by Jeanette R. Harrison, MPH
I'm working on my next book, "Keep Walking, Keep Moving: How to Keep Going When Life Gets Hard." Friends and strangers alike compliment me on my strength, my resilience, my bravery, and my courage. They wonder how and why I do it. Because I feel like it's my only choice. It's not anger that fuels me. It's hope. It's the hope that I will reach the summit one day and see the beauty of the world around me.
I’ve spent my entire life pushing uphill—out of foster care, through college that I paid for myself, into jobs that barely paid the bills, and through homelessness that I had to claw my way out of. Five years later, I was getting my master's degree and sitting in the boardroom of a billion-dollar organization. I had to start my life over with next to nothing and no support during a global pandemic. I’ve never had a financial cushion. No real safety net. No backup plan. The plan I'm working on every day when I wake up is my only plan. And I’ve worked hard every step of the way. A frustrated friend asked recently, why didn't anyone support me?
 |
| I accidentally signed up for a challenging 5K my first year in Idaho. Great metaphor for the past five years. |
Let's be clear. There were a handful of people who reached out and helped. When I was adopted, there should’ve been more support—especially for college—but I didn’t see it. I worked three jobs to pay for school. I had a few scholarships, but they didn't even pay half my tuition. After graduation, I moved to New York with less than $50 in my pocket -- a stranger in a strange land. Only one person called to check to see how I was, and he lives here in Idaho. Fortunately, people in New York were very good to me. Even when I was homeless, I got a place to crash for a bit, but I still had to struggle to survive. I was told to do it myself, to pull myself up from my bootstraps, and to just go it alone in life. I was treated like a second-class citizen. And when I came to Idaho, instead of being welcomed, it was more of the same.
My family in Idaho spread lies: that I was lazy, that I’d never worked, that I was just taking advantage of people, and they told others not to help me. I suspect some men I went to college with joined in, so their female friends from college could feel superior to me. It wasn’t about helping me rise—it was about pushing me down and holding me down so I would stay there.
And the worst part? People tried to convince me—and others—that this cruelty was helpful. That denying me support was somehow good for me. But it wasn’t. It created more barriers and fewer opportunities. They weren’t trying to support me. They were trying to break me, like I was a wild horse, not a human being.
I was blamed for being kicked out of my own home after my ex made room for his girlfriend (now wife). Every time I was treated badly, I was the one blamed. I’ve been accused of trashing people simply for telling the truth. I’ve been dismissed and disrespected, over and over again. And when I finally asked for help, people told me to "just go on assistance." I wondered if that was the advice they would give their friends? Their family members? Anyone they actually cared about.
They told me I was a broken person, but I wasn't broken. I succeeded—not because of their harshness, but in spite of it. Because of people who saw my worth and lifted me up when others tried to push me into the dirt.
And now, I’m getting ready to publish my next book. I’m continuing to grow my business.
I’ve been recognized for what I do—and I’m not done yet.
Your support helps me keep climbing—step by step—and write not just my book, but a whole new chapter of my life.
Today, I woke up, put my shoes on, and went for a walk. Tomorrow, I will keep moving.
Because even after everything, I’m still here. I'm still climbing. And I'm determined to see all that this beautiful world has to offer me.
Thank you for reading. 💛
📌
Comments
Post a Comment