Queen of Bad Habits

If anybody’s the queen of bad habits… it’s me. It may sound funny, but truly—it’s not.

As a child, I was smart, quick, confident, and athletic. Then I was placed with “her” and she broke down the part of me that was just entering the phase in childhood where one needs encouragement, support, and love. Instead, I was met with anger, hate, disregard, and shame.

So I pivoted.
I learned to protect.
To notice.
To read the room.
To survive.

Maybe I learned that even earlier—because my dad would leave me with strangers, and I was always on guard, awaiting his return. And when he came back, I could be me again. My true self. Because he was my safe place, and I knew he loved me.

But this time, he didn’t come back.

Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
Months into years.

Adaptation became observation.
Observation became survival.

I stayed quiet. I obliged. I waited. I counted down the days until I turned sixteen, because I knew that was the age you could leave. But I didn’t make it to sixteen.

I left at fourteen.

You don’t leave unchanged at fourteen.

Not many understand what that does to a person.

It rewires the mind. The body. The nervous system.

And sometimes what people call “bad habits” are just exits—isolation, control, adrenaline, booze, drugs—anything that slows the noise long enough to untangle the mind one strand at a time.

Because my mind doesn’t stop.

Memories.
Analysis.
Questions.
Reflection.
Self-criticism.
Shame.
Guilt.
Feelings that run through my nerves.

So I quiet it.

And in those moments, I allow myself to be seen—by me.
I let myself feel proud.
I let myself soften.
I remind myself how far I’ve come.
I let myself do what makes my heart sing.

Because I’ve earned it.
I fought for it.

The only person who could ever put me on trial is me. And I threw that case out a long time ago.

Now I can finally exhale.