🐏 From Black Sheep to GOAT: My Unapologetic Evolution

There’s always one in the family.

The “too much” one. The “won’t let things go” one. The one who doesn’t follow the unspoken rules of how we’re supposed to act, feel, or stay quiet.

That’s me. The black sheep.

For a while, I didn’t know why. I thought maybe it was because I joined the military—took a different path, wore a uniform, left home, and came back changed. Then I figured maybe it was the divorce—no one in my immediate family had ever been divorced before. I broke the mold. (Nathan followed soon after. Trendsetter, I guess.)

But it’s not just about big life choices. It’s not the divorce. Not the duty station. Not the tattoos or the trauma. It’s that I refuse to shrink myself to keep the peace. I don’t fake smiles at the table. I don’t say “yes sir” when I’m disrespected. I don’t believe in blind loyalty, and I don’t believe respect should be handed out like party favors just because someone’s older.

I believe energy matches energy.

If you come at me sideways, expect to get corrected—no matter your title, age, or relation.

There’s this generational thing, especially in Southern families, where you’re just supposed to “respect your elders.” But respect, to me, isn’t an automatic gift. It’s a mutual exchange. And if you’ve never respected me as a human being? Don’t expect me to praise your pedestal.

Maybe that makes me a problem. Or maybe that just makes me honest.

Here’s the truth I’ve learned: black sheep aren’t born. We’re made. Made from moments where we were told to sit down, stay small, be quiet. Moments when we chose truth over comfort. When we chose healing over hiding.

I’ve been through things I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Domestic violence. Sexual assault. Years where I used pills to numb the pain, because pretending everything was fine felt easier than admitting it wasn’t. Weekends spent drinking myself into oblivion just to quiet the noise. I wasn't living—I was escaping.

But that chapter? It’s over.

Now? I go to therapy. I sit across from someone and actually say the things I swore I’d never tell anyone. I take mood stabilizers—yes, antipsychotics—because the chemical chaos in my brain doesn’t get to win anymore. Call it crazy if you want, but managing your mental health is one of the most sane things a person can do. Healing isn’t always a crystal and a bubble bath. Sometimes it’s tears in a beige room and little blue pills that keep you steady when the ground starts to shake.

It took me a long time to stop seeing treatment as weakness. But now? Now I see it for what it really is: survival with structure. Strength with strategy.

I used to struggle with criticism. Now, I just check the source. If you haven’t walked in shoes like mine—and let’s be real, most wouldn’t last a mile—you don’t get to define me. I’m not for you to judge, fix, or save.

And I don’t need saving. I take care of myself to a point where I’ll never need anyone. I accept help sometimes, yes. But I don’t beg for handouts.

I’ve built a life where I can stand on my own—even when it’s lonely. Even when I feel misunderstood.

Because the miles I’ve walked? Most wouldn’t make it out the other side. But I did.

That’s not to say my pain is worse than anyone else’s—it’s just mine. And I carry it like armor now, not baggage.

So back to the question I keep hearing:Do black sheep become GOATs?

Maybe.

I’m not trying to be anyone’s “greatest of all time.” I’m just trying to be real. Unapologetic. Healing out loud, living without shame, and building a life I don’t have to escape from.

If that makes me the black sheep—then I’ll own it.

I’ll wear the wool.I’ll walk alone.And I’ll still arrive stronger than anyone expected.