Since I was a baby, life asked me to grow in ways most children never do. I was placed in foster care, navigating abandonment before being adopted into a family where I was often told I carried “a lot of trauma.”

Growing up, despite having a loving mom who supported me. I experienced emotional manipulation, toxic patterns, and moments of abuse from the people I loved from family, ex friendships and bullies. Out of survival, I tried to fix everything around me instead of healing myself. I became the caretaker, the emotional sponge, the one who tried to protect everyone — even when I was the one who needed protecting.

One of the hardest moments of my life was realizing that someone I loved deeply had become the person I needed to escape in order to break generations of trauma.

This pattern repeated with a younger family member going through similar pain. I tried for years to protect them — contacting authorities, advocating for them, fighting for safety in a system that didn’t listen. I felt like I was failing, like I wasn’t doing enough, like I should have been the savior of my family.

But then I learned the truth:

It was never my job to save anyone.

My purpose was to save myself, so I wouldn’t pass these wounds down to my future children. I was meant to be a cycle-breaker, not a martyr.

From ages 8 to 13, I learned emotional intelligence early — navigating behavioral patterns shaped by trauma, sensitivity, and being deeply attuned to other people’s emotions. I felt things intensely. I could sense others’ fears and pain without them saying a word. Many call this being an empath; I call it my natural gift.

Because no one fully understood me and how to help me with the trauma and behaviors that came with being an empath and a kid with PTSD, I was placed in residential treatment, where I had to grow up fast, learn routines, and nurture myself at a young age.