The Woman Who Raised Me
Growing up in a family like mine has shaped me in ways I never could have imagined. If my 11-year-old self could see me now she wouldn’t believe the person I’ve become. She would probably smile, wide-eyed with wonder, and maybe even dance around me in joy knowing that I’ve made a place for myself in this world a place where people feel safe around me, where I can carry burdens even the ones that aren’t mine and hold onto pain until it fades away. At 11, I had already stepped into the worlds of business and politics. I learned young that life isn’t just about surviving. It’s about understanding, about standing firm in what you believe. Growing up exposed to so many different perspectives made me mature faster than most, sometimes to the point of selfishness. But one thing about me has never changed: I have an old soul. I belong to the echoes of another time, one where classical music drifts through candlelit rooms, where fingers move instinctively across the piano keys or the strings of...
