It was strange that my family taught me about conditional love. If I did what they wanted and believed what they thought I should believe, I was loved. Being of a curious mind, however, did not warrant such conformity. So once I reached high school, I began to question everything. From our political standings to our religious beliefs, nothing was safe from my endless probing and dissecting. This was, in the eyes of my father, a sign of rebellion that must be remedied with tough love.
It didn’t take long for my rebellion to reap its rewards with a strong dose of tough love from my father during my junior year of high school. I was soon disowned and tossed out on my fanny after an intense discussion about a boy I had chosen to date. Homeless, I soon found refuge at a school friend’s house where her parents were gracious enough to let me stay with them for a spell.
Over the next few months, I kept to my routine of attending school, working part-time, and hanging out with friends. Up to this point in my life, I had been a very good little girl, despite the contrary beliefs of my parents. I had decent grades; I never smoked, did drugs, or drank. I was still a virgin and attended church regularly. Good little girl or not, I found myself to be the black sheep in the family. I had grown a tough skin for survival over the years, but I was not prepared for what came next in my life.
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