I was 24 years old, and I felt like my life was falling apart.
I lost my job, crashed my car, and found out I wasn’t going to get my dual master’s after all. I had worked so hard for “Three degrees by 23” — that is, three higher education degrees by the time I turned 23 years old — only to see it all fade away just months before my impending graduation date.
I spent nine months without a job. And when you spend that much time alone, you learn new and surprising things about yourself. Things you may have overlooked or buried deep beneath a sea of achievement.
Until that point in my life, I never thought I had daddy issues. My biological father had been in and out of jail my whole life. He was locked up the day I was born, out in time for my baby shower a few weeks later, then in again. That cycle continued so much so that we referred to his time out with us as “vacation.” He was never on “vacation” during any of my graduations, and so he never attended.