Continuous Life Story

I was born in Wisconsin to a very close family. I remember when I was a toddler, all three of my siblings (an oldest sister, Megan, two middle brothers, Christopher, the older of the two, and Austin) and myself (the youngest) slept in the same room because we all loved spending time together (with the exception of me and my older brother, who were both too stubborn to admit we liked each other until I was well into my teens). My family has always been incredibly creative – we love Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and essentially anything involving dragons, wizards, and fantasy. Megan was always writing creative stories. She would always sit outside in the silence of the forest and write. I always admired that peacefulness she had.

As we all got older, we all developed our love for fantasy in different ways. Megan continued to write fantasy stories, Christopher got involved in video games, and Austin found fantasy books. I followed in my sister’s footsteps and started creating my own stories. Now, my parents, during all of this, are trying to usher four very different children (all of which have stubbornness issues) into the world. They took the perspective of involving themselves in what we were doing to show support – they started playing Christopher’s video games with him, they asked Austin about his books, and they read whatever Megan and I gave them.

My father has a calm demeanor about him. I have always gone to him for anything I could possibly need. When my family moved to Florida, I got heavily into dance. From the ages of 8 to 18, I would dance six days a week. Both of my parents supported me endlessly, but my father took it to the next level by getting involved himself. I was a professional tap dancer for my last couple years of dance, and he went with me to every performance – even the ones across the state or in different states entirely. He even became a member of the company – he has always played the drums, and he became our drummer. Every time I was at home and would practice, he would bring out his snare drum and drum along with my tapping, pausing to ask me questions: “Is this extra sound supposed to be there?”, “I think you may have been a touch early here”, and so on.

This level of involvement is something my parents have always shown us children. It taught us that no interest is stupid. My father and I both got into making chain mail pieces; he got into it because I did. Christopher just graduated from school to become a mechanic, and every time he works on his car, my dad is out in the garage with him. No matter what we do, whether it be reading a new book (which Austin is constantly doing) or rebuilding a car, my parents are endlessly proud of us. My father even called me when he and Austin were travelling one time to brag about how fast he finished a book – “Emily, Austin just finished a thousand-page book in less than six hours!”

This level of pride and support has continued into our college years. I am constantly bouncing ideas off my parents, and they are always offering to help with homework assignments or projects. As I continue into the professional world, they will continue to support me as much as possible. This makes me excited to see what the future holds.

Discontinuous Life Story

I had an amazing family – my home life was never something I had to worry about. However, when it came to life outside of my home and family, I was pummeled psychologically. I danced throughout my childhood, and I quickly realized how invisible I was. I had a habit of hiding while at dance: in cubbies, behind curtains, or in the bathroom. I learned that I would never amount to anything – I was not exceptional at dance (back then, at least), I was quiet, I was ordinary. Ordinary people don’t make an impact; they fade slowly from existence while no one realizes what is going on until it is too late. Now, let me make this clear – these thoughts started when I was nine years old. That is far too young to have epiphanies like that.

My family has always had a deep love for fantasy, and my sister was heavily into writing her own stories. I saw the peace that gave her, and I wanted that peace. So, I started writing my own stories. They were not very good, but they allowed me to immerse myself in a world where I was extraordinary. Memorable. This continued for a couple years – my image of myself got worse, and my desire to become someone else became a need. I threw myself into my writing as though that could erase me from the world. Then, my family moved to Florida, which meant that I switched dance studios.

Now, if I could use expletives in this assignment, I would have many choice words to say about the instructor who proceeded to destroy me. It was at this point that my life began to change. Everyone in that dance studio was being abused by this man, and I realized that because I would never be extraordinary in real life, I should help other people be extraordinary. No one in the studio had any support – from peers, instructors, or even family members. So, I became that person. I quickly became known as the girl that was always smiling. I refused to ignore when my friends would start crying because of our abuse. I got in trouble many times from the instructor for not minding my own business, but I was determined to be the one person in that building who genuinely cared for everyone.

During this time, my stories matured, and I realized that when I was writing, I was not erasing myself like I thought when I was younger. I was creating different versions of myself. My writing became empowering, and the passion began to bleed through the pages into my real life. I started to heal myself through the creation of my stories. Every perfect character I wrote about, I looked for the piece of myself. I found that piece every single time; every story I wrote, every character I created to be better than me, was really certain versions of myself.

But then my instructor did his final attack on me, and it took me down. I quit dance and proceeded to have a horrible mental breakdown, which led to multiple medications, diagnoses, and changes in my life. I went through a very dark time, and the interesting thing is that during this time, I worked on a new story. I wrote 80 pages in one month and never looked at it again. I still have not been able to look at that story – not because it wasn’t good, but because it reflected the darkest time of my life.

Life Stories Reflection

While looking back on my life stories, it shocked me how my life stories involved mental struggles. While writing the continuous life story, I found that I needed to focus more on the results of the struggles, as opposed to how the struggles led to them. Therefore, I found the continuous life story to be almost shallow, in a way. I say this because the continuous life story seemed to paint a picturesque view of a life that has been quite messy at times. I needed to focus less on the journey, and more on the results. I find that this is the perspective most journal entries regarding famous people take or the social media pages of popular influencers. They tend to paint a perfect image, and I know that most people can come to resent the “perfect” image they put on social media.

Because of my personal struggles with the ups and downs and life, I much prefer the discontinuous story. It shows more depth than the continuous story. I also generally write more of a discontinuous story when I write. For example, for the essay needed to apply to HPU, we needed to write about an event that shaped us. I chose a topic heavily mentioned in my discontinuous story – Luis Abella. He was a very abusive instructor of mine; his abuse was so extreme that it led to a diagnosis of PTSD. For my essay, I wrote about this one statement he once said to me – “You can never be good at everything.” I remember he told me that because he wanted me to choose between ballet or tap as which one to become proficient in. I remember looking at him and thinking to myself, “Oh yeah? Bet.” I stayed in dance as long as I did to prove him wrong. I eventually did, but in the process, I had let go of my passion. This is what I wrote about – how important it is that you do not lose your passion. My father, who is a doctor, had a patient who was a retired editor of journal articles, and he showed this patient my essay. After reading it, the man handed my essay to my father and said, “This could get your daughter into Stanford.” That is one of my proudest moments, and I did that through a discontinuous story.

I composed both of these stories in a retrospective manner for one major reason – my life is still ongoing. I am still learning how to work with the cards I have been dealt in life, and I am still learning how my struggles have changed me. Just during the last year, I developed strong aversions to loud sounds. I am still figuring out how to exist peacefully with that. So, it is difficult to take a prospective approach when I have no idea what I will be like one year from now. I hope I will be a better and stronger individual than I am today, but I do not know what will happen. I could have never foreseen all the mental struggles I have had, but I also could have never foreseen how I have grown.