(What Others Saw as Rebellion)

Growing up, I quickly learned that authority figures weren’t always protectors. The man we moved across the country with who once held a gun to my head. The abuse from my uncle, who was supposed to be family. My stepfather, the one I called Dad, was supposed to be a source of safety, yet he was one of the people who caused the most trauma in my life. These all taught me that vulnerability and trust were often weaponized. Each new betrayal, whether from a caregiver entrusted with the safety of the kids they harmed, a therapist who didn’t know how to help, or a school principal who ignored the bullying I faced. This painful realization shaped how I viewed anyone in a position of authority.

And it wasn’t just the people close to me. Growing up in the ’80s, I was also exposed to a world that seemed full of dark realities, a society in fear of serial killers, constant earthquake drills reminding us of “the Big One” that could strike anytime, the AIDS epidemic, and the media’s never-ending news about stranger danger. Religion, touted as a place of refuge, revealed itself to be a cult of hypocrisy and judgment. The constant moving made any sense of stability impossible. All of it combined into a deep-seated belief that those in authority couldn’t be trusted.

By the time I hit high school, I wore my distrust openly and projected a rebellious exterior. I dressed in black, started tattooing myself, gave myself a mohawk, and dyed my hair black, projecting an image that told the world I wouldn’t bow down to anyone. To others, I looked like trouble, someone “asking for attention,” but what I wanted was actually the opposite: to avoid it. My “rebellious” look and the way I moved through the world was meant to make me invisible to those who preyed on vulnerability, but it only made me a beacon. Yet I wasn’t about to back down or make myself smaller for anyone who demanded respect simply because they held a title. As a teen, I ended up in the back of a few police cars, not because I was causing trouble, but because I refused to submit to authority when they were the ones in the wrong. Sorry mom!

This distrust hasn’t left me. Authority figures such as teachers, police, family members, and others who claimed to have my best interests at heart had let me down too many times. By the time I reached adulthood, I realized that if life were going to be difficult, I would face it on my own terms. I left high school early, got a job, and began carving my own path. It wasn’t about learning to trust blindly; it was about reclaiming control over my own life. And if anyone had a problem with that—middle fingers in the air—it was theirs to deal with, not mine.