The Rose That Grew from Concrete

My stage was set 34 years ago the day I took my first breath on April 4, 1990. I was born the fourth and youngest child to a poor, and mentally ill Native American mother and a father though an Italian man, might as well have been Casper the ghost because he was unseen in my life. 

My childhood was a series of tragedies one after another, filled with many traumas, terrors, and bumps in the night. Some of those bumps in the night had names, jobs, and a duty as a foster parent to love and protect me when instead several of them became my living nightmare as I grappled to understand life and the world around me. Bouncing from foster home to foster home, in and out of every mental hospital on the east coast of North Carolina, I was fondly known as the department “Wild Child". Often rejected from the nice pristine Caucasian homes because of my long dirty history of trauma such as molestation, child abuse and my “violent” nature with the other children I found myself growing up in predominantly African American homes.

Despite the efforts of some of the homes I stayed in to teach me about life, I learned more about how cruel the world was and how it didn’t love anyone two shades darker than mayonnaise. My white complexion, and my African American upbringing caused me to never fit in anywhere I was. My childhood and adolescents were filled with rejection and loneliness. 

As I left the foster care at age 18 aging out of the system. I was instantly homeless .I left with my belongings in a trash bag, I thought I was finally free from the chaos of my childhood. Little did I know my newfound freedom would lead me down a dangerous path. I encounterd very toxic relationships. Despite the red flags, my fragil emotional state allowed me to become trapped in a cycle of domestic violence. This resulted in a pregnancy where I was alone and often homeless.

After surviving the streets for some time with my young son, I thought joining the military would bring stability. But it was a new kind of hell. As a female who didn't fit the mold of a 'typical' white woman, I was constantly marginalized. My Native American roots were erased due to my Italian father's heritage. I struggled through six grueling years, simultaneously navigating civilian and military life as an industrial mechanic - a contradictory existence, as there were few women in the field. I fought to prove myself in a masculine domain, while my Indigenous identity remained hidden in plain sight, and I endured the contempt of everyone around me due to my African American upbringings heavily bleeding through my every move. 

I narrowly escaped the military with an Honorable discharge, but the emotional scars from domestic violence and a toxic relationship lingered. With no safe haven in sight, I found myself back on the streets engulfed in lifystels very unhealhty in Asheville North Carolina. Once again homeless and alone, forced to rely on my unyielding resilience to survive. The familiar feeling of concrete beneath my feet served as a harsh reminder that some cycles are harder to break than others.

I found refuge in a domestic abuse shelter in Asheville and began to rebuild my life alone, while still being a mother. Looking back, one thing has been constant - my unyielding fight and the fire that blazes inside me. Despite all the wrongs I've endured, I've held onto my humanity and yearn to help others like me. A rose that grew from concrete.

The Rose That Grew from Concrete" by Tupac Shakur

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?

Proving nature's law is wrong it learned 2 walk without having feet.

Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams, it learned 2 breathe fresh air.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared…