Breaking Free From My Past
Against all odds, I’ve overcome many life changing obstacles and made it to this point. My journey has been shaped by agony, tears, doubt, and pain, all driven by relentless hustle and determination. I’m Denay Sky, born on December 17th, 2000, in San Antonio, Texas. I’m a licensed manicurist and a multi-passionate entrepreneur, building my empire, 4DAYZE. Above all, I’m a proud mother of two.
This is my truth. It’s not meant to make anyone feel any type of way, but rather to offer a view of my life from my eyes. I am going to highlight some major turning points in my life to teach some important lessons I learned early on, lessons that helped me become the person I am today.
Growing up with absent parents and a complicated family dynamic, I faced abandonment issues, low self-esteem, and struggles with anxiety, trust, and emotional growth. My mother was more of a holiday figure, and my father was completely absent, leaving me with a constant sense of loss and isolation.
Their absence taught me the kind of parent I never wanted to be, and showed me how important it is for my children’s fathers to be present in their lives. Despite these challenges, my grandparents taught me the value of hard work, ambition, and self-reliance, which helped shape me into the fearless, determined woman I am today.
I grew up in a Presbyterian church, but I struggled to believe in God. Faith was something that was forced on me, and with all I was going through—especially growing up without my parents—I couldn’t connect to it. From the moment I was born, I lived with my great-grandma, grandma (my mother’s mom), ‘step’ grandpa, siblings, and whoever else they took in along the way. My childhood is mostly a blur, clouded by emotional overload and the stress of it all.
The Cast Of My Chaos
My great-grandma was strong-willed, brutally honest, always giving, and independent, yet dismissive. She held the family together until she passed. RIP G MA
My ‘step’ grandpa, with his old-school wisdom, taught me the value of hard work, discipline, and dependability. He showed me what it truly means to provide for those you care about, all while maintaining a laid-back, nonchalant demeanor. He taught me that blood isn’t thicker than water. He never switched up on me, and despite the ultimatums, he was always there for me. He’s done everything he could to help me succeed, and even though we’re not biologically related, that’s my dad.
My grandma is a paradox—both deeply caring and ruthlessly cold. She shaped me into a woman who is ambitious, fearless, compassionate, and, when necessary, unyielding. She also struggles with obsessive-compulsive disorder, depression, and bipolar disorder, which added complexity to our relationship. She’s also always volunteering at church, giving back to the community, helping out at the food bank, and distributing food. She basically a neighborhood daycare with all the kids she watches and is always helping whenever she can. Her purpose in life is to nurture and take care of the family. Even though sometimes she’s challenging to tolerate, she’s important in everyone’s lives. Holding the family together.
My mom, my “older sister,” always thought life was a joke when I was growing up. Back then, she was a stripper, and we were exposed to a lot at a young age when we went to visit her. By the time we stopped spending the night at her place, it was clear her lifestyle was taking a toll on us. I remember going to school exhausted from staying up all night taking care of my siblings while she did her own thing. It got to the point where the school started calling my grandma, and after that, we weren’t allowed to stay over anymore. My grandma don’t play about phone calls from the school.
My mom has always chosen men over us. Her priorities were completely out of order, and it showed in her decisions. I’ll never forget when she left her apartment in her name to go live with a guy who didn’t even put her on his lease. He eventually kicked her out, and she ended up living in her car. That car got repossessed, and she found herself homeless and on drugs, living on Vance Jackson and I-10 under the bridge or with my pedo uncle.
I do believe my mom has a story to tell about how she ended up this way, and I’m sure it’s filled with pain and struggles I may not fully understand. But from my point of view, she was someone who was cool to hang out with, not a role model or someone I wanted to be like. She’s the reason I hold onto my morals so tightly and refuse to sell my body for profit. Her choices showed me the kind of woman I never wanted to become, and that’s why I’m so committed to living with integrity and building my life on my own terms. While I can acknowledge her humanity and the hardships she’s faced, she’s never been the example I wanted to follow.
I’m the oldest of three, and my brother and I share the same father. I’ve always taken on the role of the mother figure, always by my grandma’s side—whatever she needed, whenever she needed it. I’ve been there, 10 toes down. But I’ve also always been the type to say, “I don’t need anybody. I got me. 1DEEP.” I’m the person who won’t hesitate to cut someone off when needed. I’ve proven I can do it on my own, so everybody falls in line. My presence is a blessing, and I refuse to surround myself with people who don’t respect me. I wasn’t always this way—I used to shut down, keeping quiet instead of speaking up. But then I realized, how do you expect people to know how you feel or change if you don’t say something?
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that once my grandparents are gone, I’ll have only my siblings. That’s why it’s important to me to address things as they happen, rather than pushing them aside and pretending everything is fine. I want to ensure that my grandparents experience pure bliss in their later years and that my brother and sister are on the right path to creating good lives for themselves. Growing up, we were looked down upon. As a unit, we were seen as “my mom’s children”—and people expected us to let our circumstances define us. But I refuse to let that happen. I know better, and I’m determined to change the narrative for myself and my family.
My sister, the middle child, has ADHD and depression. We didn’t grow up close—we strongly disliked each other. Things started to shift when I got kicked out, and we began spending more time together after she also got kicked out and lived with me. I let her stay with me, encouraged her to pursue her education, and helped her with some favors. However, over time, I realized that I have friends who truly show up for me, who are more solid and reliable than she has been. While I’ll always be there for her if I’m the last one standing, I’m no longer in the front row because I’ve learned to prioritize myself and my peace.
It hurts me when I’m down bad, and she’s nowhere to be found. But when she needed help or encouragement, i was there for her. Whenever she called, I would pull up—whenever she had a problem, I had a problem. I’ve always been there for her without hesitation. But now, I’ve learned that I can’t keep pouring into someone who isn’t willing to pour back when it counts. I’m not going to stay in a one-sided relationship where the support only flows in one direction. I deserve mutual respect, and I’ve realized I need to prioritize my own well-being first.
My brother is the youngest, my ride or die. We were incredibly close growing up, but now he’s lost and trying to find himself. He is now in college, working, and figuring life out. He got it the easiest and has always been the favorite. He has a good head on his shoulders and a bright future ahead of him.
All three of us are doing something amazing for ourselves, and I couldn’t be more proud of the life we have ahead of us. I ask God every day to allow my grandma and grandpa to watch us and see the success we’ve worked so hard to achieve.
The Weight Of Us
After I turned 12, everyone started isolating. We don’t really know each other on a deep level.
We stopped eating dinner together, and the house was filled with constant yelling, negativity, and an overwhelming sense of unhappiness. Everything felt forced. In middle school, I immersed myself in sports just to stay at school longer. By the time I was 16, I got a job at Taco Cabana, working after school, overnight shifts, weekends, and overtime—all for $7.50 an hour—just to escape home.
Our household handled issues by pretending they didn’t exist. There was no healing or space for hearing each other’s feelings—it was all about authority and moving on as if nothing ever happened.
To understand my mindset and what I had to walk away from, I want to share that I isolated myself and locked myself away. Even though I had a family, it was broken, and I always felt mentally alone. I’m grateful to my grandma and grandpa for providing financially, but the truth is, they were broken too. They carry unhealed trauma that they never dealt with, and that pain was passed down to my mom. If you ask me, I believe it’s part of the reason my uncle joined the military and moved away. Both of my grandma’s children left the house at a young age, and it’s because my grandma is a strong, “my way or the highway” woman—rightfully so. It’s her world, and we’re just living in it.
But now, it’s my world, and I’m no longer tolerating things that don’t serve me. That mindset, however, hasn’t come easily. Growing up in a family where problems were either ignored or escalated into conflict taught me to shut down emotionally. As a family, we’re so strong-minded that we’d all rather walk away and be alone than take the time to hear each other and understand how situations make us feel. We’re so passionate that our discussions often come off as yelling, and things escalate quickly, leaving little room for resolution. This environment made it hard for me to feel safe expressing my emotions, which led to feelings of loneliness and emotional isolation.
We’ve been through so much to get to this point, and I’m incredibly proud of everyone’s growth. Especially my grandmas and the way she’s calmed down over the years. She’s not perfect—none of us are—but I never thought we’d be able to talk again, and I’m so grateful to have her in my life now. I have the mental capacity to truly understand and appreciate this beautiful, crazy dynamic we call family.
Carrying the weight of generational trauma has been an ongoing struggle. Their pain became my pain, and it’s taken a lot of effort to break those cycles. I’ve realized that unhealed wounds don’t just disappear; they linger, influencing how we treat ourselves and others. The pressure of being the family “helper” or “mother figure” has often made me feel overwhelmed and anxious, especially while trying to build my own life and ensure that my siblings are on the right path.
In this family, we all know we don’t need each other, but we work together because we understand that time is not forgiving. We’ve learned to make it work, knowing that our time together is valuable and irreplaceable. And while we’re all independent, it’s the kids who truly keep us alive and happy. They remind us of the joy in life, the importance of connection, and the love that holds us all together despite everything.
At one point, I lived with a “1DEEP” mindset—fully self-reliant, never asking for help, and quick to cut people off. While this mindset gave me strength, it also built walls that were hard to break down. I’ve struggled with trust and vulnerability, finding it difficult to let people in or believe they’d be there for me. For a long time, I believed my presence was a blessing in others’ lives, and I refused to surround myself with anyone who didn’t respect me. While that’s still true, I’ve learned that balance is important.
On top of that, constant exposure to negativity, yelling, and unresolved conflicts left me with high levels of stress and anxiety. That stress shaped how I approached relationships, conflict, and even parenting. It’s hard to balance being financially and emotionally present for my children when I didn’t have a healthy example of what that looked like growing up. Still, I’m determined to break those cycles for my kids and ensure they grow up feeling secure, loved, and supported.
I’ve also learned that just because I don’t need anyone doesn’t mean I can’t accept help or support when it’s genuine. Vulnerability is not a weakness, and by allowing myself to feel and communicate openly, I’ve been able to foster healthier connections. This realization is a big reason why I’m working hard to repair family dynamics rather than avoiding the issues. Once my grandparents are gone, it’s just my siblings and me. That’s why it’s so important to me to address things now and ensure my grandparents experience peace and joy in their later years.
Growing up, my family was looked down upon. As a unit, we were seen as “my mom’s children,” and people didn’t expect us to amount to anything. They thought we’d let our circumstances define us. But I’ve worked hard to prove them wrong. I’m breaking every generational curse, creating a better future for myself and my family, and showing my children that their story will be different.
Now that you’re familiar with everyone and the story so far, my journey begins in 2012 when I was 11 years old, and my birthday completes the year. There’s so much more to tell, but this is just a short summary to help you understand things quicker. I’m not trying to tell anybody else’s story—just how I saw the situation, how it made me feel, and how it either helped or tried destroyed me.
During this time, I found myself often disliked, caught in constant drama. I wasn’t afraid to call people out, even bullying the bullies. I questioned authority and always stood up for what I believed was right, which didn’t always win me any favor. The school I attended was a free private school, one I desperately wanted to attend after being bullied in elementary school. I didn’t want to go to my local middle school, so this school seemed like a fresh start. But it wasn’t all it appeared to be. The school played favorites, particularly with children of staff members, and with such a small student body, it wasn’t uncommon for adults to act immaturely, singling out or mistreating certain students. Despite all of this, I worked hard to stay focused. I was a good student in GT, bringing home strong grades, and staying involved in extracurricular activities. I played volleyball, basketball, ran track, and danced. I joined every club or event I could to stay busy, but no matter how hard I tried, I always felt like an outsider. It was around this time that I also realized I was attracted to girls. I kept this part of myself hidden from my grandparents, as I knew they held old-school values and I didn’t think they would understand or accept it. I would stay after school with my girlfriend at the time or get involved in whatever she was doing just to spend time with her, trying to protect that part of myself from judgment. These were some of my darkest days. I constantly struggled with insecurity and was painfully aware of all the things I disliked about myself physically. I was going through everything any typical teenager faces—insecurities, fitting in, self-identity—but on top of all of that, I was also carrying the weight of my grandmother’s pain. Her unspoken struggles were mine too, and it made it even harder to navigate my own growing pains. But in looking back, I can see how those challenges taught me some of my most valuable lessons: the importance of self-acceptance & standing up for myself even in the darkest times.
At the beginning of 2018, I met my kids’ father through my best friend. We were part of a large group that spent time together before and after school. Over time, we all became close friends. However, when my daughter’s dad found out I was with my son’s dad, he left the school, and I never saw him again. By the end of that summer, I had graduated and started taking baking and makeup more seriously. No longer tied to school, I threw myself into creating YouTube videos and experimenting with makeup looks. I went by the name “YVNGDAYZE” and began vlogging regularly, determined to get my name out there. Makeup became my creative outlet—a way to express myself when words weren’t enough. I would sit down and apply makeup over and over, wiping it off and starting again, trying to perfect my eyebrows, eyeliner, and cut creases. I wanted to be a makeup artist so badly. I dreamed of being an influencer, making videos, and inspiring others through my artistry. My dedication started paying off as people began noticing my talent. Prom season rolled around, and I was fully booked, charging $45–$60 for my services. Yet, despite my progress, I allowed other people to discourage me. I let them determine my future, doubting my ability to succeed. Looking back, I can’t help but imagine how much farther I would be today if I hadn’t let others limit my dreams. I knew from an early age what I was meant to do. Even though I allowed others to dim my light for a time, everything I learned and taught myself has paid off in the end. The skills I gained—editing, recording, creating digital content—laid the foundation for the life I’m building now. The passion I had back then never left; it simply evolved into something greater.
In the household I grew up in, the expectation was clear: college or military—there was no in-between. If you didn’t have a plan, the military was seen as the default option. There was no time to figure things out, no space for uncertainty. This pressure heavily influenced my decision to enlist in the Air Force, as I believed it was my only viable option at the time. That year, I went through the entire enlistment process. I completed every requirement and was confident I was on the right path. But then my recruiter informed me that I had to take what I thought was a pre-trial exam, which turned out to be the real thing. Completely unprepared, I failed by just two points. I was devastated. When I got home, my grandma insisted I take a drug test. Frustrated and emotionally drained from failing the exam, I told her I wasn’t in the mood and admitted I’d fail the test. My tone and attitude sparked a heated argument, and tensions boiled over. Already of age, I was told to leave. I packed two bags and walked out, never looking back. That was the last time I ever spoke to my grandma or lived at home. Looking back, I realize that being at my grandma’s was enabling me in ways I didn’t see at the time. It allowed me to stay comfortable and stagnant, giving me no reason to push myself or grow. Getting kicked out was a harsh wake-up call, but it forced me to step out of my comfort zone. For the first time, I had to work harder than I ever had before just to survive. After getting kicked out, I felt like I lost a part of myself. I stopped doing YouTube videos, stopped creating makeup looks, didn’t bake anymore, and didn’t pick up a paintbrush. I lost all sense of creativity, and for a while, I didn’t even know who I was. The hobbies that once gave me joy and purpose were gone, replaced by a need to simply get by. This experience taught me one of the most important lessons of my life: I never wanted to rely on anyone else for my needs. That feeling of being stuck, with nowhere to go, was something I never wanted to experience again. It gave me the drive to work for what I needed, to become independent, and to ensure I could always stand on my own. Failing the Air Force exam showed me that preparation and perseverance are key, but it also taught me that failure isn’t the end—it’s a redirection. Losing my creative outlets reminded me how vital they were to my identity and mental health. Getting kicked out of my grandma’s house was painful, but it was the moment that pushed me to grow, to fight for myself, and to work toward a future I could be proud of.
Lessons From The Storm
Resilience is something you build, not something you’re born with. Life will throw challenges your way, and you’ll face moments where giving up feels easier than pushing forward. But every step you take, no matter how small, makes you stronger. You have the power to choose resilience, to rise above your circumstances, and to keep moving forward even when the odds are stacked against you.
Breaking generational cycles is possible, and it starts with you. Just because you grew up a certain way or inherited pain from your family doesn’t mean you have to carry it forever. Acknowledge the trauma, face it head-on, and work on healing so you can create a better future for yourself and those who come after you. You have the strength to be the one who ends the cycle and builds something new.
Self-reliance is a superpower. When everything around you feels unstable, trust yourself. Learn to set boundaries, stand firm in your worth, and take control of your life. While it’s important to accept support when it’s genuine, knowing you can rely on yourself gives you the foundation to handle anything life throws your way.
At the same time, vulnerability is strength. I used to think asking for help was a sign of weakness, but I’ve learned that opening up and letting people in is how you build deeper, healthier connections. Don’t let pride or fear keep you isolated. True strength lies in being able to trust others and share your journey with those who genuinely want to support you.
Finally, forgiveness is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. It’s not about excusing the harm others caused—it’s about freeing yourself from the weight of anger and resentment. When you forgive, you allow yourself to move forward without carrying the burden of the past. It’s a process, but it’s worth it.
My story is proof that no matter what you’ve been through, you can create a life that’s meaningful and fulfilling. You have the power to rewrite your narrative, heal from your pain, and build the future you deserve. Keep pushing, keep growing, and never stop believing in your ability to rise. At this moment, I’m not entirely sure how I want to express my feelings about my children’s fathers. Right now, things are calm and we are co-parenting peacefully. Since everything is still fresh, I’d rather not stir the pot any further. While it may be chisme for you, it's real life for me and my spawns. We've been though some stuff together, that is to real for the world. When the time feels right, I’ll share more about the experiences I’ve been through, but for now, I’m choosing to leave it here. I hope something you read inspired you or helped you understand me a little bit better.