I’ve spent many years in recovery—recovering from drug abuse, childhood trauma, anger issues, defensive rage, adulthood trauma, and more. I invested over 20 years in therapy and anger management classes. And while, at times, I may feel like one the most zen people, it still only takes a split second for those old patterns to resurface—the very ones I’ve fought so hard to overcome.
My childhood was marked by violence and chaos. Not a day went by without screaming, fighting, things being thrown, or physical abuse—and that was just inside my home. Outside, I faced the harsh reality of life in New York City, where chaos and danger were constant companions. By the time I was 15, I had attended over 100 funerals—friends lost to accidents, shootings, suicide, and murder. It’s no surprise that I spent most of my formative years on high alert.
As I grew older, I found myself repeating the same toxic patterns I had witnessed growing up. Physical abuse became familiar, emotional abuse was expected, and I came to see it all as normal. The toll it took on me was heavy—chronic anxiety, sleepless nights, and a constant sense of unease followed me everywhere. I never truly felt safe.
As a child, I would escape in my mind to California. To me, it symbolized everything I longed for—peace, possibility, and a fresh start. It was nearly 3,000 miles from New York City, my family, and the chaos that surrounded my life. That dream became my fuel. I was just a kid from a broken home in Brooklyn, a high school dropout with nothing but raw survival instincts and a burning desire to get out.
The funny thing about trying to escape the patterns of your past is that the harder you fight them, the easier it is to fall right back into them—often without even realizing it. No matter how much work I’ve done—years of therapy, meditation, deep self-reflection—certain triggers still have a power over me that feels impossible to control.
If someone threatens me physically, my instinct is immediate and overwhelming: FIGHT. And not just defend—I go into full-blown survival mode. I see red. I lose control. I’ll scream, throw things, lash out with a rage so blinding it feels like I’m watching myself from the outside, completely detached but unable to stop it. It’s terrifying. It’s humiliating. And despite all the progress I’ve made in nearly 50 years, this one reaction continues to haunt me.
I’m not proud of it—far from it. I’ve spent decades trying to unlearn this response. But in those moments, it doesn’t feel like a choice. That whole “if you come at me, be ready for the storm” mentality has only ever left me depleted—emotionally wrecked, physically sick for days, and sleepless for weeks. It’s a cycle I desperately want to break, but some scars run deep.
That’s not to say I lose control often—because I don’t. Most of the time, I can take a deep breath, recognize what’s happening, and remove myself from the situation before it escalates. Verbal disagreements? I can handle those. But the second someone raises a hand to me or even hints at physical harm, it’s like a switch flips. I see red.
Part of me believes, in certain situations, that reaction might actually protect me. That “Hulk smash” instinct might serve a purpose when real danger is present. If someone sees that I’m willing to go to a level they’re not prepared for, they usually back off. But what happens when they don’t?
Now, at the age of 50, the last thing I want is chaos, drama, violence, or conflict. I crave peace. I want to be surrounded by people who love me, who protect me—not just physically, but emotionally. People who safeguard my heart, my sanity, and my spirit. People who lift me up rather than tear me down.
I want to make better choices than the ones my mother made. I want to be stronger than I once was. And I want to be fearless in walking away from anyone who proves they are not safe for me—no matter who they are. I’m done trying to earn love, approval, or acceptance. I’m not here to please anyone anymore.
I just want peace.
Emotional regulation is a life skill I was never taught as a child. My examples were far from ideal. Yes, I had strong women around me, but I also witnessed things no child ever should. Those memories don’t just fade—they linger. And even now, recognizing when something is wrong doesn’t always mean I feel capable of changing it.
Much of this, I’ve learned, is just part of the hard lessons life hands us. Still, I can’t help but wish I had understood some of these truths sooner. If I could sit down with my younger self, this is what I’d tell her:
“Gloria, you are worth so much more than this. You can’t change people. You can’t control anything but YOU—and you especially can’t control anyone else. What you can control is your attitude, your perspective, and how you respond to the world around you.
Life will be so much easier if you learn this at 20 instead of 50. Don’t waste your time trying to fix or save people. Accept them for who they are. If someone brings you peace, protects your energy, and helps you grow—keep them close. But if they show you who they are, believe them, and walk away. Immediately. No second chances.
Also, don’t smoke. Don’t drink too much. Start working out in your twenties and stick with it—it’ll save you mentally as much as physically. And for the love of God, save your money. Stop giving it away to everyone who asks. You’re going to need it, kid.”
With Love, G
As I write this—sitting in the beautiful dining room of my home in California—I feel deeply grateful. But I’ve learned that gratitude and self-reflection aren’t the same. They’re both hard-won, often born out of seasons when gratitude feels out of reach and self-reflection feels too painful to face.
What I know now is this: never give up. Life is far too short. Always look inward. Always commit to your growth. And remember—protecting your peace isn’t selfish or harsh. It’s essential. You cannot clearly care for others, pursue your dreams, or navigate life with intention unless you first learn to love yourself.
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