I pierced my tongue. I was 26 years old, lost, devastated, feeling empty and hopeless. I had lost my best friend and father to cancer and in the same year connected with my biological mother for the fist time who informed me that I was conceived by a gang rape…three black men had raped her…a white, Irish woman. I left my full time job as a leader of a non profit in Minneapolis and was now a bartender back in Baltimore. I thought that when my Dad told me to “Stay True” to myself that it meant “be free”, don’t care what others think of you….and piercing my tongue was evidence that I understood what he was telling me. I clearly had not understood the depth of what my Dad talked to me about. I did and always do care what others think of me and so do you. The first few years of this now 17 year journey were rough…real rough.

Continue reading “Many requests…Many fears…17 years. It’s time.”