Hi, I’m Rebecca.

I was born on March 20th.

That makes me a Pisces.

I’ve been told I’m sensitive and that I wear my heart on both my sleeves.

I’m 5’1″ with green eyes, the color of evergreen trees.

And I’m a sucker for a tall guy with a nice smile.

I’m a silenced child turned poet who spends her days writing words on the back of coffee receipts.

I’m still learning how to use my voice.

I’m often timid when I want to be loud.

Silent when I don’t agree.

And crying when you poke my heart.

I was told my smile would capture the world one day.

And while I try to hide it, I can’t help but show all my molars.

I’ve got lots of wounds, but they are healing.

I don’t hide them like I used to.

My idols include Princess Diana and Jill Biden.

And if I could do anything in the world, it would be to change our mental health system for the better.

I was born 6 pounds, 2 ounces on the first day of spring.

Resilience is my middle name.

I have a scar that runs along my mouth from my first fight—one with a chain-linked fence.

This first fight was when I was seven, and I’ve been fighting ever since.

A scapegoat turned academic, I said enough.

Enough attempting to be seen.

Enough wanting love I would never be given.

Enough with being the black sheep.

Bombarded with “you’re worthless,” I walked out the door and never looked back.

I worked every job I could, took out every student loan, and applied to any scholarship possible to move up and out of childhood trauma.

I say I’m from Seattle, but the truth is, I’m from a small town where we often spell “there” only one way, know somebody fighting a drug addiction, and where country music is the soundtrack of our lives.

I may not have the highest IQ or the best GRE score, but I do know this.

The glass ceiling is real, and I’m going to break it.

Resilience is my middle name, after all.

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