Essay on life experience for school

My start to life opened doors to resiliency and navigation of the depth of my aliveness. I intuitively persisted for the anchor of love that would tether me securely to life. Growing up, my feet didn’t quite touch the ground when I walked and my body felt like a cage rather than a vessel for self-discovery and growth. Fearing the depth of my emotional pain, I started living outside of myself and hid, unsettled, behind walls that hushed my fears and muted my emotional aliveness. Grappling with the loss of my birth mother, I felt like a guest in my own life, hollow and carved out by the betrayal of motherly love. 

I wasn’t brought into this world with much thought, my biological parents’ relationship was a one-night kind of thing, heart and mind ignorant of the future. I didn’t know anything about my birth dad except that on my adoption paperwork, he wrote that he didn’t want to have any contact with me, even when I was old enough to reach out and search for my roots. My birth mom’s breath relied on drugs, and all six of her kids were taken away from her. She was sixteen when she had her first, and forty-seven when she had me, her last. 

I was adopted by my parents at two and a half years of age, and our relationship was a delicate dance of connection and distance, a tug-of-war between the fear of rejection and the need for closeness. We lived in a cherished, welcoming, and warm earth-toned home nestled behind the Santa Cruz mountains in Los Gatos. A nearby elementary school added a sense of vitality and energy to the neighborhood. Though my adoptive parents meant well, their presence served as a constant reminder of the fractured pieces of my identity. I felt I had mapped out every corner of their being through my bond with my birth mom, yet within those corners laid shadows of abandonment. Their attempts at care felt like digging fingers into barely healed wounds, stirring up emotions long buried beneath layers of polite smiles and strained conversations. Love felt like a double-edged sword, a source of both longing and dread. My relationship with my parents felt different than that of my classmates. Our relationship seemed like a delicate origami creation, folded intricately with the complex layers of adoption, a distinct and often isolating experience. 

In elementary school, shame and loneliness became the manufacturers of my world. I kept my emotional world quiet and I questioned whether I was somehow to blame for my birth mom's departure, or if I had something inherently wrong with me that justified her decision to leave. Emotions surged within me, colliding like opposing tides, sculpting a disruptive inner landscape of raw intensity. Anger simmered, confusion tangled my thoughts, and sorrow burdened my heart. Amidst this turmoil, I struggled to understand who I was and where I belonged in the world. I struggled to find my footing, grappling with the fragmented pieces of my identity as they slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. I started running away from myself, seeking solace in distractions and avoidance, fearing that if I confronted the depths of my pain, I might unearth a truth too painful to bear.

Volunteer work became my refuge. I discovered my struggles momentarily faded into the background when I could be a light in others' worlds. I started volunteering with a dog rescue when I was in fourth grade. I stayed with them for four years helping almost every Saturday at their weekly adoption event. Saturdays were my days dedicated to the dogs. I would get there early to set up crates and would stay until the bitter end, often not shy of an eleven-hour day. Once I was in middle school I was able to participate in my church’s youth group’s week-long mission trips to Mexico, I went on three trips and helped build homes for families in need. I slept and ate outside, woke up before sunrise to get to the site by the crack of dawn, and engaged each day with an openness to give. I returned to the campsite by sunset, nourished by strenuous labor, and enjoyed a cold bucket shower that made me feel even more alive. I feel seen when I’m with others in the midst of their suffering. Like I mattered and that my existence had a purpose. Volunteering helped me notice myself and the parts of myself that I was ok with. I discovered a huge heart that loves to love and help others. 

My adoptive Grandma would frequently say that knowing one's purpose in life is the most important thing to learn. She’d ask me almost every week if I knew my purpose. From a young age, with no hesitation, I would always respond with yes, to help people and animals! I felt strongly about this, and even when I was sitting, my whole body would leap up as I said it. Over time, I started to feel a part of me weighed down, that didn't leap up with the rest of my body. Having such a huge heart and giving myself to others while muting my emotional existence was an unsustainable way of living. To give and not receive from one's heart greatly dilutes the essence of human existence.

In grade school, while navigating the intricate social hierarchy that dictated acceptance and belonging, I did not fit the mold of other people’s approval. Trying to find my place within the pecking order of classmates, I was rejected, and my experiences at school became a closely guarded secret. I hid my emotional suffering out of fear that being disliked at school would prove me unworthy of my parents' love. In my sophomore year of high school, I experienced a bullying incident that left me feeling utterly defeated and hopeless. My peers held me down underwater in the pool during a PE swim class. My heart hammered in my chest, a rhythm of fear and anger. The bullying incident served as confirmation of my deepest fears, that I was inherently unlovable, and worthless. The weight of their actions crushed my spirit and I reached a point where I no longer cared whether I lived or died. I ended up in a residential treatment facility soon after.

In 2018, my sophomore year of high school, I moved to a residential treatment facility for mental health in Sebastopol. Living away from home at the treatment facility allowed for an essential shift to take place. It created a space that made it feasible for me to acknowledge my suffering without the amplification of abandonment’s whispers. The house I lived in had a safe foundation built with transparency and didn’t have abandonment written behind its walls. My feet could finally feel the floor and seeds of curiosity were planted in soil fertile with acknowledgment. With trembling hands and a heavy heart weighed down by years of unspoken pain, I reached a pivotal moment. I chose to no longer shy away from the profound depths of my existence, sparking a flame of willingness to fully immerse myself in the ocean of my suffering. With arms open wide, I embraced the flood of my emotions and remained rooted to the core of my being. I no longer ran from the shadows; instead, I welcomed them, allowing their weight to anchor me in a place of raw, unfiltered truth. 

I cocooned myself in the gentle embrace of self-love, allowing its warmth to permeate every corner of my wounded spirit. As I basked in its nurturing glow, I felt roots of healing unfurling within me, reaching deep into the cracks and crevices of my soul, soothing old wounds and nurturing new growth. I reclaimed the neglected parts of myself, and surrendered to the ebb and flow of life's currents, grateful for the winding path I had traversed. Each moment of pain and rejection became a stepping stone to my path to self-discovery and healing. I unearthed the true essence of my existence, discovering a boundless reservoir of love, resilience, and infinite possibility flowing within me.

I was discharged during COVID-19 and landed in a conscious community in Sebastopol. Not only do I bring something to the community but I am also deeply nourished by the community, there's a beautiful balance. I take part in drumming circles that help cultivate a sacred space where community, connection, and spiritual nourishment can unfold. Immersing myself in the rhythms of community life, I find healing in the unspoken acceptance that surrounds me and strength in our shared experiences. Drumming has been profoundly transformative, and a source of connection to my birth mom. With each rhythmic pulse, I feel the resonance of our intertwined heartbeats, pulsating in perfect harmony. I feel her love and presence enveloping me, guiding me, and empowering me to embrace the fullness of my own being. The earth beneath my feet vibrates in harmony with my own essence, and I am reminded of the interconnectedness of all things, that we are not separate from the world around us, but deeply connected to it in ways that we may not always fully comprehend.

I embrace the duality of light and shadow, finding beauty in the contrast and richness of my experiences. Pain is a catalyst for transformation, a guide on a sacred journey toward wholeness and authenticity. I've learned to honor my emotions as messengers of my inner world, leading me toward greater self-awareness and self-compassion. It is through embracing both the light and the shadow within myself that I cultivate a more authentic and compassionate existence, rooted in the wisdom of my own heart. Even the darkest moments hold a seed of growth and renewal. I am grateful for my start in life, an abundant birthing ground of transformation and healing. In healing myself, I am also healing my birth mother. The soil beneath my toes pulses with life and my roots are nourished by emotion’s fluidity. Now, my feet hug the soil, and I dance.

Much love, peace, and light

Sarah