My First Childhood Experience: The Beginning of My Journey

I was born in 1987 into a family that might have seemed normal from the outside — an ordinary working-class family.
But behind that front door, life wasn’t always easy. My parents worked hard, often exhausted from their demanding jobs, while my brother and I filled the house with the chaotic noise of childhood.

Because my parents were often absent, it was my grandparents who shaped my early years.
Their home became my refuge, a place of safety and unconditional love.
There, I learned my first lessons about patience, kindness, and caring for others.

At the age of six, I started school, like every child. But I soon noticed that I was different. I was easily distracted, often daydreaming, and had trouble sitting still. The term used for it was ADHD, but to me, it just felt like I didn’t quite fit into the world around me.
Being different often meant being unseen — an easy target for bullying. I became the kid who stood out without wanting to, the one who was the target of mockery and misunderstandings.

Fortunately, I found a friend who understood me. That friendship gave me breathing room — a moment of acceptance in a time full of uncertainty.
Still, the message lingered: “You don’t quite belong. Being yourself isn’t enough.”

Around the age of ten, as I grew and physically struggled with rapid changes, life seemed even heavier. Yet I found an unexpected way to give meaning to my days: I helped the younger children at school.
During recess, I looked after the kindergarteners, made sure they were safe, and ensured no one felt alone.

In that small, caring gesture, I found a sense of purpose. For the first time, I felt that I could matter in a world where I had often felt misunderstood and like an outsider.
It was the beginning of my journey — a journey of discovery, resilience, and slowly learning that being different can also be a strength.