Anchor in the Chaos

    From the outside, my life between 2010 and 2012 probably looked like a wild, carefree young adult figuring things out. But the truth is, it was a blur—one I thought at the time was me "living my best life." Looking back now, it was anything but that.      In April 2010, I lost my Nana to cancer. That was the beginning of the unraveling. She and my Granddaddy were the foundation of our family—our traditions, our love, our togetherness. Her death left a hole, not just in me but especially in my Aunt Sharon. They were best friends, and losing Nana shattered something in all of us.      I was drifting—moving in and out of my dad and stepmom’s house depending on whatever reason I was given. “You woke your dad up with your footsteps,” or “If you say you’ll be home at 10, be home at 10.” “His house, his rules.” It wasn’t a home—it was a place I passed through. Deep down, I know I was craving love and comfort, things I felt like I missed out on d...

    After my 21st birthday, something shifted within me. Sometime before and thereafter, my family started calling me “crazy” or even “coocoo for cocoa puffs” because I had reached a point where I didn’t care about anything or anyone but myself. I’m not entirely sure what caused this version of me to surface—maybe it was the fact that I had to grow up fast, being the oldest, afraid of getting into trouble. But in the end, those were just excuses.      What does “crazy” mean in this context? Well, relationships became my escape, my priority, my rebellion. I would stay out really late, not coming home, or I would stay the night at my boyfriend’s house—one night often turning into two, then three. My dad hated this. He hated it more than I cared to admit. At that stage in my life, I didn’t care what he thought. I did what I wanted anyway.      At one point, I had a Ford Focus. My dad, being the co-signer, threatened to sell it—and then did. I wa...

     I was never the perfect child. In fact, I was just starting to come out of my shell as I adjusted to life in a new state—Virginia. I had officially entered adulthood… or so I thought. I was building new friendships and slowly learning who I was becoming outside the comfort of my hometown.      About a month before my 21st birthday, someone offered me a fake ID. I turned it down. Part of me was still a little scared, but honestly? I wasn’t that desperate to drink. I figured I could wait—it wasn’t that deep.      Then came January 31st, 2010. My 21st birthday. A night I’ll never forget. My friends went out of their way to make it special. My very first shot was pink lemonade vodka (yes, I remember it clearly), and we ended up playing Pretty Pink Princess —with marshmallows. It was ridiculous and hilarious, and I felt so loved. That night was pure joy, surrounded by people who genuinely cared about me.      After that night? ...

     The summer of 2007 was a turning point in my life. Leaving Pickerington, Ohio meant saying goodbye to the familiar—a town I had called home for two years, my first jobs at Steak N Shake and Kroger Marketplace, and countless friendships and acquaintances. But the hardest goodbye? Felisha .      Felisha wasn’t just a friend—she was my best friend. We had built a bond so strong that every weekend felt like an extension of our family lives. If I wasn’t at her house, she was at mine. There were days when we dressed as twins, just because we could. Our friendship was effortless, deep, and meaningful.      Our senior Prom was supposed to be something we skipped, but we realized that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So, we did what made sense—we went together as each other’s date. The night ended at Steak N Shake, filled with laughter and memories that would stay with me forever.      Felisha’s family became an extension ...