By: Krystina | #WheelStrong
What’s wrong with me?
Ever since I was little, I’ve always felt like a burden.
Unwanted.
An inconvenience.
They say we carry our ways of thinking into adulthood….
and I know that’s true.
Especially after becoming disabled.
At just 9 years old, I was writing poems soaked in sadness.
Lines like:
“Letdowns of my unhappy personality…”
“Each year I grow colder, more and more emotion-free, kept captive by my pain
and sad, unhappy childhood memories.”
Why so much darkness at such a young age?
I try to remember only the good now.
But when I’m forced to dig deeper….
to wade into the quiet, forgotten corners of my mind….
the painful memories rise.
The ones I tried to bury.
The ones I painted over with fake smiles and “I’m fine.”
I didn’t become an addict like my mother.
No.
I became something worse….
a woman in denial.
I wore perfection like armor.
Played the role I thought I had to.
Chased the storybook life.
Because if you’re perfect,
you’ll never be abandoned again… right?
Wrong.
I buried my emotions so deep,
succeeded so fast,
that somewhere along the way….
I forgot to actually live.
I didn’t make memories.
I avoided them.
Because people?
People disappointed me.
And yet, eventually, I tried.
Tried to have a “normal” life.
Tried to make friends.
But the friendships I chose were fueled by alcohol, survival, and a fear of being alone.
Toxic attracts toxic when you’re still bleeding.
Next thing I knew….
I was a single, disabled mom of two.
Friendless.
Hopeless.
Reality didn’t just set in.
It crashed.
After years in a nursing home….alone…
I was forced to face the truth:
Something was wrong.
And I traced every mistake back to one truth….
I was still making decisions as the broken girl I used to be.
But I’m not her anymore.
I’m no longer afraid to be alone.
I did it for nearly three years.
I’m no longer afraid of my thoughts.
I’ve lived inside my head long enough to quiet the monsters.
I’m no longer afraid of abandonment.
Everyone left me after the accident….
and still, I learned how to sit with myself and survive.
My childhood?
It doesn’t scare me anymore.
I’ve stopped pretending it wasn’t what it was.
I remember the good, the bad, and the trauma….
and I honor all of it.
Because healing doesn’t mean forgetting.
It means owning every chapter.
I live by one truth now:
Pass down wisdom, not wounds.
That’s why I fight so hard to give my children a stable, loving life.
Because I grew up with abuse…
physical, sexual, emotional.
I didn’t know what a “normal” family looked like
until I entered foster care.
And even though my life is far from normal….
I do my best to give them peace.
Because I know what chaos feels like.
And I refuse to let that cycle continue.