When They Didn’t Show Up, I Built It Anyway

There have been so many closed doors in my life, I could build a castle out of them.

It’s not that I didn’t want to work with others—I did. Desperately. I sought them out. I auditioned, applied, networked, chased. I tried to become thinner, sexier, more beautiful, smarter, more talented—because every time I reached for a role, a job, a project, there was some excuse about why I wasn’t “the right fit.”

Eventually, I had enough.

I stopped trying to fit.

I stopped caring what other people think of me.

Their judgment, their jealousy, their silence—that’s their problem, not mine.

And let me be brutally honest:

On paper, by American standards, I don’t have anything that screams envy. I don’t have a job—because I refused to be emotionally and verbally abused. I live in my parents’ basement. I have no savings, no retirement, and barely enough to cover next month’s expenses. If I didn’t live here, I probably wouldn’t have food. I had to file for bankruptcy—so no, I don’t even have credit. Just grit. Just heart. Just this stubborn refusal to give up. I have C-PTSD from a lifetime of trauma. From trying too hard. Loving too deeply. Giving too much. Just to feel wanted, seen, appreciated.

I’ve been shamed for my body, called “obese” by medical charts. And yet—I’ve grown to love my body. To appreciate the softness, the curves, the way it holds me through the storm. No, I don’t look like the beauty standard—but this body has carried me through hell and back. That deserves honor, not shame. I get migraines too—like 70% of the population.

Some days, the pain screams louder than the world. But I still get up. Even when the grief strangles my throat. Even when my hands shake from anxiety. Even when I feel like the world has forgotten me. I Keep Going.

When I paid for help, they disappeared.

When I asked for support, I was mocked or ignored.

When I tried to build with others, they bailed.

So I stopped begging. I stopped explaining.

I just learned how to do everything myself.

And now, as I sit here today—waiting for yet another interview that’s been hyped as if I’m one of only a thousand “lucky” people to get a chance—I’m exhausted. I know deep down it’s probably just more smoke and mirrors. Another gatekeeper trying to make themselves feel powerful. Another dangling carrot of false hope dressed up as a “rare opportunity.” And honestly? I’m thinking about canceling. Because I’ve done the work. I’ve been doing the work. I’ve invested thousands of hours, dollars, tears, dreams.

I’ve poured into myself and I’ve poured into other people—hoping someone, anyone, would pour back. And after everything, only a few truly have.

My parents.

My boyfriend.

Two friends I’d call family.

And God.

They’ve shown up for me—consistently, quietly, without applause—when no one else did.

So what now?

I build anyway.

I write. I speak. I create. I heal. I live.

Not because it’s easy. Not because I feel ready. But because I know one thing for sure:

If no one shows up for me—I’ll show up for myself.

Every single day.

And if you’ve ever felt this too—unseen, unsupported, unworthy—just know: you are not alone. Maybe we’re not meant to be part of their story. Maybe we’re here to write our own.

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