It is very early in the morning and once again, I have seen a beautiful sunrise with a man who is not my husband. And as if this man is not enough, I share myself with several. Men who have seen me look my worst, in the filthiest conditions and in the most precarious situations. I attempt to maintain my femininity while drowning in testosterone. It’s like putting lipstick on a hog. I am knee-deep in human filth, blood, and carnage and I am thinking of my hair, but distractions like these are only little snippets in the scheme of my life. Time and life’s little surprises always put me back on track.

Twenty-one years ago, fresh out of high school and still under the rule of my parents, I chose education to be my pathway. I was young, vivacious, and knew that knowledge was power and with the support of my father achieved a graduate degree in criminal justice. Sixteen years ago, I put the road to my doctoral education on hold, deviated from my path, chose the road to motherhood, and began a family. My husband and I did what every young couple does: build dreams and houses. A yard for the kids to play in and a place for us to grow old in meant everything. Eleven years ago, I put my family on hold and found a career—Crime Scene Investigations—definitely a hard way to earn a living. I struggled with my independence and grew apart from  …