Do you have memories from before you were five years old?
I have a few, and through meditation, I’ve come to realize what they really are: a reminder of the steady, loving foundation that has always been a part of my story. They offer me a safe harbor to pause and endure the warmth for a little while. Those early memories act as an emotional sanctuary—a place where I didn't have to carry any weight, manage any complexities, or keep multiple plates spinning in the air.
When life gets heavy or emotionally overwhelming, we naturally think back to a time when things felt easier, happier, and less chaotic. Think about it: as an adult, how often do you catch yourself thinking, what would it be like to be a kid again? For me, I have to go all the way back to preschool age.
My stepfather was an anchor for me back then. I remember watching NASCAR with him and stepping on his back, and I still have my very first pair of baby walker shoes. I remember loading up in Suburban and driving to Deltona for the races while Mom made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with that swirl of both in one container. I don't remember the actual races because that’s not what made me happy; it was the trip itself and being together. I remember him taking me to buy a "special life vest" and tubes for a boat day, even if I’ve lost the memory of the actual day on the water.
I remember him taking me to work with him and playing with my stepbrothers, Andrew and Daniel. I still how Daniel used to chase me with lizards, and the exact memory of the last time I saw them as kids.
I remember being repeatedly asked if my step father was ever inappropriate with me, even being forced to go to a therapist. I remember the gifts my grandmother would give me after each session. And even though the therapist concluded nothing happened, I was still asked repeatedly if something ever happened—all because I had been riding a metal tractor, my foot slipped, I hit my private area on the bar, and I was red. I remember my stepmom "checking" me. I'm not sure what finally made the questions stop; perhaps it was his death.
He passed away next to my mom in their bed, inside my house. One thing God saved me from was not being there that weekend. I remember exactly how my stepfather looked in his coffin.
Grief is hard, and that was a monumental loss for me. Life without him was something I wouldn't wish on any child.
So when I return to those memories from before five... they remain the last true glimpses of a safe, happy child. Now, don't get me wrong, I have plenty of other great childhood memories. But after the age of five, I lived in fight-or-flight, and rarely did I ever feel like things were stable.