Hi, I’m Rebecca.
I was born on March 20th.
That makes me a Pisces.
I’ve been told I’m sensitive and that I wear my heart on both my sleeves.
I’m 5’1″ with green eyes, the color of evergreen trees.
And I’m a sucker for a tall guy with a nice smile.
I’m a silenced child turned poet who spends her days writing words on the back of coffee receipts.
I’m still learning how to use my voice.
I’m often timid when I want to be loud.
Silent when I don’t agree.
And crying when you poke my heart.
I was told my smile would capture the world one day.
And while I try to hide it, I can’t help but show all my molars.
I’ve got lots of wounds, but they are healing.
I don’t hide them like I used to.
My idols include Princess Diana and Jill Biden.
And if I could do anything in the world, it would be to change our mental health system for the better.
I was born 6 pounds, 2 ounces on the first day of spring.
Resilience is my middle name.
I have a scar that runs along my mouth from my first fight—one with a chain-linked fence.
This first fight was when I was seven, and I’ve been fighting ever since.
A scapegoat turned academic, I said enough.
Enough attempting to be seen.
Enough wanting love I would never be given.
Enough with being the black sheep.
Bombarded with “you’re worthless,” I walked out the door and never looked back.
I worked every job I could, took out every student loan, and applied to any scholarship possible to move up and out of childhood trauma.
I say I’m from Seattle, but the truth is, I’m from a small town where we often spell “there” only one way, know somebody fighting a drug addiction, and where country music is the soundtrack of our lives.
I may not have the highest IQ or the best GRE score, but I do know this.
The glass ceiling is real, and I’m going to break it.
Resilience is my middle name, after all.