When I was a kid, I thought my childhood was normal. It was all I knew.
It was my world, and I had no one else’s world to compare it to.
It wasn’t until I got much older and was able to look back at my past from a distance that I realized that my childhood wasn’t normal.
I grew up from the bottom.
I’ve been homeless, lived in a car, stayed in shelters, crashed on couches, been on the run from Child Protective Services, and have been evicted more times than I can count.
But, like my Native American ancestors who came before me, against all the odds, I survived.
I am still here.
I hope when you finish reading my story, you will look at your own childhood, and all the hardships you faced—and still face—and all the battles you encountered—and still do—and you are finally able to put down your armor and shake all the pain off your shoulders, because like me, you are where you are today because of what you endured.
Life is a trip.
It is filled with bumpy roads, dead ends, and dark tunnels.
But if you keep moving forward and keep your eyes on the road, over time, you’ll notice those roads get a little smoother, those dead ends become U-turns, allowing you to turn around and try again.
And there’s a light at the end of those dark tunnels.
I’m not saying life is going to be easy; in fact, at times, it will be extremely difficult.
But if you keep fighting, you’ll end up reaching the place you’re driving toward.
The place where we are all trying to get to.
And that place is called home.
What is home? It is defined by the place where one lives.
And if you’re reading these words, that means you survived whatever your past threw at you. You’re still here. You’re still alive.
Home is not only a place.
Home is being a father. Being a husband. Being an author and filmmaker. Because that is who I am and where I am in my life. I am my happy home.
So, remember, our childhoods tell us who and where we once were, but we decide who we are and where we are today.
We build our home.
We are where we live.