I was born inside a women’s prison in California. My mother was incarcerated, and I didn’t meet her until I was five years old.
Before that, I was raised in Richmond by my God mom, the only mother that I knew at the time. So when I was taken from her and handed over to a woman that I didn’t recognize, I remember crying, confused, feeling like I was being abandoned and given away at the same time.
Not long after, my mom went back to prison again. I ended up bouncing from place to place with my siblings, surrounded by violence, drugs, and instability. That became my normal. I didn’t know anything different. By the time I was 12, I was already using drugs, just trying to fit into the world that I thought I belonged in.
My father was always close, but never really there. He lived around the corner, and I knew exactly where to find him, on the same corner of the same block that he sold drugs on all of my life and before. I used to go and stand by him, surrounded by drug addicts, just hoping for a moment of attention. I remember one time I told him it was my birthday, not because it was, I was lying, I just wanted him to show me some kind of love. He handed me a dollar and went back to what he was doing. I stood there smiling anyway.
Those moments stayed with me.
I made a lot of bad decisions growing up, and eventually, those choices led me here. But prison didn’t just take from me, it also forced me to look at myself, my past, the pain I caused, and the pain I carried for so long.
Today, I’m a children’s book author. I’ve published three books, with more on the way. I facilitate self-help groups and try to mentor others, especially young people, because I know what it feels like to grow up without direction, without guidance, and searching for something you don’t even understand yet.
When I speak to kids, I tell them:
“I am living your future if you continue living my past.”
Because I am.
My story started in pain, confusion, and survival. But it’s not ending there. Now, I’m using everything I’ve been through to build something different, not just for me, but for anyone who sees themselves in my story.
