Girls are taught to play nice and be quiet, so when bad things happened to me, I never said a word. Add to that, a mother who told me my voice hurt her ears when I sang, and you basically get your perfect little victim. Thankfully, this is not the end of my story.
Growing up in the military, we moved around so much I learned to be flexible and find the best in wherever we were at the time. I wrote stories and poems to process my feelings, especially since my neurodiverse family made some unusual choices, like joining a cult in Colorado that didn’t think girls needed an education beyond obeying their fathers and husbands and caring for their families. My seventh-grade school year began as free labor in the restaurant of one of the cult ...
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