When I was nine, my teacher asked us to draw a family tree. I depicted my mother and my grandmother, but when the other kids realized I barely knew my dad and made fun of me, I felt a deep sense of shame and isolation, as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. This feeling lingered with me every time someone mentioned the fact throughout my childhood. Despite this, I was fortunate to have a strong, hardworking mother who (attempted) to instill valuable lessons in me. My grandmother was also present and enriched my life with her words and delicious homemade meals. For a significant part of my early years, I managed to overlook my father’s absence. As I matured, however, this absence became harder to ignore, leading me to ask myself and my family. This feeling was magnified whenever someone commented on my lack of a father and when I saw other kids go to fun places with both of their parents. After years of no communication, I met my father and a few relatives on his side. While it was interesting and nice to talk to my dad again, I still had a nagging feeling in my head. During that period, my father had also suggested that he and I could hang out more over the weekends. I thought that was a nice idea and said yes. As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, I realized that he wasn't going to call. One night, I heard my mother talking to a close friend about a few text messages she had sent to my father concerning the topic of his absence. From what I heard and what she had told me herself, he just stopped responding after a while despite the statements and questions my mother directed toward him. This year, they both had a meeting involving his missed time, so they decided to have another one. When my mother came back, she said that my father had asked about me and how I was doing. She had also said she thought that I should have a private phone call with him and tell him how I felt about his absence. I haven't as of right now. Besides that, I often cried 4 days in a row because of the bullying that I had experienced from my mother and peers at school, from words like, "You're always useless!" to sexual assault, I often felt and felt as if I was useless. I knew my mom most likely meant the best for me but it still hurt. Up until this point, it made my head start hurting whenever I woke up to go to school, and when I realized it was almost time to go home I knew people would yell and hit me no matter what. Until I read a self-improvement book. At first, I thought it was one of those, "Follow my advice, be positive all the time and success is guaranteed and if not, you're hopeless" kind of self-improvement books. But it wasn't. Long story short, within a matter of weeks my grades improved and my self-esteem was much higher. In conclusion, my upbringing in a single-parent household was not perfect. However, I was blessed with having an aggressively verbal but diligent mother, and with effort, I managed to deal with the circumstances that I was and still going through.