A Quote by Tecia Torres

I grew up inside a broken home. — © Tecia Torres
I grew up inside a broken home.

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I grew up in a broken home. My dad was out of the home when I was five years old. I never knew him very well.
I grew up in a broken home.
I grew up in a little bit of a broken home.
She wants to go home, but nobody's home. That's why she lies, broken inside. With no place to go, no place to go, to dry her eyes, broken inside.
I grew up in a broken home, working class. My paternal grandmother raised me and my brother; my father was with us, and my mother lived in Jersey.
I grew up in a mobile home, but it wasn't like white trash - it was a beautiful mobile home park, I had a loving mother, there were kids everywhere, there was a playground in the center, I just grew up in poverty.
I grew up sort of lower working class. And I just didn't want to have the money struggles that my parents had. You know, I could just - as loving an environment I grew up in - and I grew up in a great home, a very loving home - but, you know, we had that stress. We had that stress in our life.
I'm not the only kid who grew up this way, surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones, as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called, and we got called them all. So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us, that we'd be lonely forever, that we'd never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their toolshed. So broken heartstrings bled the blues, and we tried to empty ourselves so we'd feel nothing. Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone...
I grew up in a remarkable home, the middle of seven children. My parents raised us well. They loved us well. We laughed hard growing up. But being the middle child, I couldn't figure out where I fit in the home, whether I was the youngest of the older three or the oldest of the younger three. When you don't know where you fit inside the home and you're young and you're desperate to fit in somewhere, I'd figured where I would fit outside the home. So I made some bad decisions about who I hung out with, I dropped out of high school, got kicked out of the house.
Brothers Bunk Beds! That's how we grew up. We grew up in a small house, a ranch style home, with three bedrooms and one bath.
Let me tell you something: You can live in a broken home, you can play with a broken toy, but you cannot love with a broken heart.
Australia is my birth home, so it will always be a home of some sort. But I'm very happy, very pleased to be representing Great Britain. That is my home, and that is where my heart is. That is where I grew up, essentially. So when people ask me where I'm from, where is home, that's where it is.
Broken bottles, broken plates, broken switches, broken gates. Broken dishes, broken parts, streets are filled with broken hearts.
I grew up in the 'hood around prostitutes, drug dealers, killers, and gangbangers, but I also grew up juxtaposed: On the doorknob outside of our apartment, there was blood from some guy who got shot; but inside, there was National Geographic magazines and encyclopedias and a little library bookshelf situation.
I was very much a child of the 1960s. I protested the Vietnam War and grew up in a fairly politicized home. My father was like a cross between William Kunstler and Zorba the Greek. I grew up among left-wing lawyers.
I grew up in a very loving but very broken family, and I suppose that's why I'm drawn to telling stories about well-intentioned people who are doing their best - but are not always successful - in figuring out how to maneuver through this complicated, bumpy and broken world.
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