Becoming Me

"The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.” - Coco Chanel

It’s taken me 37 years to get here. Not to a perfect life, but to a place where I finally feel like I’m walking toward my authentic self. I’ve learned that many people go through life without truly knowing who they are — and I refuse to be one of them.

This hasn’t been an easy journey. It’s been layered with pain, loss, reinvention, and self-discovery. But today, I’m sharing my truth without fear, because no one else can tell my story but me.

Roots in Chaos

I grew up in instability. My father, brilliant and loving in his best moments, battled bipolar disorder, alcohol addiction, and the physical consequences of both. My mother was a gifted artist, but emotionally distant, shaped by her own trauma. They did the best they could, but the reality is — my childhood was marked by emotional neglect and dysfunction.

By the age of seven, I had already experienced harm from a stranger. At fifteen, I faced betrayal from within my own family. Violence and tension were constant as my father’s health worsened, leading to my parents’ separation.

Growing up in Haiti added another layer: the pressure of a close-knit society where judgment was swift and unforgiving. At school, I was “too white” and “too poor.” On the streets, I was “too privileged” because of my skin. Racism, bullying, and class prejudice shaped my teenage years, and I coped by acting out — my choices fueled by guilt, shame, and fear.

A Nomad’s Life

If that wasn’t enough instability, my life was constantly uprooted. Thirteen country moves. Thirty-four homes. Swings from comfort to scarcity, riches to rags. I adapted everywhere, to everything — but I also carried the anxiety, OCD, and deep-rooted unease that came from never truly having a home.

Travel is part of my soul. I’ve visited over 40 countries. But I now understand that it wasn’t the traveling that hurt me — it was the never settling. That constant uprooting became a cycle I had to break once I became a mother.

Career & Motherhood

Despite the chaos, I built a career as an international business executive. But for over a decade, I worked in toxic environments, navigating egos, narcissism, and unethical leadership.

Motherhood brought new trials: three miscarriages and a stillbirth before finally holding my first living child. Infertility was devastating, and the lack of answers was worse. By the time I was pregnant again, I knew I needed therapy to survive another potential loss. My son’s birth was — and remains — a miracle to me.

The Turning Point

Therapy helped me piece together my past. I learned that without unconditional love in childhood, I had no real sense of self. I had lived as a chameleon, adapting to everyone else’s needs, denying my own, and believing I wasn’t worthy of love.

This isn’t a sob story. It’s a story of awareness. It took decades to confront my shame, guilt, and fear. To accept my flaws and my history without letting them define my future. Becoming your true self is a constant work in progress — but now I have the tools.

Who I Am Now

Today, I reject the false labels that were put on me. I am not “too much,” “too little,” “too white,” “too poor,” “too emotional,” “too talkative,” “too difficult.”

I am multicultural, polyglot, self-taught, and multi-talented. I’m hypersensitive and opinionated. I value equality, creativity, empathy, and truth. I’m a mother who loves fiercely, a partner committed to breaking generational cycles, a creative entrepreneur with passions ranging from art to writing, dance to interior design.

I still love travel — but I want roots. I dream of a forever home that my children, and their children, will always return to.

Why I’m Sharing This

Identity is complex, and healing is lifelong. My past shaped me, but it doesn’t control me. I want to live unapologetically, as long as I cause no harm. I want my voice to matter — to help others who are navigating trauma, identity loss, or the exhausting task of starting over again and again.

If my story resonates with even one person who feels unseen, unheard, or unworthy, then sharing it was worth it.

I am Sarah. I am enough. And I’m finally living for myself.

Sarah the Digital GypSea

United Kingdom, June 2020