I had always been a fearful child.
Perhaps I can blame it on my three sisters who delighted in picking on me at any chance. Or perhaps I can blame it on my father who had often muttered, “I wish she had been a boy.” Could it have been my mother who would take any opportunity to hurt me whenever no one was watching? I still have those scars.
In any event, I carried that fear all my life. Always. It defined me.
Not until I took matters into my own hands.
The axe made me strong. Stronger than fear.