First Stop: Disrespect Boulevard
This stop on Disrespect Boulevard marks the beginning of a slow, destructive journey shaped by rebellion, pain, and unchecked emotions.
Have you ever heard the saying, “There’s levels to this”?
Because let me tell you rock bottom isn’t a single drop. It’s layered. It’s progressive. It’s sneaky. You don’t wake up one morning and say, “Today feels like a great day to ruin my life.” No. It’s more like a slow, reckless road trip with bad directions, no GPS, and a whole lot of wrong turns you swear you’ll fix later.
For me, it started the moment I inserted the keys of rebellion into my mind’s ignition.
And just like that I was on GO.
No brakes. No seatbelt. No thought about consequences. I wasn’t thinking about my future, my family, or where this road was leading. I was just moving. Running. Reacting. And before I even realized what was happening, I took my very first turn onto Disrespect Boulevard population. Disrespect Boulevard wasn’t just a road—it was a mindset that slowly reshaped how I spoke, reacted, and treated people.
That road didn’t start with violence or crime. It started with attitude. With mouth. With defiance. With a deep, unhealed pain that didn’t know how to speak, so it screamed instead.
How Rebellion Found Its Fuel on Disrespect Boulevard
Disrespect became my fuel.
I disrespected teachers, authority figures, family members anyone who wasn’t my parents, really. Not because they deserved it, but because it made me feel powerful. Seen. In control.
And let me be clear that rebellion engine? It was LOUD.
I thought if I stayed angry enough, nobody could hurt me again. If I stayed disrespectful enough, nobody could abandon me. What I didn’t realize was that I was slowly burning every bridge I might need later.
But to understand how I got there, you need the backstory.
The Backstory: Amazon Prime Delivery Gone Wrong
I’m the youngest of my mother’s four kids the oopsie child, as I lovingly call myself. You know the one. The “surprise!” baby. The package nobody was tracking until it arrived.
My parents separated when I was about two. The reason I went with my dad? Biology. I was the only one who was actually his. So he packed me up and took me with him.
And before anyone jumps to conclusions no, they weren’t married. No, he didn’t abandon my siblings. They just weren’t his biologically, but they were part of the relationship package when he and my mom were together. Then a year later boom I arrived like an Amazon Prime delivery nobody ordered.
Oops.
From Stability to Chaos Overnight
Life with my dad was structured. Calm. Predictable.
Life with my mom? Loud. Chaotic. Survival-based.
There was no transition period. No easing in. Just an abrupt switch from stability to disorder. One day I had routines and consistency. The next day, I had noise, tension, and uncertainty.
My mom worked constantly. She was trying. I know that now. But back then, all I saw was absence. I went from having a present parent to feeling like I had to figure things out on my own.
I resented my dad for sending me away.
I resented my mom for not having time.
And somewhere deep inside, I resented myself for existing.
In my child-sized brain, I thought, “If I wasn’t here, maybe things would be easier.”
That thought alone can break a kid.
Enter: My Sister, the Reluctant Parent
Since my mom was always working, someone had to step up.
That someone was my sister, Treasure P.
She didn’t volunteer. She didn’t apply. She didn’t get paid. She just got assigned.
And if you know my sister, you know forcing her into responsibility was like lighting a fuse. Meanwhile, I was not exactly cooperative. I was hurt, angry, and emotionally feral.
She tried to correct me. I resisted.
She tried to discipline me. I snapped.
She tried to guide me. I disrespected her.
Because in my mind?
“You’re not my mom.”
Fight Night in the Living Room
That phrase started wars.
Arguments escalated fast. Words turned sharp. Objects became projectiles. Every disagreement felt like a battle for dominance, respect, and survival.
And once I learned how to hold my own? Oh, it was over.
Especially with my brother. Everything was a fight. Dishes. Food. Space. Tone. Breathing too loud. Existing in my direction.
Conflict became normal. Peace felt foreign.
We were blood-related strangers sharing trauma under one roof. And nobody taught us how to process any of it.
The First Branch: Toxicity
From rebellion grew toxicity.
Fast.
Like an invasive species, it spread into every part of my personality. I was toxic to my family. Toxic to myself. Toxic to anyone who tried to love me.
I wore anger like armor.
I wore disrespect like a badge.
I thought I was protecting myself, but really, I was isolating myself.
Unresolved trauma doesn’t stay quiet. It mutates. It becomes destructive if you don’t face it.
And I didn’t face it.
The Seed That Started It All
Being separated from my father at such a young age planted the seed of my trauma. That moment rewired how I understood love.
I learned incorrectly that love was conditional.
That I was disposable.
That attachment led to abandonment.
Kids don’t have language for pain like that. So instead of saying, “I’m scared and hurt,” I acted out.
Nobody taught me emotional regulation. Nobody modeled healthy communication. So I became the “problem child.”
And once people label you as the problem, you start living up to it.
Learn More About: Childhood Trauma & Behavior
The Levels to This
So how does someone end up where I am now?
Level 1: Disrespect
Talking back. Ignoring rules. Challenging authority.
Level 2: Toxicity
Pushing people away. Burning bridges. Self-sabotage.
Level 3: Deviance
(We’ll get there.)
It’s not one decision. It’s thousands. Every time you choose anger over communication. Ego over accountability. Numbing over healing.
The Reality Check
This is where accountability matters.
I’m not making excuses. I’m providing context.
Yes, I experienced trauma.
Yes, I felt abandoned.
But I also made choices. Bad ones.
I hurt people. I crossed lines. I ignored warnings. And eventually, those choices caught up with me.
That’s the truth. And I own it.
The Growth Journey
But here’s the part that matters most: I’m growing.
I’m learning how to communicate instead of explode.
How to feel without lashing out.
How to take responsibility without drowning in shame.
I’m learning that forgiveness especially self-forgiveness is necessary for healing.
And most importantly, I’m learning how to break generational cycles for my children.
What’s Next?
This was just Stop 1.
Next up: Deviance Road.
Because disrespect doesn’t stay small it escalates.
But redemption? That escalates too.
Final Thoughts
Your past shapes you but it doesn’t own you.
Leaving Disrespect Boulevard requires awareness, responsibility, and the courage to choose growth over familiarity.
The path to destruction is built on small, unchecked decisions.
The path to redemption is built on accountability, awareness, and courage.
And I’m choosing the second one.
Stay tuned, empresses.
Read More: 7 Lessons Prison Taught Me About Being Enough Without Applause
