My Family Identity Analysis

A large part of my identity for a long time was my family. Growing up as a young child I was extremely privileged. Living in million dollar houses and taking sailing trips around Big Sur every weekend, I knew nothing outside struggles. However, we all wore this mask while we were privileged and lived what many would call a perfect life inside we were crumbling. As we moved around California, to Portland, then finally to charlotte, my family collapsed. My mother has always been significant figure in my life, she made people love her, she had a certain charm, and as a child I idolized her. While I loved her unconditionally, she one the other hand had strict conditions, which as a child were impossible to meet. The older I grew and the more my …show more content…
They saw the perfection my parents wanted to be seen. They did not understand that in middle school I often would go a day or two without food, or would have to steal food from harris teeter as my mother locked the cabinets, instead they saw the girl with the perfect tiny waist. Seen was the girl who was half the time on xanax or when sober working out. They knew me as the girl who had an open house every weekend because my father had to travel for work. I was just a privileged party girl who was throwing her life away and worked out for the attention of boys, I had heard it all. They did not understand that for me when I was working out it was the only time I felt strong and could escape from everything I was dealing with. The labels I was given in high school, effected me more than most people realized. While I was a whore because I ran in a sports bra and spandex, I was also a virgin afraid to end up like my mother who often slept with multiple men in a week. I was crazy because I took drugs, when I took Xanax mostly because of struggle with anxiety. These labels did not only effect me as the way I saw myself but also the way other saw me. I struggled to make friends because they saw me as someone I was not, before anyone really knew me. I was raped twice in high school by three boys, each one I had considered a friend. The words they spoke to me each after were so similar over the years they have blended together. I had already such little self respect by that point in my life that when they told me that It was my fault I believed them. They told me I had lead them on, I had purposely worked out in tight clothing, I had smiled at them, the only reason I had even been friends with them was because I wanted