You are the author of your story. You have the power to write beautiful chapters for yourself. Never let anyone take control of your pen.
It’s funny how people say you’re the author of your story, right up until your life starts writing horror scenes without your consent. I used to scroll past lines like that while living in my car, parked in some lot with nothing to do but doom‑scroll. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I hadn’t written any chapters myself — not really. I’d start them, then hand the pen to someone else and let them finish the story for me.
I never wrote the chapters about childhood trauma, or the ones about my ex‑husband’s abuse, or the ones where Rowan was assaulted and we ended up homeless. I couldn’t edit any of it. The best I could do was bury those chapters deep in the catacombs of my mind and pretend they weren’t mine.
My life read like a horror movie I never wanted to watch. Just when things seemed steady, the suspense music kicked in and I’d get dragged into another nightmare. Who wants their life to be a thriller? And if choices shape the chapter, where were the brakes? Why couldn’t I make a U‑turn?
I’m starting to understand now. There were so many things I couldn’t control as a child. My parents — in name only — were chosen for me. Their actions weren’t caused by anything I did. You can’t rewrite a childhood; it’s in permanent ink. It becomes part of who you are, even if the ink stains.
I thought I was tougher. I thought I could handle things differently than the people I grew up around. But somewhere in the middle of my WTF year, I handed someone else the pen again, and the chapters turned horrific. I would never have written the one where my son was beaten by his caregiver. I would never have written the one where we lost everything and slept in a car. Those were not the plot twists I signed up for.
But they happened. And they changed me.
Now I’m learning that every chapter has moments you don’t get to choose. But the pen is still mine. And every time something tries to derail me, I scribble an edit, change the direction, and keep writing.
This time, my edits will stick,
K.
Read more about the mess I’ve been trying to survive, →