Disrespect Blvd – By Phoenix Rising
Hey empresses, I feel like we’ve gotten quite acquainted over these posts, but you guys still don’t know who “Phoenix Rising” really is or where she came from. I wasn’t always this wise bird dropping gems of wisdom like I’m Oprah’s spiritually woke cousin. No, ma’am. I was the one who gems were being made for—the cautionary tale your mama warned you about.
In all reality, I led myself down the path of destruction. Not my mother. Not my father. Not my siblings. Not even my friends. Crazy, right? Most people love to blame their surroundings for their poor decisions, but I promised to be as transparent as a Windex mirror. So hey, it is what it is. Nobody forced me to make the majority of the unwise decisions that I made. Phoenix chose to. Phoenix thought she was grown. Phoenix learned the hard way.
This is going to be a very bumpy ride, so get ready, buttercups. Buckle up. Put your tray tables in the upright position. We’re about to take a trip down memory lane, and trust me—it’s not the scenic route.
First Stop: Disrespect BLVD
Let’s go ahead and address the elephant in the room the question I know you’re all thinking:
How does a 26-year-old mom of two end up incarcerated?
Easy answer: I leveled up to it.
Have you guys ever heard the saying “There’s levels to this”? Well, there are multiple levels to reaching rock bottom. It’s not like you wake up one day and decide, “You know what? Today’s the day I make a life-altering mistake!” No. It’s a journey. A terrible, poorly planned, self-destructive journey with no GPS and a lot of wrong turns.
For me, it started with inserting the keys of rebellion into my mind’s ignition. Just like that, I was on GO. I wasn’t thinking about consequences. I wasn’t thinking about my future. I was just… going. And before I knew it, I took the first turn onto Disrespect Boulevard—population: angry teenage Phoenix.
I started disrespecting everyone who wasn’t my parents because that was the fuel that kept my rebellion engine running. And let me tell you, that engine was loud.
The Backstory: Amazon Prime Delivery Gone Wrong
To understand how I ended up on Disrespect BLVD, you need to know where I came from. So let me paint you a picture.
I’m the youngest of my mother’s four kids—the oopsie child, as I like to call myself. You know, the “surprise” baby that shows up when everyone thought the family was complete. My mom and dad separated when I was about two years old. The decision for me to go live with my dad came because I was the only one out of the bunch that was biologically his, so he packed me up and took me with him.
Before you start making assumptions—no, they weren’t married. And my dad never had to question if the other three were his. They weren’t. But they were part of the package deal when he and my mom got together. Then a year later, I was delivered by a stork working for Amazon Prime. Hence, oopsie child.
Now that we have that cleared up, we can resume.
From Stability to Chaos
I went from a loving, constant, structured upbringing with my dad to a loud, chaotic neighborhood in my new hometown with my mom. It was like going from Disney World to survival mode overnight. No transition period. No adjustment time. Just boom—welcome to your new reality, kid.
Mom was always at work, trying to make ends meet and providing as best as she could. But I didn’t see it like that. Of course not, because I was used to my dad working a 9-5 job, having weekends off, taking me to the park—you know, parental activities. Quality time. Structure. Routine.
So yes, I held resentment toward him for sending me away, and I also resented my mom because I thought my presence was a burden. In my little kid brain, I thought, “If I wasn’t born, maybe they’d still be together. Maybe I wouldn’t be here feeling like I don’t belong.”
Enter: My Sister, The Reluctant Parent
With Mom gone all the time, someone had to be the adult, right? Guess who it was?
Oh no, no, no—not me. I was too busy in the corner throwing emotional tantrums like a professional toddler with anger management issues.
My sister, Treasure P, got put in the game. She didn’t say “put me in, coach,” but she sure enough got put in anyway. And if you knew my sister, the easiest way to upset her is to force her to do something she doesn’t want to do. So imagine having to look after stubborn siblings while dealing with your own high school and teenage challenges?
Poor Treasure P. She didn’t sign up for this.
Fight Night in the Living Room
We would constantly bump heads because she felt like whatever she said was going to fly just because she was older than me. Well, news flash for you, buddy: “You’re not my mom.”
And let me tell you—she might not have been my mom, but she sure enough disciplined me like she was.
When I started saying disrespectful things like that? Oh. My. God. That’s when arguments escalated quickly. Heated words would fly. Along with whatever we could get our hands on becoming ammunition in our sibling rivalry.
Every day, it felt like conflict was inevitable in our home. They thought because I was the baby that I wasn’t going to stand my ground. Wrong. Granted, I did lose a few battles because my suburban upbringing didn’t exactly prepare me for intense sibling conflicts. But once I learned how to hold my own? That was it. Game over.
Especially when it came to my brother—we clashed constantly. Dishes in the sink? Argument. Somebody ate my leftovers? Argument. Someone looked at me wrong? You guessed it—argument.
So here I was, in constant conflict with the people who were supposed to love and protect me. Mind you, I still didn’t even really know these people I was living with. We were strangers bonded by blood but separated by circumstance. Ridiculous, I know. But that was my reality.
The First Branch: Toxicity
Toxicity. That was the first branch that sprouted from my rebellion tree. And let me tell you, it grew fast. Like a weed. Like an invasive plant you can’t get rid of. Unstoppable and destructive.
I became toxic in every sense of the word. Toxic to my family. Toxic to myself. Toxic to anyone who tried to get close to me. I wore my anger like armor and my disrespect like a badge of honor. I thought I was protecting myself, but really, I was just pushing everyone away.
I didn’t trust anyone. How could I? I felt abandoned by my dad, like a burden to my mom, and at war with my siblings. In my mind, everyone was the enemy. Everyone was out to hurt me. So I hurt them first.
That’s the thing about unresolved trauma—it doesn’t just sit quietly in the corner. It grows. It festers. It turns into something ugly and destructive. And if you don’t deal with it? It deals with you.
The Seed That Started It All
Being separated from my father and sent to live with my mom at a young age was a drastic change of events for me. That was the seed that planted all of my trauma. That was the moment my little brain decided that love was conditional, that I wasn’t wanted, that I was too much or not enough—probably both at the same time.
Kids don’t have the emotional vocabulary to process big feelings. So instead of saying, “I feel hurt and confused and scared,” I acted out and lashed out. Not healthy. Definitely not recommended. But it’s what I knew.
And here’s the kicker: nobody taught me how to deal with those feelings. Nobody sat me down and said, “Hey, I know this is hard, and it’s okay to feel angry. But let’s talk about it instead of escalating conflicts.”
So I did what I knew how to do: I acted out. I rebelled. I disrespected authority. I became the problem child. The one teachers rolled their eyes at. The one family members whispered about at gatherings. “That girl is going to end up in trouble,” they’d say. And guess what? They were right.
The Levels to This
So back to the original question: How does someone end up where I am?
Level 1:
Disrespect. You start small. Talking back. Breaking curfew. Little acts of rebellion that feel empowering in the moment but are really just cries for help.
Level 2:
Toxicity. You push people away. You build walls so high that nobody can get in, but you’re also trapped inside with your own pain.
Level 3:
(Stay tuned, because we’re getting there.)
The point is, it’s not one big decision. It’s a thousand little ones. It’s every time you choose anger over communication. Every time you choose rebellion over accountability. Every time you choose to numb the pain instead of facing it.
I made those choices. Not my parents. Not my siblings. Not society. Me. Phoenix. The girl who thought she was invincible and untouchable and too smart to ever end up where she is now.
The Reality Check
Here’s what I want you to understand: I’m not making excuses. I’m giving you context. There’s a difference.
I had a traumatic childhood? Yes. I felt abandoned and unloved? Absolutely. But at the end of the day, I still made choices. Poor ones. Ones that hurt people. Ones that led me down a path I never thought I’d be on.
And that’s the hard part about accountability—you have to own your stuff. You have to say, “Yeah, I went through some things, but I also did some things.” Both can be true at the same time.
I was a hurt kid who turned into a destructive teenager who turned into a reckless adult who made a terrible, life-altering mistake. That’s my story. That’s my truth. And I’m owning every part of it.
The Growth Journey
But here’s the beautiful part of this story: I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m becoming the person I was always meant to be.
Every day, I work on breaking those patterns. I’m learning healthy communication. I’m learning to process my emotions instead of weaponizing them. I’m learning that accountability isn’t about beating yourself up—it’s about acknowledging the truth so you can do better.
I’m learning that my past doesn’t have to dictate my future. That my mistakes don’t define my worth. That redemption is possible when you’re willing to do the hard work.
I’m learning to forgive—myself, my parents, my siblings, everyone who played a role in my story. Because holding onto resentment is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to get sick.
Most importantly, I’m learning that being a mother means breaking generational cycles. It means giving my kids what I didn’t have: emotional tools, healthy communication, and unconditional love that doesn’t feel conditional.
What’s Next?
So now you know how Phoenix ended up on Disrespect BLVD. But that’s just the first stop on this wild, bumpy, regret-filled journey.
Next up? Deviance Road. Because once you’ve mastered disrespect, the natural progression is to level up to full-blown defiance and poor decision-making. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get better before it gets worse.
But here’s what I can promise you: the story doesn’t end in darkness. It ends with a woman who learned, who grew, who transformed her pain into purpose.
Final Thoughts
Before I wrap this up, let me leave you with this:
Your past doesn’t define you, but it does shape you.
I’m not proud of where I came from or the choices I made. But I’m also not running from them anymore. I’m owning my story—the good, the bad, and the absolutely foolish. Because that’s the only way to grow. That’s the only way to break the cycle. That’s the only way to become the person you were always meant to be.
The path to destruction is paved with small choices that seem insignificant in the moment. But the path to redemption? That’s paved with accountability, self-awareness, and the courage to change.
So stay tuned, emprsses.
Part 2:
Deviance Road is coming soon. And trust me, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. But at least we’re being honest about the journey, right?
Until next time stay strong, stay wise, and for the love of everything good, learn from my mistakes so you don’t have to make them yourself.
— Phoenix Rising
Former Resident of Disrespect BLVD, Current Student of Life’s Hardest Lessons
P.S. — If you’re currently on Disrespect BLVD, get off at the next exit. Trust me. It only gets worse from here. But more importantly, know that there’s always an exit. There’s always a chance to turn around. Take it.