From France to America: a Journey of Strength

Chapter 1: The First Job

My two brothers and I had a beautiful childhood back in 1990. Our parents didn't have much money, but they always found a way to make our lives special. We went on vacations, participated in sports, and enjoyed a happy life in a small town in Brittany, Northwest France, where my parents built our home with their own hands.*

I realized from a young age how fortunate I was. My mom always wanted to have a girl, and when she was pregnant with me, the doctor told her there were risks. She was put on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy to ensure everything would be fine. As the youngest and only girl among two boys, I was always a daddy's girl. Whenever I asked for something, if my parents could make it happen, they would. And even when they couldn't, they often found a way to make it happen just for me. I had a wonderful childhood, surrounded by love.

My mom came from a big family, with many brothers and just one sister, so we were part of a large, lively family filled with cousins. Growing up was a lot of fun, especially during holidays when we all gathered to enjoy each other's company.
My grandparents on my mom's side were amazing, though unfortunately, I didn't get to know my grandpa very well. I was quite young when he passed away, so I didn't have the chance to form many memories with him. I've heard he was a loving father and a wonderful grandfather. Although I didn't know him personally, I know he lived a good life, and he and my grandmother were deeply in love with each other.

My grandma was incredible. She raised ten children in a small house in central France. They didn't have much, but the house was always full of love. I admired her strength, especially when she came to help take care of us while my mom recovered from knee surgery. It was during that time I truly understood what my mom had always said about her. Grandma was funny and full of life. I'll never forget when I gave her my sixth-grade photo; my hair was a mess, but she looked at it and said I looked beautiful. She tucked the photo into her wallet and said, "Now, I'll always have you with me." I wish I had truly understood the depth of those words at the time.

My dad's family, on the other hand, was a very different story. They didn't seem to get along very well, though I didn't see much of it since I was quite young at the time. What I do know is that, despite the tension between the adults, the cousins have always loved each other deeply, and that bond remains strong to this day. This family conflict never really affected me directly. However, my grandmother on my dad's side, although a kind person, could often say things that were quite harsh. Some people were able to handle her bluntness, but others found it difficult, which led to hurt feelings and frequent drama. But she will always be my grandma, and I'll always have respect for her because of that.

Despite all that, the relationship between the cousins remained strong, and we've stayed connected and close over the years. Everything was wonderful until I reached sixth grade. This is when things began to change for me.

Back in 2003, I started being bullied because of my hair. My curls were so unruly that I struggled to keep them straight, and more often than not, my hair ended up looking like a cauliflower. That's what they called me at school. When I think about it now, it makes me laugh, but not back then. It was tough, but I had good friends who helped me through that difficult time. Eventually, the teasing stopped, and I was able to move on, focusing on my studies and earning my diploma.

Early on, I knew I had a passion: pastry and bakery. My uncle, who owned a bakery in North Central France, was my inspiration. During holidays, my family would visit him, and my parents would help out in the bakery.
Now, let me share a bit about the bakery that was so significant to me. Imagine walking into a bakery, the air filled with the rich, mouthwatering scents of freshly baked bread, pastries, and croissants.

The vibrant colors of cakes and candies catch your eye, creating a feast for the senses. In France, we're renowned for our bakeries, and there's something magical about them.
But behind the scenes, in the bustling kitchen, is where the real magic happens. The pastry department, the chocolate section, and the bread-making area all work in harmony.