The house became a series of invisible rules that were enforced by the mother’s gaze, a gaze that often fell elsewhere, distracted by the constant stream of dangers she imagined.

I AM. I AM. I AM. Project is a way of understanding who I am when no one else is in the room. The project is a personal excavation. A return to honesty after years of speaking in borrowed language.

I knew, eventually, that if I were to be true to myself, I had to see it through. Not because anyone was waiting, not because there was a promise of recognition or even understanding. Simply because the work needed to exist, even if its audience was only me.

Grief pressed in long before I had a name for it. It lived in quiet rooms and in shadows that lingered even when light broke through. It was relentless.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) stands as a haunting testament to the mind’s fragile architecture, a profound disruption where the normal rhythms of memory and time splinter beneath the crushing weight of trauma.

Mother’s Day is, without question, my most cherished day of the year. It is not the cards or the flowers that move me, but the invitation I’m given to reflect.

To appreciate the cultural and conceptual roots of Maizzey on a Mission, it is essential to revisit the true origin of Cinco de Mayo.

Sexual violence does not happen in a vacuum. It thrives in systems—both formal and informal—that permit, overlook, rationalize, and even reward abuse.