How Did I Become Me?
How Did I Become Me?
I didn’t wake up one day fully formed. I became myself through a thousand tiny moments—some loud, some quiet, some I didn’t even notice until years later. But the very first moment that shaped me wasn’t mine alone—it was shared.
I came into this world with Lonnie, my identical twin. We were a matched set from the start, but our beginning was anything but simple. We faced twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome before anyone had a name for it, let alone a treatment. There was no protocol, no textbook solution—just a local doctor with steady hands and a gut instinct that saved our lives. His skill, not science, gave us a chance. That moment—before memory, before breath—etched something deep into me: a sense of survival, of gratitude, and of connection that runs soul-deep.
Growing up with Lonnie wasn’t just having a brother—it was having a mirror, a partner, a co-conspirator. We finished each other’s sentences, swapped identities for pranks, and stood shoulder to shoulder through every storm. That bond taught me loyalty, empathy, and how to fight for someone else as fiercely as I fight for myself.
Grade school was a crucible for our twinship. We were often seen as a unit—"the twins"—and that label shaped how others treated us and how we saw ourselves. Teachers sometimes confused us, classmates expected us to be identical in every way, and we had to learn how to assert our individuality while honoring our bond. We developed our own strengths—Lonnie excelled in music; I gravitated toward storytelling—and we cheered each other on from opposite ends of the classroom.
There were moments of mischief, like switching seats to see if anyone would notice, and moments of solidarity, like defending each other from playground bullies. Grade school taught us how to navigate the world together and apart. It gave us the tools to be independent while staying connected, to be two people with one shared foundation.
I became myself through the places I’ve lived—the cramped apartment with the leaky faucet and the neighbor who played jazz at 2 a.m., the house where I painted the walls without asking permission. Through the music I’ve played too loud (especially that one summer when I thought I was going to be a DJ), the books I’ve dog-eared, and the late-night conversations that cracked something open inside me.
There were turning points. Like the time I stood up for myself in a room full of people who expected me to stay quiet. Or the moment I realized that being alone didn’t mean being lonely. I see the version of me that could’ve been, and I know the one I chose to become. And I’m still becoming. Every day adds a new layer, a new scar, a new strength. That is how "I Became Me." Z2
Comments