09/10/2026
CHAPTER ONE
A Childhood of Survival
Some stories begin with a dream. Mine begins with a little girl who needed someone to notice her.
I was born into a family of eleven children, and I was the last born. I grew up in a home that was also shared by my sisters’ children. Altogether, we were roughly fourteen children under one roof.
In a house filled with so many children, life was not easy. Everyone had to find a way to get through the day. Looking after yourself became part of growing up, even when you were still too young to understand what that really meant.
My mother was often away because of work, and one of my sisters helped look after us when we were young. I do not remember everything from my earliest years, but one of my clearest childhood memories begins when I was about four years old, starting creche.
At that age, a child should be excited about discovering the world. A child should be able to come home from school and find comfort, attention, and someone willing to listen to the small stories that seem so important in a little person’s life.
I wanted that attention.
I wanted someone to notice me, to ask me how my day had been, and to make me feel that I mattered. But my childhood did not always offer me those moments.
I would go to school, come back home, and find my own way around the house. There were many of us, and everyone seemed occupied with whatever they needed to do to survive the day. The days continued, and somehow, we all carried on.
Looking back, I understand that poverty affects more than what a family can afford. It can affect the time, attention, and emotional support that children receive. When a family is struggling to meet basic needs, some of the quieter needs of a child can go unnoticed.
I was little, and I did not have the words to explain what I was missing. I only knew that I wanted attention and that I was not always getting it.
I did not know then how much the circumstances of my childhood would shape the experiences that followed.
