Ever felt it? Not the sudden flash of explosive, passionate anger but the slow, consuming ember in the pit of your stomach. I have. I am not sure why it is there, not sure how it began, but absolutely sure it cannot be quenched by the trivial attempts of those who are aware enough to sense it. I am not sure who I am.
Anger, frustration, and sadness finally consumed me to the point of no return. I had to know. I would do anything to know.
Gripped with an overwhelming sense of despair, I climbed on my bed. In my mind, I screamed at God, “Why? Why am I such a negative person towards others and myself? Why can’t I love me? Why do I feel I have to live in hell and do not deserve to be happy in this life? Why, God? Why?” The year was 1986.
It is now 2019. How did I get here? Let me go back to the beginning and lay the foundation for this remarkable journey of self-discovery.
I was born Miriam in the early 1950s in Canada. Dad wanted boys, a whole slew of them, to staff his baseball and football teams. Mom thought I was going to be an athlete because I was more active in her womb than her two previous daughters. Back in the 1950s, who were athletes? Boys.
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Anger, frustration, and sadness finally consumed me to the point of no return. I had to know. I would do anything to know.
Gripped with an overwhelming sense of despair, I climbed on my bed. In my mind, I screamed at God, “Why? Why am I such a negative person towards others and myself? Why can’t I love me? Why do I feel I have to live in hell and do not deserve to be happy in this life? Why, God? Why?” The year was 1986.
It is now 2019. How did I get here? Let me go back to the beginning and lay the foundation for this remarkable journey of self-discovery.
I was born Miriam in the early 1950s in Canada. Dad wanted boys, a whole slew of them, to staff his baseball and football teams. Mom thought I was going to be an athlete because I was more active in her womb than her two previous daughters. Back in the 1950s, who were athletes? Boys.
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