There is a little girl in me. She’s uncontrollable sometimes and it drives me crazy. She’s in those pre-teen years and puberty isn't helping. She wants to scream at the smallest things that don’t go her way. The thought of messing up is unbearable. She cares so much about what everyone thinks. She needs to control everything, including me, and I can’t stand it.
There’s also a baby girl in me. She’s 2 or 3 and her daddy is her hero. She’s loved and adored, surrounded by family—grandmas, grandpa, aunties, uncles, cousins; she’s got her village. She’s happy. She’s on top of the world.
She loves her dad even though he scares her sometimes. She just wants to know why he’s so angry. So she keeps on wondering, walking on eggshells around him, trying to figure him out. She knows he's hurt but doesn't know how to approach him. So she learns how to navigate his moods, which sometimes requires sacrificing her needs and values.
She becomes the teenager in me—angry, angsty, and pissed off. She’s tired of having to submit. She’s tired of the lack........