledged me and, encouraged me. Even when she had to be critical of me, she was always delicate with my feelings. She handled me like I was someone that needed to be loved and protected. I needed someone like her. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to come into my life, we met in unusual circumstances, and it only made our bond, our relationship, stronger. I think she saw me destined for a greater purpose, and she wanted me to see it when I was younger. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t even see it or realize it until this year when I started this blog. I’ve had a story to tell since the day I was born.
I grew to see her as my protector; she was like a fairy godmother sent to steer me into my destiny. For that reason, I will refer to her as ni-Komalwu (knee-Co-Mall-woo); I made it up using my limited knowledge of my O’odham language. For my birth mother, the woman that I spent most of my life with and called mom; I will refer to her as Nisije’e (Knee-See-Juh-uh). I’ll eventually explain these designations and will likely add more as I teach myself to speak a language that only 15,000 other people in the world speak. You can learn more about endangered languages here. The preservation of all cultures is important to me.
Congratulations; if you’ve made it this far, my entire blog will probably be like this. I will be talking about things happening in my life now; I’m also going to be writing about things in my past and the things that I’m actively manifesting for my future. I have a habit of explaining things where I weave my past, present, and future together like a spider making a web. I create a whole tapestry that I hope captures your attention. I don’t know what “this” is. I. Just. Am
First time to the site? Start here. This is a personal essay I wrote that inspired me to get back into writing.
finding himdag 