Growing Up in Chaos: How Dysfunction Taught Me to Listen for Spirit’s Whispers

Now don’t get me wrong—my childhood was not the stuff of nightmares. I knew kids who endured far worse. My parents loved me, and I believe they did the best they could with what they had.

Compared to the trauma they themselves carried from their own childhoods, my early years probably looked like a trip to Disneyland.

There was always food on the table, a roof over our heads, and very little conflict shown directly to us kids. My parents didn’t hit each other, and aside from the occasional spanking, physical violence wasn’t present in our household. For that, I remain grateful.

But still—our home was not stable. Chaos lingered under the surface, shaping me in ways I wouldn’t fully understand until much later.

Carrying Responsibilities Too Young

From the time I can remember, I was responsible not only for myself but also for my younger siblings. My parents weren’t ready to be parents, and both carried wounds they hadn’t yet healed.

By age twelve, I was “hired” to watch my two younger brothers and baby sister while my parents worked. I earned just enough money that summer to buy my school clothes.

Looking back, it feels like a miracle we all survived.

I was a child myself, trying to parent children.

At fourteen, I started my first job outside the home—cleaning tables at the restaurant where my mom worked. During summers, I babysat during the week and worked weekends at the restaurant, clocking almost full-time hours before I was even old enough to drive.

That season marked the beginning of me being left to figure things out on my own.

A Home Built on Secrets and Contradictions

Finances were a constant source of stress. My dad was talented in construction but had a compulsion to spend. More than once, a financial cushion vanished seemingly overnight.

My mom, exhausted from working long hours as a waitress, would often share our financial struggles with me: “I don’t know how we’ll pay the power bill.”

I carried burdens no child should. Eventually, I had to set a boundary with my mom—that she stop sharing family finances with me.

Religion added another layer of tension. Though we weren’t active members of the Church of Latter-Day Saints, certain rules were strictly enforced: no swearing, no alcohol, no “inappropriate” music or television.

I internalized the belief that breaking these rules made me unworthy of love.

And yet—behind closed doors—my parents swore, drank, and smoked weed. Almost a decade after I left home, I discovered my dad had been an alcoholic all along.

That contradiction left me confused and distrustful. There was no honesty in our home, no healthy conflict, no transparency.

Instead, there was passive-aggressiveness, competition for affection, and the unspoken belief that love was conditional.

The Messages That Shaped Me

My dad often told me I could do anything I wanted. I believe he meant it. But encouragement usually came in the form of pointing out what I hadn’t achieved: Why was my B not an A? Why was an 80% not 100%?

Without realizing it, he reinforced the message that I wasn’t enough.

My mom, in her own way, did the same. Gifts often came with strings attached. Acts of kindness weren’t just gestures—they were debts to be repaid. I grew wary of receiving, knowing something would be expected in return.

Depending on the day, I grew up feeling like I was either too much—or not enough.

When I struggled, my mom’s advice was usually: “Get tough.” or “Suck it up.” Life had not been kind to her, and I think she wanted me to be resilient, to learn to stand on my own.

In some ways, that toughness served me well. But it also left me feeling unseen and alone in my struggles. Even now, I wrestle with asking for and accepting help.

Spirit’s Whisper in the Chaos

And yet—through all of this dysfunction—something remarkable was forming in me: a sensitivity.

Even as a child, I carried a deep inner knowing. A whisper that said: “This isn’t how love should look. This isn’t how a family should be.”

By twelve years old, I knew I didn’t want the kind of marriage my parents had. I longed for a home filled with honesty, openness, and joy.

I noticed how my brothers were pitted against each other and silently vowed not to repeat that pattern. I even wished my parents would divorce, because I could see how unhappy they were together.

Somehow, in the midst of chaos and mixed messages, Spirit was guiding me.

I couldn’t have named it that at the time, but looking back I see it clearly now: Spirit was already teaching me discernment. Showing me what I didn’t want, so I could move toward what I did.

The Gift Hidden in Dysfunction

Do I wish my childhood had been easier? Absolutely. But I can also see now how those years sharpened my intuition and shaped my calling.

Growing up in dysfunction taught me to notice the quiet whispers beneath the noise.

It taught me that even in unstable environments, there can be moments of clarity.

And it planted in me a deep knowing that love should never be conditional, manipulative, or earned—it should be free, honest, and whole.

Those lessons became the foundation of who I am today:

✨ A woman who listens deeply.

✨ A woman who trusts her inner knowing.

✨ A woman who helps others tune into the whispers of Spirit in their own lives.

✨ Takeaway

Even in the midst of chaos and instability, there are moments of clarity—whispers from Spirit that guide us toward a different way.

If you grew up in dysfunction, know this: the very sensitivity you developed to survive may also be the gift that leads you home to yourself.