I didn’t grow up with a foundation of faith—at least not one that was lived out. My dad was raised Catholic and my mom Baptist, but church was never part of our life. There were no conversations about God, no guidance, no sense of spiritual direction. What I did experience was instability. Alcohol shaped much of our home, and with it came chaos, inconsistency, and a deep sense of lack.

As the oldest, I stepped into responsibility early. I worked for what I needed, tried to help care for my younger sister, and learned to rely on myself long before I should have had to. But underneath that independence was something deeper—I didn’t feel anchored anywhere. There was no place that truly felt like home.

Looking back, I can see it clearly now. It wasn’t just the absence of structure—it was the absence of identity. Without guidance, without truth, I was left to figure life out on my own. And when you don’t know who you are, you start searching for it in all the wrong places.