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The first time I appeared in The New Yorker it was for my trauma and it wasn’t even a good quote: An Essay
Anyone that knows me will tell you I talk a lot. They might even tell you I talk too much. In fact, I KNOW I talk too much because my motor mouth has gotten me into a variety of trouble over the 27 years I’ve been on Earth. Basically, I love talking.
This passion for communication is what makes me a unique journalist. I pride myself in the vulnerability I showcase to others that can allow me to bond with an interviewee or podcast host. I love people because I love talking and the two go hand and hand.
But there is one subject that has been off limits, only coming up when I reach a certain level of intimacy that is only known because my brain tells me, “Now. Now you can bring up that one thing you don’t really like bringing up.” That topic is my experience at Teen Challenge.
It isn’t like I haven’t told others about the 22 months I spent locked in a religious teen program in Lakeland, Florida. My threshold of being comfortable enough with another human being in order to share even the darkest of trauma is very low compared to a majority of the population. And while almost anyone who has had a conversation with me knows about my absent biological mother, insecurities around my Cherokee identity as a Native kid who…
