Something happened to me in that church on that island. A key turned in a chamber deep within my heart, a chamber that I didn’t even know existed, let alone had reinforced with heat-treated steel and mortise locksets. I cried for my nephew, not knowing that I was crying for myself, for the little girl inside of me. People always tell me that I’m strong, but I’m not. I’m tough, and used to doing things my own way, but I’m not strong. I never had anyone teach me how to be strong. The strength people see when they look at me is only a mask. I’ve worn it for years, but it’s finally worn-out. All it took was someone to see through its cracks to the insecurities below; someone who told me it was okay to
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