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The Path To A Profession

             I"ll never forget the night my mother, sister, and I left my father. After years of emotional abuse at the hands of my father, we finally packed up our things and ran away in the middle of the night. We ended up at Ms. Donna's house, a good friend of my mothers. I remember lying on her couch bed later that night thinking, "Was this real?" I couldn't believe that we had finally gotten out. I felt like my life had turned into an after school special. My whole body was paralyzed. Everything around me was a blur. For a moment, I was the only thing that existed and I lay that way in Ms. Donna's couch bed the whole night. .
             After the dust of that first night had settled, we found an apartment off of Government Street. It was nothing compared to the big house I was used to. I remember the first time I set foot into the 3-bedroom apartment. I felt like I was in an empty dollhouse. No matter how much furniture we put in there, it was always empty to me. Every time I walked on the hard wood floors, I would tiptoe like a child afraid of getting caught awake after bedtime. I don't know why I did this. I guess maybe I was afraid that if anyone heard me walking around, I would realize that this wasn't a dream. It was always cold there and not once in the two years we lived there did it feel like home. It was rough being in a single-parent household. My father didn't pay child support or help us with any of the bills so the burden fell on my mother. My father stayed in our house, constantly throwing dinner parties and going on vacations with his friends. The three of us would often argue over the last package of Ramon noodles, insisting that the other two eat them. When my parents finally decided they wanted to make their marriage work. They decided to drag my sister and I to family therapy. My decision to become a Psychologist was cemented during this time period. Once a week, we would assemble in Dr.

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