The second-born of six children, I was raised by a single mother on the south side of Chicago. Although most of my core memories take place in Englewood, my family experienced homelessness and constantly moved across the city when a shelter had an opening. My siblings and I experienced extreme poverty and often had to steal food to have enough to eat. I watched my mother struggle to locate resources and navigate a system that was not built to serve the poor.

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Unfortunately, I spent many of my early years watching family members die from gun violence, and  I was only five years old the first time I saw a dead body lying in the streets. Due to a lack of opportunities, many of my family members sold drugs, and jail visits became common. I've witnessed more police raids than I can count, and I vividly remember the terror of huddling in the corner while men with guns and a badge tore apart our belongings, searching for evidence. 

 At age 12, my grandmother moved my family to Indiana in search of a better life. There, I learned the stigma associated with blackness, and the racism surrounding me at school catapulted me into activism.

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At 16, the summer before my senior year of high school, I moved out of my troubled home. My high school debate coach and his wife took me in. I remained there until college.