It was scary as a child because I felt there was nobody to relate to. Everyone had perfect lives in their perfect homes while my family continued to perfect the art of barely getting by. There was an invisible pressure that strung us together, which knotted right at the belly. When one person felt empty, so did the other, though hearty smiles and mindfully bright conversation gave us the will and the strength to continue moving forward together and often masked the face of uncertainty. Overcoming adversity was the way of life; it was all we knew.

As an adult, I see that there is no such thing as perfect. That a “perfect house” can be an empty home or no home at all. I see that often people mistake perfection with privilege. I know that at least I did. Life wasn’t unfair; the circumstances were just different. The rules of “the game” were all the same but weighed heavily in favor of Uncle Sam’s offspring. And they still do to this very second.

I know now that there’s an entire world I can relate to. That there are other dandelions growing through the concrete that tried to keep them from becoming the sun. I’ve experienced the perfect home in a place with no house at all. Overcoming adversity is still the way of life, but what’s changed is where the string had been strung. No longer bound through the belly, but through the heart filling any emptiness felt with rejuvenating life and the universal power of love.