Not fitting in with the crowd had been my normal for so long that I thought it was permanent.
John—my adopted stepdad—helped me realize something that changed everything: I could change if I wanted to. So I did.
With his encouragement, and with the help of my best friend Colleen Taylor, I began working on myself. I practiced being more likable, more social. Over time, I learned not to value what other people thought of me so much—well, not too much anyway. The day I truly decided I didn’t care what my classmates thought of me was the day I felt free. Confident. Empowered.
Something shifted.
I remember being okay, for the first time, with my mom kissing me on the lips in front of my classmates. Before, I would have been mortified. But once I accepted my mom’s way of showing love, something funny happened—she stopped doing it. It was no longer a problem. When I stopped fighting myself, life became easier.
I became more accepting of living. Less harsh on myself. Less judgmental of others. . I didn’t feel so raw all the time. I was learning how to live instead of just survive.
Then came my first high school dance.
I was so excited. I sat on the bleachers and prayed to be asked to dance. When someone finally asked me, I stopped fretting and went out onto the floor. I hadn’t even been dancing three minutes when I noticed people laughing. Soon, it felt like everyone at the dance was laughing at me.
I kept dancing—until I realized everyone had stopped dancing just to laugh at me dance.
I stopped.
They didn’t.
I turned red with embarrassment and ran out of the gym.
But something was different this time.
I knew I could change.
I was determined to go back knowing how to dance. I didn’t know about dance classes. I didn’t even know how one learned to dance. But I wanted to understand why they were laughing. I wanted to see what they saw.
So I taught myself.
I began dancing in front of a mirror—watching how I moved, to music that made me happy, noticing what felt good, what didn’t, what looked right to me. It wasn’t about performance. It was about curiosity. About learning who I was in my body.
That simple practice taught me something profound: you can learn whatever your heart desires if you’re willing to try, observe, and keep going.
And so I kept going.
I’ve been changing ever since.
It seems that every five or six years, I become a different person, while my fundamentals remain intact. The core of who I am stays steady, but the way I move through the world evolves. I grow. I shed. I adjust.
I am forever moving forward, changing, refining.
At least, I hope it’s for the better.
Crossing that threshold wasn’t loud or dramatic. There was no single moment where everything suddenly made sense. It was quieter than that. More human.
But once I stepped across, there was no going back.
I had learned something essential:
I was not stuck.
I never had been.
