What if, at seven years old, you learned the hardest lesson of your life? Not in a classroom, not from a mentor, but on the side of I-80 in the middle of Wyoming. What if the teacher was your own mother, and the lesson was this: You are unlovable. You are disposable. And no one is coming to save you.
I remember the heat of the sun on my face, the suffocating silence of the highway stretching endlessly in both directions, and the hollow roar of my mother’s car disappearing into the horizon. I’d been talking—too much, apparently. She pulled over, told me to get out, and drove away. “Your father will find you,” she said, as though that would make it better. As though being left behind by the one person who was supposed to protect me wasn’t the kind of wound that would stay open for decades.
The Day You Learn You’re Alone
Seven is too young to realize you’re completely alone in the world. At seven, you’re supposed to be learning how to ride a bike, not how to stifle your own voice. You’re supposed to be worrying about whether your crayons are the good kind, not whether your family will ever come back for you.
But there I was, standing on the side of the highway, my voice stolen by the weight of the moment. I stared down the asphalt and learned a new kind of quiet: the kind that comes when you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that your mother doesn’t love you. Not in the way a mother should.
Unpacking the Trauma Luggage (Because, Of Course, There’s Baggage)
It would be easy to write this off as just another story of a "difficult childhood," but here’s the thing: when your foundation is abandonment, every relationship feels like it’s built on quicksand. You start to expect everyone you love to leave. You anticipate the exit before they’ve even stepped into the room. And worse, you begin to think it’s your fault—that you’re too much or not enough, and that’s why they walk away.
Spoiler alert: It’s not your fault. But try explaining that to a kid on the side of I-80. Or to the adult they’ll become, who’s still learning that love isn’t supposed to be conditional, transactional, or temporary.
Finding Meaning in the Mess
If you’re wondering whether my dad did come for me that day, he did. Eventually. But by the time he arrived, something had already shifted inside me. I stopped believing in unconditional love that day. I stopped expecting it from anyone. And honestly, that belief has been harder to shake than I’d like to admit.
But here’s where things get… complicated. As much as I want to hate her for what she did—and trust me, I’ve tried—it’s also shaped who I am. Her abandonment taught me resilience. It taught me how to survive in a world that isn’t always kind. And it taught me that while I couldn’t control how she treated me, I could control how I treated myself—and eventually, how I treated others.
That’s the thing about trauma: it leaves scars, but those scars can be a roadmap to healing if you’re willing to follow them.
Healing Isn’t Linear (But It’s Possible)
It took years of therapy, introspection, and some truly awkward conversations to start untangling the mess my mother left behind. There were days when the weight of it all felt unbearable, when I wondered if I’d ever be able to trust anyone—or myself—again.
But slowly, I started to rewrite the narrative. I began to see that her inability to love me wasn’t a reflection of my worth, but of her own unhealed wounds. I started to recognize that the voice in my head telling me I was “too much” wasn’t mine—it was hers. And I decided I didn’t want to carry it anymore.
For Anyone Who’s Been Left Behind
If you’ve ever felt abandoned—whether on the side of a highway or in the quiet, invisible ways people leave—it’s not your fault. You are not too much. You are not unlovable. And you are not alone.
The journey to believing that is messy and painful, but it’s also worth it. Because when you start to let go of the lies you were told as a child, you make space for the truth: that you deserve love, not in spite of your scars, but because of them.
So here’s to finding your voice again. Here’s to stepping off the highway and into the life you deserve. And here’s to knowing that no one—not even your mother—gets to define your worth.
If you’re ready to laugh, cry, and maybe overanalyze life’s messiest moments, you need to tune in to my upcoming podcast, Chaotic Good-Tisms—because, let’s be honest, healing is way more fun when sprinkled with a little sarcasm and sisterly banter.
Together, we’ll dive deep into the chaos of family dynamics, neurodivergence, and the hard-earned wisdom that comes with surviving generational trauma, questionable life choices, and society’s unrealistic expectations. Whether you’re here for validation, dark humor, or just to feel seen, you’re in the right place.
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