🌿 Part 1: Heartfelt Introduction – “Dear Reader…”
If you’ve ever felt broken, abandoned, overlooked, or like you were born into a story you didn’t choose… I see you.
My name is Megon, and I’ve survived more than I’ve ever spoken out loud. I was a foster child in a home that taught me fear instead of love. I lost my father at 2 years old and found myself shuffled through group homes, abuse, silence, and survival.
But this is not just a story about pain—this is a story about power. About finding the light in the darkest corners. About reclaiming the pieces of myself that were buried, broken, or forgotten.
And it’s also about love. Fierce love—for my children, for my lost sister Rebecca, for the girl I used to be… and for the woman I’ve become.
✨ Part 2: “Here’s what you’re not ready for…”
I’m writing a book that’s equal parts memoir and miracle. It’s called My Angel: The Girl Who Survived Everything.
In it, I’ll tell you:
What it’s like to beg to stay in juvenile hall because it was safer than home
How I mothered my little sister when I was still a child myself—and the heartbreak of losing her to addiction
What really happened behind closed doors in a world that silenced girls like me
The vivid dream that changed everything—and what it told me about my future
And how I found my voice, my faith, and a new beginning, through grief, grit, and grace
This book is not polished or pretty. It’s raw, real, and redemptive. And it will shake loose something in your soul, because it’s not just my story. It’s for anyone who’s ever had to build a life from the rubble.
“I was never meant to just survive. I was born to rise—and to tell the story no one else could.”
💬 Closer: Invitation to the Journey
I’ll be sharing behind-the-scenes writing moments, lessons I’ve learned along the way, and pieces of my heart here.
If you’ve ever felt like no one would believe your story—or care enough to hear it—this blog is your proof that you matter.
We’re writing this together, even if your pen is still trembling.
Love always,
Megon
The Day I stopped Believing in Safety
There are moments that split a life into two parts: before it happened, and after you stopped being a child.
For me, that moment came in silence. A room I couldn’t run from. A look I’ll never forget. A fear I swallowed so deep, it became part of my DNA. I won’t give every detail—not yet. But I will say this: I remember asking if I could stay in juvenile hall longer. Not because I’d done something wrong, but because it was the only place that felt safe.
Can you imagine that? A child begging to stay locked up because it felt better than home.
That moment hardened me. I didn’t cry the same way anymore. I didn’t trust the way other girls trusted. And I stopped asking for help, because help never came without a price.
But here’s the thing:
I made it. Not without scars. Not without stories. But I made it.
And that little girl who begged for safety? She’s the reason I’m writing this book.
Why I’m Writing This Now
For a long time, I buried my story. I got really good at pretending it didn’t still live inside me.
But you can only outrun your truth for so long before it starts calling you back—soft at first, then louder, until it echoes in everything you do.
I lost my sister, Rebecca, in November of 2023.
She was wild and free, with eyes that had seen too much and a heart that loved hard. She was the only one who really knew what we went through.
Losing her shattered something in me—but it also opened something sacred.
It was like I could hear her saying, “Tell them. Don’t let it be for nothing.”
Not long after, I had a dream I’ll never forget.
I was climbing stairs to the 9th floor of a building, exhausted, struggling—until I realized there was an elevator the whole time.
It hit me like lightning: I’ve spent my whole life struggling through things that were never mine to carry.
That dream told me, It’s time.
Time to stop surviving. Time to start surrendering.
Time to share the story I’ve been holding in my bones for decades.
I’m writing this now because there’s no more waiting.
My voice used to shake. Now it rises.
This book, this blog, this truth—it’s not just for me anymore. It’s for everybody who thought they’d never be more than what happened to them.
But we are. And I’m going to prove it.
The Girl I’m Writing For
I’m writing this for the girl who kept quiet when she should’ve screamed.
For the one who learned how to fold herself small to survive.
For the girl who cried into her pillow and prayed someone would come.
I’m writing this for her—because she was me.
A letter to little Megon
I see you, baby girl. I remember you.
You were brave when no one noticed. Strong when no one said thank you.
You carried secrets too heavy for your tiny hands. And even when your world felt cold, you held on to love like it was a spark in the dark.
I’m so sorry you had to grow up that way.
But I promise—we made it.
“I’m writing this book for the girl I used to be—and for every soul still waiting to be rescued by their own voice.”
I’m also writing this for you, dear reader.
If you’ve ever felt unseen, unworthy, or like your story would never matter—this book is your proof that you’re still here for a reason.
You’re not broken. You’re becoming.
And maybe, just maybe, your story is the medicine someone else needs too.
So stay with me.
There’s more coming.
And every word I write, I write with you in mind.