From 2005 up to this present day I've learned a very important lesson about the process of healing..........what you believe is superior to how you feel. Establishing a belief system was extremely vital to the transformation of my soul for it would serve as my anchor and defense against unpredictable tides of emotion. There were many days along the way where fear, doubt, disappointment, and anger began to rise from the depths of my being. My belief was challenged on every side. The task of aligning my thoughts, words, and actions concerning the matter seemed at best impossible. It was in those moments that I acquired skill and began to practice the art of resting. In this rest I discovered peace, strength, grace, and confidence that somehow gain would outweigh loss.
I've discovered so much within, many wonderful things. The beauty of it all is that this journey continues and it just keeps getting better and better. I had no idea that hair loss would serve as a vehicle to freedom and inner healing. The ride may not be smooth, but my belief is that the destination will be worth the travel.
The twelth year is almost to an end. Although the crown of my head still remains hairless, there has been tremendous progress. I've been committed to maintaining an attitude of thankfulness. The more I remain thankful for what I have, the less preoccupied I am with what I lack. Instead of neglecting that which was left, I decided to nourish it the best way possible. For the first couple of months of this year I continued to wear my hair pulled back in bun styles and ponytails. To relieve the stress on my hair from the constant pulling, I purchased a few wigs to help with protective styling. On wig wearing days I apply deep conditioners and moisturizers. I made the mistake of wearing wigs years ago without taking care of my natural hair. Back then wigs were used as a means only to make me feel pretty, to cover my shame and provide security. Today I have a new perspective, a new motive. I use wigs as a protective style when I want to deep condition and moisturize my hair and also as an outlet for my sassy personality, to sport different styles and colors without damaging my natural hair as it continues its healing process. Hair has become a fun creative expression for me, not the essence of my beauty. Amazingly to me, as I continue to grow and heal, the hair does the same although its no longer my focus.
What great joy it is to be able to place my hand on my empty crown and still feel beautiful, a priceless moment that took years to reach. As the journey carries on I fight to keep the freedom that comes from a healthy self-esteem, a healthy self-image and identity. I do not want to go back to that place of insecurity, that place where my worth and beauty was equated to the state of my hair. There will always be those who feel the need to voice their opinions about how I should wear my hair, what they like the best, what they view as beautiful. Along with that comes the fight against my own emotions, when I long to wear the beautiful natural styles that I see all around me but can't. That is when I remind myself of what really matters. With or without it I am free, I am beautiful, and I am loved.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
The Pivotal Year
I spent nine years trying my best to care for my hair. It went from phases of flourishing thickness and length on the outskirts of my crown to repeated breakage and thinning. By this time I solely relied on hair extensions, trying desperately to ignore the condition beneath.Then came 2012.
I remember one of my last trips to the salon for a sew-in weave. As the beautician began to prep my hair, I looked over in the mirror and gasped at the sight before me. My hair was at its lowest point. My head was almost bare. Tears began to form. I felt helpless because I knew that if I continued with the sew-ins there would ultimately be nothing left, but I felt pretty, this was my only option.
My sister just so happened to be down for a visit and was waiting for me at my apartment. I found her sitting on the bed in my room excited to see the hairstyle I had chosen. I sat down beside her, laid my head on her shoulder and released the floodgate of tears that had been held hostage within while getting my hair done. I couldn't reveal my vulnerabilities in front of the beautician or anyone else on the outside, but my sister, she was my safe place. We both felt helpless. I knew she hated to see me hurt, but despite my tears she looked at me and spoke words of truth. "Jenni, you have to take the weave out. I don't know whats gonna happen when you do, or how you'll be able to wear it, but it must come out." She was right. I had known that for a while, but I was not ready to relinquish my source of esteem. It was time to let it go and rediscover my true worth, value, and beauty. That was the true source of my pain.
February 2012, Super Bowl weekend to be exact, the sew-in weave came out and I was ready to embrace a self-esteem apart from hair. With the weave gone, I was able to discover something new! As I stood before the mirror, to my surprise fragile spiral curls were reflected back at me. Where did this hair come from! It had never been so curly. Miraculously, I was able to gather the curly strands and place them in a ponytail. It literally felt like I had five hairs left on my head from all the damage and stunted growth. With very little idea of how to style my new curls, I took it one day at a time and did the best I could. Because the crown of my head remained bald, there were limits to the styles that could be achieved. My sister would try to help but the hair was still so thin and fragile. For the entire year I rocked a bun or a pony. I did high ones, low ones, front, back, and side to side. My hair was free.......now it was my turn.
At first it was very difficult becoming accustomed to wearing my natural hair. There were moments when I really did not want to wear another bun or pony. Despite those feelings, I forged forward. As time passed a desire to be free from the small minded concepts of beauty from others as well as myself was birthed in me. I focused on the internal, the state of my mind and my emotional well-being. I established a belief, a foundation that would not be moved by the turbulent ups and downs of emotions. My belief? I am beautiful, fearfully and wonderfully made by The Creator. I have unique gifts and talents placed within my being to share with all those around me. My smile is beautiful, my laugh contagious. My sexy appeal flows from within. I exude that appeal with confidence even when my hair is pulled back. It is not my hair, it is the Spirit from within that makes me who I am. I am special, I am loved. I am a beautiful vision of chocolate filled with God's glory. I am an ever changing, ever growing woman of excellence. I am Jennifer Holiday.
I remember one of my last trips to the salon for a sew-in weave. As the beautician began to prep my hair, I looked over in the mirror and gasped at the sight before me. My hair was at its lowest point. My head was almost bare. Tears began to form. I felt helpless because I knew that if I continued with the sew-ins there would ultimately be nothing left, but I felt pretty, this was my only option.
My sister just so happened to be down for a visit and was waiting for me at my apartment. I found her sitting on the bed in my room excited to see the hairstyle I had chosen. I sat down beside her, laid my head on her shoulder and released the floodgate of tears that had been held hostage within while getting my hair done. I couldn't reveal my vulnerabilities in front of the beautician or anyone else on the outside, but my sister, she was my safe place. We both felt helpless. I knew she hated to see me hurt, but despite my tears she looked at me and spoke words of truth. "Jenni, you have to take the weave out. I don't know whats gonna happen when you do, or how you'll be able to wear it, but it must come out." She was right. I had known that for a while, but I was not ready to relinquish my source of esteem. It was time to let it go and rediscover my true worth, value, and beauty. That was the true source of my pain.
February 2012, Super Bowl weekend to be exact, the sew-in weave came out and I was ready to embrace a self-esteem apart from hair. With the weave gone, I was able to discover something new! As I stood before the mirror, to my surprise fragile spiral curls were reflected back at me. Where did this hair come from! It had never been so curly. Miraculously, I was able to gather the curly strands and place them in a ponytail. It literally felt like I had five hairs left on my head from all the damage and stunted growth. With very little idea of how to style my new curls, I took it one day at a time and did the best I could. Because the crown of my head remained bald, there were limits to the styles that could be achieved. My sister would try to help but the hair was still so thin and fragile. For the entire year I rocked a bun or a pony. I did high ones, low ones, front, back, and side to side. My hair was free.......now it was my turn.
At first it was very difficult becoming accustomed to wearing my natural hair. There were moments when I really did not want to wear another bun or pony. Despite those feelings, I forged forward. As time passed a desire to be free from the small minded concepts of beauty from others as well as myself was birthed in me. I focused on the internal, the state of my mind and my emotional well-being. I established a belief, a foundation that would not be moved by the turbulent ups and downs of emotions. My belief? I am beautiful, fearfully and wonderfully made by The Creator. I have unique gifts and talents placed within my being to share with all those around me. My smile is beautiful, my laugh contagious. My sexy appeal flows from within. I exude that appeal with confidence even when my hair is pulled back. It is not my hair, it is the Spirit from within that makes me who I am. I am special, I am loved. I am a beautiful vision of chocolate filled with God's glory. I am an ever changing, ever growing woman of excellence. I am Jennifer Holiday.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Let the Healing Begin: Facing truth
As time continued to pass I decided to make a choice. After dealing with the questions that had been swirling around in my head about where to place blame and whether there would ever be a cause revealed, I chose to hold on to hope. I remember being in my room having a conversation with God. That day I felt a unique strength, a strong arm of support lifting me up. This day I did not cry like the previous times before. With my eyes lifted up I let it be known that I still believed in miracles, I hoped in the impossible. Though my faith wavered at different moments from the sting of pain, it was not utterly destroyed. At some point along the way hope had taken its root and could not be easily broken. Because of this firm foundation, I could not give up.
Finally, in 2005 the continuous breakouts ceased. The bumps disappeared, never to return again. From that moment to this present day my scalp has been free from any sort of irritation. While I rejoiced in that portion of healing, I was yet quite aware of the emptiness left behind. The entire crown of my head was bald and scarred. This became a secret that was exclusively shared with my immediate family. Though I had the hope to believe in the miraculous, I could hardly bear the weight of the shame. I didn't want anyone to see the condition of my hair. I didn't have the courage to reveal the truth. What would people think? What would they say? Would I still be desirable to a man if he knew? So many questions and many emotions came flooding through my being. At times I allowed negative thoughts to invade my mental and emotional peace. I would weep at those moments, frustration burning within me. It was no easy task concealing the truth. It was sometimes stressful, but in that same vein I discovered a level of creativity that had been hidden. I was able to cover my crown, painting the illusion that a full head of hair still existed. That would be my routine for now.......paint the illusion, keep the secret.
I became extremely skilled at covering the outside. Wigs and hair extensions became my means to achieving numerous hairstyles which served as an outlet to my creative personality. The problem was I felt pretty only when the truth was veiled. The more my hair disappeared the more I began using extensions as my source of security and self-esteem, an old familiar practice of mine. That was the red flag. Without a doubt a root issue still remained, an issue greater than the hair loss itself. The time had come to face and deal with that which the scalp condition illuminated more than ever. Another level of freedom and healing awaited.
Finally, in 2005 the continuous breakouts ceased. The bumps disappeared, never to return again. From that moment to this present day my scalp has been free from any sort of irritation. While I rejoiced in that portion of healing, I was yet quite aware of the emptiness left behind. The entire crown of my head was bald and scarred. This became a secret that was exclusively shared with my immediate family. Though I had the hope to believe in the miraculous, I could hardly bear the weight of the shame. I didn't want anyone to see the condition of my hair. I didn't have the courage to reveal the truth. What would people think? What would they say? Would I still be desirable to a man if he knew? So many questions and many emotions came flooding through my being. At times I allowed negative thoughts to invade my mental and emotional peace. I would weep at those moments, frustration burning within me. It was no easy task concealing the truth. It was sometimes stressful, but in that same vein I discovered a level of creativity that had been hidden. I was able to cover my crown, painting the illusion that a full head of hair still existed. That would be my routine for now.......paint the illusion, keep the secret.
I became extremely skilled at covering the outside. Wigs and hair extensions became my means to achieving numerous hairstyles which served as an outlet to my creative personality. The problem was I felt pretty only when the truth was veiled. The more my hair disappeared the more I began using extensions as my source of security and self-esteem, an old familiar practice of mine. That was the red flag. Without a doubt a root issue still remained, an issue greater than the hair loss itself. The time had come to face and deal with that which the scalp condition illuminated more than ever. Another level of freedom and healing awaited.
Monday, October 7, 2013
If I Only Knew: The Diagnosis
As time continued, the hair loss began to inch its way up from the crown of my head to the front of my hair line. There was even a spot in the lower portion of my head where the hair had completely disappeared. After about a month, I decided to see a hair specialist. I had tried product after product but to no avail, the condition grew worse. It seemed that the slightest touch of a finger triggered the outbreak. Unable to wash, condition, and moisturize as usual, my mane was left dry, brittle, and sparse.
To soothe my scalp my mother would take a Q-tip and drain the puss and blood from the bumps. It hurt us both to see my hair in this condition, neither one of us knowing exactly what to say. My mother had taken quite good care of my hair from childhood to teen years, and she had trained me how as well. But as the days rolled by, it became very clear that I was dealing with something more than a little scalp irritation. Medicated shampoo and a little bit of olive oil were no match for this. We felt helpless.
I arrived to the specialist's office nervous and anxious. A part of me felt relieved because diagnosis would soon be revealed. I don't recall the doctor's name, but what I do remember is the expression that formed on his face at the sight of my scalp. I sensed he felt sorry for me and knew there weren't any comforting words that could be said at the moment. Rather than making any futile attempts, he simply began to explain the procedure that would be performed. Different areas of my scalp would be scrapped including the bumps. Once the samples were collected, they would be sent to a lab to be tested for fungal or bacterial infection. I could expect the results in a few days. A huge weight was lifted because in my mind knowing the cause helps one move on to accepting the possible outcome. It was the unknown that was eating at my very being. Most of the time when things happen, all we really want to know is why.
Finally the day had come, the results were in. It seemed like an eternity passed waiting for those results. I was beyond anxious. As I sat down in the office I noticed that the doctor appeared to be a bit baffled, an obvious look of confusion across his face. Fumbling with the papers in front of him, he proceeded to tell me that all the tests came back negative. Nothing was found, no fungus, no bacteria, no trace of a disease. Clueless, he had no diagnosis for me. My heart dropped. There was nothing he could do for me except prescribe antibiotics. That was it.
Left hanging without comfort or assurance of a possible turn around, I went home more devastated than before. Hopeless and just plain disappointed, I had no idea whether or not this present state was the worst I would see or if more hair loss would run its complete course through my tresses. Slowly, painfully, assuredly, time would reveal.............
To soothe my scalp my mother would take a Q-tip and drain the puss and blood from the bumps. It hurt us both to see my hair in this condition, neither one of us knowing exactly what to say. My mother had taken quite good care of my hair from childhood to teen years, and she had trained me how as well. But as the days rolled by, it became very clear that I was dealing with something more than a little scalp irritation. Medicated shampoo and a little bit of olive oil were no match for this. We felt helpless.
I arrived to the specialist's office nervous and anxious. A part of me felt relieved because diagnosis would soon be revealed. I don't recall the doctor's name, but what I do remember is the expression that formed on his face at the sight of my scalp. I sensed he felt sorry for me and knew there weren't any comforting words that could be said at the moment. Rather than making any futile attempts, he simply began to explain the procedure that would be performed. Different areas of my scalp would be scrapped including the bumps. Once the samples were collected, they would be sent to a lab to be tested for fungal or bacterial infection. I could expect the results in a few days. A huge weight was lifted because in my mind knowing the cause helps one move on to accepting the possible outcome. It was the unknown that was eating at my very being. Most of the time when things happen, all we really want to know is why.
Finally the day had come, the results were in. It seemed like an eternity passed waiting for those results. I was beyond anxious. As I sat down in the office I noticed that the doctor appeared to be a bit baffled, an obvious look of confusion across his face. Fumbling with the papers in front of him, he proceeded to tell me that all the tests came back negative. Nothing was found, no fungus, no bacteria, no trace of a disease. Clueless, he had no diagnosis for me. My heart dropped. There was nothing he could do for me except prescribe antibiotics. That was it.
Left hanging without comfort or assurance of a possible turn around, I went home more devastated than before. Hopeless and just plain disappointed, I had no idea whether or not this present state was the worst I would see or if more hair loss would run its complete course through my tresses. Slowly, painfully, assuredly, time would reveal.............
Thursday, October 3, 2013
My Crown Has Been Stolen: Hair episodes
I had just gotten some gorgeous red highlights. I'll never forget that day because the excitement was high. I had been longing to change my style for quite some time, and I felt red highlights would be an amazing change. I had virgin hair so I was a little nervous about the process but decided to go ahead with this new hair adventure.
As the stylist began applying the chemical solution she raved and raved about the thickness, texture, health, and overall beauty of my hair. I was privileged to have been able to achieve many different hair styles, many different lengths, and my hair always maintained it's glory. I could not wait to see the final results. After a long process of heat and chemicals, to my delight, the highlights turned out to be absolutely stunning! My hair was transformed into a beautiful mixed shade that complimented my skin tone like pure perfection. To heighten the appeal I had the stylist bring the length to my shoulders in a sassy bob-like shape. Everyone loved it, especially me. That day I left the salon overjoyed. I was rocking a new look and had bought every hair product in the salon that promised to maintain my gorgeous mane. My confidence was unshakable.......so I thought.
Months passed and I continued to enjoy my red and brown streaked bob. I must have been in the mirror every five minutes gazing in sheer admiration, inventing different dos.....up, down, half up, curled, waved, stick straight, everything I could think to do. This was my daily routine until one day something changed, and it changed drastically. Suddenly, as if someone had flipped an internal switch, my scalp began to go haywire. I don't remember the exact day, but I awoke to find my scalp inflamed and bleeding. The entire crown of my head had broken out in puss filled bumps, some the size of dimes. The pain and itching almost pushed me to rip the very hairs from my head. I wish I could say that this was just one weird and unpredictable hair episode, but these mysterious bumps continuously appeared over a period of three years. From that day forward these hair episodes became a thorn in my side, a painful experience that I wasn't sure would end. Day to day, month to month the bumps would appear then disappear for a while only to flare up again without warning. Each time, my scalp was left scarred and as smooth as a marble stone. I'm not even sure where the hair went for I never saw it on my pillow or in my comb. It never came out in handfuls. It was as if my hair had evaporated into thin air. Wherever a bump appeared the hair disappeared and there was not a thing I could do to stop it. Where would I start? Trying desperately to determine the cause, my initial thoughts led me to believe that my scalp was suffering from an allergic reaction to the red highlights I had gotten. Now six months or so had passed since my trip to the salon, but I thought of nothing else as a possible cause in that moment. Over and over I asked myself, what's happening to my scalp?
Through the course of those three years I was in search for a possible cause which had yet to be revealed. I cried. I cried a lot. I cried not only for the state of my hair but for the state of my esteem. My hair was no longer the same, and neither was I.............
As the stylist began applying the chemical solution she raved and raved about the thickness, texture, health, and overall beauty of my hair. I was privileged to have been able to achieve many different hair styles, many different lengths, and my hair always maintained it's glory. I could not wait to see the final results. After a long process of heat and chemicals, to my delight, the highlights turned out to be absolutely stunning! My hair was transformed into a beautiful mixed shade that complimented my skin tone like pure perfection. To heighten the appeal I had the stylist bring the length to my shoulders in a sassy bob-like shape. Everyone loved it, especially me. That day I left the salon overjoyed. I was rocking a new look and had bought every hair product in the salon that promised to maintain my gorgeous mane. My confidence was unshakable.......so I thought.
Months passed and I continued to enjoy my red and brown streaked bob. I must have been in the mirror every five minutes gazing in sheer admiration, inventing different dos.....up, down, half up, curled, waved, stick straight, everything I could think to do. This was my daily routine until one day something changed, and it changed drastically. Suddenly, as if someone had flipped an internal switch, my scalp began to go haywire. I don't remember the exact day, but I awoke to find my scalp inflamed and bleeding. The entire crown of my head had broken out in puss filled bumps, some the size of dimes. The pain and itching almost pushed me to rip the very hairs from my head. I wish I could say that this was just one weird and unpredictable hair episode, but these mysterious bumps continuously appeared over a period of three years. From that day forward these hair episodes became a thorn in my side, a painful experience that I wasn't sure would end. Day to day, month to month the bumps would appear then disappear for a while only to flare up again without warning. Each time, my scalp was left scarred and as smooth as a marble stone. I'm not even sure where the hair went for I never saw it on my pillow or in my comb. It never came out in handfuls. It was as if my hair had evaporated into thin air. Wherever a bump appeared the hair disappeared and there was not a thing I could do to stop it. Where would I start? Trying desperately to determine the cause, my initial thoughts led me to believe that my scalp was suffering from an allergic reaction to the red highlights I had gotten. Now six months or so had passed since my trip to the salon, but I thought of nothing else as a possible cause in that moment. Over and over I asked myself, what's happening to my scalp?
Through the course of those three years I was in search for a possible cause which had yet to be revealed. I cried. I cried a lot. I cried not only for the state of my hair but for the state of my esteem. My hair was no longer the same, and neither was I.............
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Full of my glory: How it use to be
As a child I was always doted on because of two things: my big brown eyes and my long thick black hair. People were astonished by the amount of hair I had on my tiny little head. I had enough for two people! As I got older, women began to envy me because of it and men loved me for it.
I have always been natural, never had a perm. I can remember sitting in the kitchen on my mother's "blue kit" as we called it. My mother would press my hair with a hot comb for what seemed like an eternity, making sure every little strand of hair was completely straight. I sat on that kit for many years until the middle caved in. I would say I was around the age of sixteen when I finally began to straighten my own hair using the plug-in electric comb.(Remember those?! Ok I'm feeling a little old.) With this new found independence and control came more frequent hair straightening and more scabs from burning my ears, fingers, scalp, and even my face! I started to miss those blue kit days. I may have been injured a bit but how beautiful and flowing the finished product appeared! People declared it had to be weave because according to popular belief, a black girl couldn't possibly have thick, long, beautiful hair. Needless to say I was pleased to trump that false belief as I allowed doubters to run their fingers through my long tresses. I felt proud and important. I felt beautiful. Now don't get me wrong. There's nothing improper about taking pride in your appearance, nothing wrong with having a healthy confidence in how you look. For me it went beyond that. It went deeper. I started to draw my self-esteem from the amount of hair I had. It became my glory, the one aspect of myself that I could look to when I was feeling low and insecure. Instead of viewing myself as a beautiful person with pretty hair, I saw myself as a girl who was beautiful because of the hair. I did not realize that my hair had become my idol, my sense of value and worth until it began to disappear. As it went I was left grappling for something to be proud of, something to make me feel beautiful and important. As the hair went so went my self-esteem.
Who would have thought? Something out of the blue, something I never expected would happen became my reality. My hair was falling out. Devastated, embarrassed, and confused I desperately wanted to know and understand what was happening. What was the cause of my hair loss? Was I sick? Will the hair ever grow back? Little did I know, the ultimate question that this journey would reveal, the answer that would matter the most, is where would my beauty come from now? It was time to find truth. Stay tuned........
I have always been natural, never had a perm. I can remember sitting in the kitchen on my mother's "blue kit" as we called it. My mother would press my hair with a hot comb for what seemed like an eternity, making sure every little strand of hair was completely straight. I sat on that kit for many years until the middle caved in. I would say I was around the age of sixteen when I finally began to straighten my own hair using the plug-in electric comb.(Remember those?! Ok I'm feeling a little old.) With this new found independence and control came more frequent hair straightening and more scabs from burning my ears, fingers, scalp, and even my face! I started to miss those blue kit days. I may have been injured a bit but how beautiful and flowing the finished product appeared! People declared it had to be weave because according to popular belief, a black girl couldn't possibly have thick, long, beautiful hair. Needless to say I was pleased to trump that false belief as I allowed doubters to run their fingers through my long tresses. I felt proud and important. I felt beautiful. Now don't get me wrong. There's nothing improper about taking pride in your appearance, nothing wrong with having a healthy confidence in how you look. For me it went beyond that. It went deeper. I started to draw my self-esteem from the amount of hair I had. It became my glory, the one aspect of myself that I could look to when I was feeling low and insecure. Instead of viewing myself as a beautiful person with pretty hair, I saw myself as a girl who was beautiful because of the hair. I did not realize that my hair had become my idol, my sense of value and worth until it began to disappear. As it went I was left grappling for something to be proud of, something to make me feel beautiful and important. As the hair went so went my self-esteem.
Who would have thought? Something out of the blue, something I never expected would happen became my reality. My hair was falling out. Devastated, embarrassed, and confused I desperately wanted to know and understand what was happening. What was the cause of my hair loss? Was I sick? Will the hair ever grow back? Little did I know, the ultimate question that this journey would reveal, the answer that would matter the most, is where would my beauty come from now? It was time to find truth. Stay tuned........
Crown of My Head Intro: My journey to discovering self love, wholeness, and complete restoration
So here it is September 30, 2013 and this is my first blog of the year. So many things have happened up to this point, so many things I could write about. Although I have a well of experiences to draw from, today is the day that I decided to begin sharing my story. It is the story of a twelve year journey that I have been on, a journey that continues today. I am going to share my secret struggle that I'm sure many women and even men can relate to. It is the struggle to embrace who you are, to love yourself, to be whole and complete apart from the opinions of others. It is the struggle to see your true self as beautiful, to find this beauty, your identity, and a solid self-esteem apart from anything outward and embrace it! I will not only speak of the struggle, but I will tell of the victory and the glory that awaits on the other side of the pain. I will tell of the fears that I continue to fight against but also the strength and the courage I've gained. From the beginning up to this present moment, this is the story of the crown of my head, my story of how something as simple as my hair led me on a life changing journey to discovering self love, wholeness and restoration. My hair triggered my journey, but for you it could be something else you've lost that you depended on for a sense of identity and self-esteem. However your journey began, I pray that strength, courage, love, hope and whatever else one can receive from my story, comes forth through my transparency. To everyone who reads it, be blessed.
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