“I’m gonna be somebody,
one of these days I’m gonna break these chains
I’m gonna be somebody, someday,
you can bet your hard-earned dollar I will”
I’m Gonna Be Somebody -Travis Tritt
As a young girl, I began to imagine a future where I was a quadruple threat – a singer, model, dancer, and actress. I was going to take on the world, all from the stage.
Those were dreams of a girl avoiding real life – a life of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual abuse.
What I saw from those roles was love. Adoration. Acceptance. I was going to be somebody!
At 13, my dreams shifted some to just being married to someone who would love me, and the rest fell away. As I began to rise from some of the ugliness I lived in at 17, by then already married and a mom for a handful of years, I found myself behind the scenes as a writer instead. Then, long after the trauma of the first 22 years of my life had passed (the time, anyway), I was behind a camera.
But still, I was going to be somebody. I was going to break the chains around my life, then my heart, and be somebody.
Instead of being on a stage, I was documenting other people’s lives and stories. And I was content. At the very heart of who I am, I believe myself to be a storyteller, that I can connect with people and tell their stories. Yet, a longing burned inside of me that I could not quite understand.
In 2015, I made a conscious effort to step back onto a stage. Not because I needed to be a star but rather because I wanted to share my story. I wanted to deliver it in a way that was helpful and not a scattershot of shock and awe. And I wanted to be able to give what I could see others needed: love, adoration, acceptance…to show them that they are somebody.
On this journey, I really began to find my voice in a whole new way. But first, I cried. And then I fought part of the process. I hid sometimes, afraid that baring my vulnerable parts would make people uncomfortable all over again. Yet, I realized that we need to get uncomfortable, that I needed to allow myself to dig deeper into my wounds, and that it was good to go into dark places to talk about hard things.
Through this, I have continued to grow and heal. And I have learned I was already somebody. I didn’t have anything to prove. Not then, not now. But I do want to shout from the rooftops that I am worthy – and so are you – and we will not be silenced. So whether from a stage or over coffee, I will speak into darkness about darkness, and I will let my light shine.
Please let your light shine too. I am here if you’re ready to tell your hard story to the first or 99th person.
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