From my first breath, I was already on my own.

My mother told me she tried to abort me by punching her stomach while pregnant. She said, “If abortion had been legal, you wouldn’t be here.” That was the welcome I received into this world.

Some people are born into love.
Some into safety.
I was born into resistance. Into rejection. Into silence.

There were no sweet lullaby stories. No arms wrapping me in warmth.
No birthday candles, no fond stories, no pride in my existence — only a cold, unspoken question hanging in the air:

“Why are you even here?”

Conscious Too Soon

By age five, I was already praying — not for toys or treats, but for answers.

I remember looking around at my family — the detachment, the dysfunction, the emotional frost — and asking God:

“Is this what Earth is supposed to be like?”

I made a vow that day:
I will leave this world in a better condition than how I found it.
That became my mission, before I even knew what it would cost me.

The Family That Didn’t Want a Mirror

Both sides of my family were fractured beyond repair.

On my mother’s side: incest, emotional suppression, denial, betrayal.

On my father’s side: exclusion, minimization, hypocrisy, superficial performance.

And yet — they all shared a common trait:

They knew I was standing outside the window,
watching, waiting, hoping to be invited in.
And they left me there.

I wasn’t what they wanted — because I refused to play pretend. I noticed things. I asked questions. I wanted truth, love, connection. But no one was willing to give it — not to me.

Raised by Ghosts, Shaped by Fire

They gave me nothing.
So I built everything.

I was never the problem.
I was the mirror — and mirrors terrify people who can’t face their own reflection.

“What they called ‘support’ was survival.
What they called ‘family’ was obligation.
What they called ‘love’ was control.”

They labeled me “too emotional,” “too dramatic,” “too intense.”
All because I refused to lie. To smile on cue. To perform for their comfort.

I didn’t come here to be quiet.
I came here to transform. To challenge. To survive.
And that’s exactly what I did.

The Name They Can’t Take From Me

I changed my name — not just legally, but spiritually.

GinA — with a capital “A” — to represent:

• Autonomy

• My alignment with Athena — goddess of war, wisdom, and protection

• My self-earned right to name myself, define myself, and build myself

I refused to carry the names of those who abandoned me.
I disowned the identity they assigned.
I am not theirs. I am mine.

What They Never Gave, I Gave Myself

“You never threw me a party.
You rarely sent a card.
You watched me hurt — and turned away.”

But I took all of that absence and built presence.
I turned every void into a voice.
Every rejection into resolve.
Every silence into strength.

I Am Not the Victim. I Am the Proof.

This isn’t a sob story.
This is a testimony.

I am the child of ghosts —
but I became my own protector, my own witness, my own warrior.

I am still here.
Still standing.
Still me.

“I am not here to be pitied. I am here to be witnessed.”

This is my story — not because it’s tragic,
but because it’s true.
And truth, when spoken clearly, turns pain into purpose.

If You See Me Now…

You are seeing the result of decades of work.
Work no one saw.
Tears no one dried.
Victories no one celebrated — but me.

I built my own peace. I earned my freedom.

And if you're reading this and still don’t understand who I am —
go back and read it again.