Unwanted But Still Here

I didn’t know my childhood was different until I saw something that didn’t fit my version of normal.

I was just a kid, looking out the window, when I saw my neighbors walking hand in hand. They looked happy. Comfortable. Safe with each other. I froze.

They were laughing, touching, smiling. And I remember thinking, wait… aren’t married people supposed to hate each other?

Because in my house, that’s what I knew. Hatred. Coldness. Silence that didn’t soothe, it smothered. And sometimes, it wasn’t silent at all. Sometimes it was yelling. Sometimes it was fists. Sometimes… it was worse.

“I should’ve aborted you.”

That’s what my mother said to me.

Not in a screaming match. Not in some heat-of-the-moment argument. Just flat. Cold. Like it was a fact. Like she meant it. And I believe she did.

If you’ve never had a parent say something like that, I hope you never do. It doesn’t just hurt. It rewires something in you. It teaches you not to trust love. It makes you question every good thing that comes your way.

I didn’t grow up feeling safe. I didn’t grow up feeling wanted. I just grew up trying not to make things worse.

The Boy Everyone Knew, But No One Saw

The worst part wasn’t the secrets. It was the stuff that wasn’t secret at all.

Everyone in the neighborhood knew my mom had a boyfriend who came around when my dad was working. Everyone. Other kids, other parents, probably even my father.

I carried that shame like it had my name stitched into it. Like it was mine to own. I didn’t even fully understand what was happening, I just knew it made me feel small. And dirty. And embarrassed to exist.

The Only Place I Could Breathe

I went to a private school about 30 minutes away. Nobody from my neighborhood went there, and that was on purpose.

It wasn’t a warm or healing place, but it was quiet. I could disappear there. No one knew what my house looked like. No one asked questions. No one looked at me with that pity stare I hated so much.

It was the only place I didn’t have to explain myself.

What I’d Tell That Kid Today

If I could sit beside that younger version of me, the one who kept his head down, who felt like a mistake before he even understood what life was, I’d tell him this:

It’s not you. It never was. The pain you feel isn’t your fault. These people around you are drowning in their own mess. You didn’t cause it. You couldn’t fix it. But you will grow past it. And you’ll use that pain to build something beautiful.

You Might See Yourself in This

Maybe your story doesn’t look exactly like mine, but maybe it feels like it.

Maybe you’ve been made to feel unwanted. Maybe someone told you, directly or indirectly, that you were a burden. Maybe you’ve carried around shame that was never yours in the first place.

If that’s you, I want to tell you something simple but powerful: you are not broken.

You are not too sensitive. You are not weak. You are someone who learned to survive in an environment that didn’t give you what you needed.

And you’re still here. Which means you have the chance to break the cycle. To be the safe space you never had. To speak truth into silence, whether for yourself or someone else who needs it.

This is why stories like ours matter. This is why The Red Coat Line exists.

Why I Built The Red Coat Line

I built this for the kid I used to be. The one who needed someone to listen without flinching. Someone who could say..

“I’ve been there. I understand.”

This isn’t just a project. It’s a hand reaching back through time and pain to say:

“You're not alone anymore.”

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🌐 Visit: www.theredcoatline.org
🎙️ Podcast coming soon