I have been thinking in words since words were introduced to me in print. The flavor and texture of words always tantalized me. I breathe words in, and expel fully-written sentences. But not until a teacher told me I was a writer did I begin to think about my power.
I wrote a story that won an award in 4th grade, and that’s when I started to realize that I had a superpower: I could string words together in ways that made other people think things and feel things. I could create with words, and other people saw that creation–not on the page, but in their own mind! I could make people imagine things simply by putting words together in the right order.
The interesting thing is, even with the ability to create for others, I did not write for others. I spent years honing my talents for myself. I took refuge in my characters’ pains. I hid myself among their dialogues and descriptions. I buried myself in their politics, and explored myself in their interactions.
So… Here’s me in a nutshell: I was the oldest daughter in a big, broken family. I was abused, neglected, and parentified at a young age. While my parents were “doing the best we can” I was being groomed and trafficked. I was indoctrinated in a mainstream religion that I now realize is a Christian cult (based on Steven Hassan’s BITE Model of Authoritarian Control). I used writing and world-building as a coping mechanism to get me into adulthood.
I put myself through school, graduated with a degree in Elementary Education, and started teaching young children. I love to teach writing; it is truly one of my greatest joys. As an adult, however, I was able to realize that my writing could not take the place of a mental health professional, and so I went to therapy.
While in therapy, I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Writing was what kept me connected to so many of my diverse parts of self, and what has lent so much to our healing journey. We found a loving partner and got married. We got a dog to prove we are actually crazy.