When I was in first grade, my parents divorced after constant fights and my father’s infidelity. Soon after, I was raised by a stepmother whose jealousy I had to carry alone—jealousy toward a father who only thought of himself. So, I never learned how to be a mother from my own. Since childhood, I constantly read the room, stayed quiet to feel safe, avoided looking too close to my dad in fear of triggering jealousy. Love was conditional. Tears were something to be hidden. By third grade, I un...

When I was in first grade, my parents divorced after constant fights and my father’s infidelity. Soon after, I was raised by a stepmother whose jealousy I had to carry alone—jealousy toward a father who only thought of himself. So, I never learned how to be a mother from my own. Since childhood, I constantly read the room, stayed quiet to feel safe, avoided looking too close to my dad in fear of triggering jealousy. Love was conditional. Tears were something to be hidden. By third grade, I un...