Finding a Way Forward
I rented a room so small it could barely hold a bed and a baby crib. The heater groaned, the sink leaked, and I learned to live on the sound of my daughter’s heartbeat. I worked two jobs—bussing tables during the day and cleaning offices at night. When money ran out, I stretched one chicken into three meals and sewed buttons with dental floss.
Then one night, when my car broke down before a bus stop, I sat in the cold crying. A woman in her sixties stopped, handed me a warm thermos, and said something I never forgot: “Honey, God never wastes pain.” I carried that line like a compass. If pain had purpose, then maybe shame could become strength.
The Road to Something Better
I signed up for night classes at a local community college. I applied for every grant and scholarship I could find. When I saw a notice for the Reserve Officer Candidate program, I circled it three times. I needed a structure—a way to build something solid from the ruins.
My daughter, Emily, was born on a rainy morning in a small hospital. She came into the world quietly, as if she already knew how to carry calm in chaos. I strapped her into a cheap stroller and walked her to a neighbor who agreed to babysit while I worked. Mornings smelled like burnt coffee and baby lotion. Nights smelled like ambition and exhaustion.
At dawn, I trained with the Reserve unit. By night, I studied for exams. And in between, I learned to lead when no one was watching.
