As a little girl, summer was always my favorite time of year. I was allowed to sleep in late and spend the days in our multigenerational home, doing all the things every little girl dreamed of doing.

In the morning, I would dress in clothes of my choosing, not the normal school uniform I was forced to wear. I would eat a big, hot breakfast at a large table, surrounded by the two women in my life who I aspired to be like. And oftentimes, my maternal grandfather, who spoke in broken English, switching from English to Czech mid-sentence, was there as well.

As a little girl, my family was everything.

My mother was love. It seeped from her pores, through her smile, and in the way she cared for everyone in our home, our family. She was a seamstress, an artist, a dreamer, and a builder. Our clothes, our furniture, our artwork, it was all things she saw and wanted until she looked at the price tag … right before walking away from the object of her liking.

She would spend hours hunting through thrift stores, consignment shops, estate and garage sales, until she saw something similar to what she hadn’t been able to buy. After that, she would spend days working away at her most recent project to make it nearly identical.

I asked her why she didn’t just buy them, and she told me that we couldn’t afford to buy them, but she could afford to make them. In all my eight-year-old wisdom, I told her that she should get a job like my friend Nikki’s mom. She simply said, “Co je doma, to se počítá,” which means, “It’s what’s at home that counts.”

I spent countless hours beside her, “helping” her create. I loved it … most of the time.

When I became uninterested with the project, I would drag Babička—grandmother in her native Czech language—outside with me. She used to watch as I ran through the trees covered in Spanish moss, laughing while yielding a sword, pretending to be a Viking warrior princess who fought sea monsters. In other words, swinging a wooden sword that my mother had made me for Christmas at the Spanish moss—the sea monsters. She would laugh and play along, living in the moment. Babička was everything good about life and laughter. So much laughter.

When Babička tired, I would make my way to the backyard where my grandfather, Dědeček, would be in the garden. He would immediately put me to work, pulling weeds or collecting the vegetables, herbs, and whatever fresh fruit was in season for the next day’s meals.

I valued my time with Dědeček and the many lessons he taught me. Even in his broken speech, I understood everything. I understood through his movements, his actions, and tender care to the garden. Dědeček showed me how hard work could literally feed a family of six.

My father, Evan, and older brother, Pace, would spend the summer days working at our family’s fishing charter company and marina thirty minutes away at Tybee Island. As much as I loved our home, my mother and grandparents, I longed to be with them on the open waters.

One evening, I asked him if I could go out with them the next day.

“Trust me; you don’t want any part of it,” Pace grumbled as he scrubbed his hands in the sink before dinner.

My father tossed his head back and let out a hearty laugh, clamping his hand on Pace’s shoulder. “Your brother’s right, Pea,” he used my nickname. “The Arnesen One is no place for a lady.”

I put my hands on my hips and declared, “I’m no lady. I’m a Viking warrior princess.”

Again, Dad’s head full of blond hair fell back as he laughed.

“I’m serious, Dad.” I tapped my foot so he could see just how serious I was.

He squatted down to my level. “A woman’s place is in her home, Pea.”

I jut my chin upward. “Then I want to be a boy.”

He gently turned my chin to face him. “And I want my warrior princess to be able to dream, create, build, laugh, and learn from everyone who surrounds her; so that one day, when she meets her warrior price, she can be the center of his world, the invisible glue that holds everything together.” He then leaned in and whispered a secret. “That’s where the true power is, Pea.”

I couldn’t help smiling at knowing that secret.

“You become that, and you’ll someday find a man deserving of all the wisdom and love you have absorbed your entire life. He’ll want nothing more than to work so you can still spend a good part of your day inside your beautiful mind, creating a place that the lucky man can build there forever.”

My father was wisdom.

Entering high school with my best friends, Nikki, Laney, and Melyssa, I was excited beyond belief, mostly because we were no longer forced to wear a uniform.

The very first day, the whispers started when I asked Nikki to borrow her cell phone so I could call my mom and ask if I could stay after.

Why the whispers? One, I had to borrow her phone, because I had none, which was a rarity. And two, I didn’t send a text, because no one in my home had a cell phone, except my father who only used his in emergencies to call my mom at our home number.

Laney pulled me away so I could “hear my mom.” But when one of my friends wasn’t around, I heard the whispers even louder. The whispers about my “bohemian style” clothes, my bag, my packed lunches, or how big I was in size, my hair—practically everything. Their whispers hurt. For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that our family’s differences may not be actual blessings.

When the more popular girls saw that, they were like vultures feeding on my insecurities, battering my self-esteem, and making me feel like there was in fact something wrong with me.

It was Nikki who observed this, and Nikki who mentioned Pace loudly enough that they heard his name.

Pace, my brother, a senior in our school, was also the star quarterback of our football team. He was six-foot-three, like our father, blond, tanned, and blue-eyed. He was the “All-American boy” that all the girls swooned over.

Soon the whispers stopped and I realized all those girls, the ones who were mean to me, were the same ones now being overly nice. They even tried to be my friend, which I knew had everything to do with the fact that they were interested in Pace romantically.

I didn’t let it affect me. I didn’t feed into their manipulations. I also didn’t retaliate.

The next school year, without Pace there, the vultures were back.

Luckily, I had the girls. I had also hit a growth spurt. I wasn’t insecure about my chubbiness when I stood at five-foot-ten. I laughed at the whispers. And when my friends weren’t around, I became the Viking warrior princess. Those bitches didn’t dare mess with me.

At five-foot-ten, I was able to carry off being a size fourteen. It didn’t mean I liked it, but it was what it was.

I made the decision that I would never turn my back on my family or what they considered blessings. My blessings would come in the form of the ability to have enough money to take care of those I loved while working to afford the things I wanted, and be a warrior princess … who wore the most exquisite heels.