The truth about trauma

Warning: Very personal information ahead

This week, I learned that a friend, Jessica Spector, whom I have known since I was about six lost her father. Her brother, Tony, passed during the pandemic. This is a family that has been incredibly kind to me as long as I have known them. Jessica texted me a story that I never heard before. When I was about 12, a girl we went to school with was at their house and was overheard prank calling someone. That someone was me. When Dr. Spector heard this, he kicked the girl out of the house and made her go home.

I was very unpopular when I was growing up. My parents were divorcing (that was weird). My dad was raising me (that was weird). I lived in an upper-class area and had almost no clothing because neither parent thought clothing me was their responsibility (that was very weird). I was pale (that was weird). I spent the summer before I started grade school in Iceland (that was weird). Everything about me shouted, “this person is different.” As a consequence, I was teased mercilessly and I felt invisible and worthless.

The Spectors didn’t see me that way. Tony said, “I always knew Alyson was beautiful. Now other people see it.” He remains one of my favorite people in the world. Even when I didn’t think I had any value, these people did.