{"id":69449,"date":"2026-05-30T08:31:23","date_gmt":"2026-05-30T08:31:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449"},"modified":"2026-05-30T08:31:23","modified_gmt":"2026-05-30T08:31:23","slug":"theres-the-rest-of-your-junk-you-ungrateful-brat-my-biological-mother-screamed-throwing-a-black-trash-bag-filled-with-my-childhood-memories-across-the-room-i-sat-sobbing-on-a-stranger","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449","title":{"rendered":"“There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!” my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger’s couch, realizing she didn’t just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n

\n

Part 1<\/h2>\n

“Your father would be absolutely disgusted by your selfishness, Maya!” my mother yelled, her voice piercing the tense silence of our living room.<\/h2>\n

My name is Maya. I\u2019m a seventeen-year-old high school senior, and those stinging words were hurled at me by my own mother, Carol. For eight long years, I had quietly endured being treated like an unwanted roommate by my stepdad, Richard, and his kids, Jackson and Emma. I kept my head down and focused entirely on my grades, knowing my only ticket out of this toxic household was the college fund my biological father had left behind before leukemia took him.<\/p>\n

That trust fund was legally locked away, guarded by my dad’s lawyer until my eighteenth birthday next month. It was my inheritance, my survival plan, and my last direct connection to the father I barely got to know.<\/p>\n

But reality struck hard this morning. Jackson was also graduating, and Richard\u2019s financial negligence meant they couldn\u2019t afford his tuition. Instead of finding a legitimate solution, Carol blindsided me with a disgusting demand: split my late father\u2019s educational fund to pay for her stepson\u2019s college.<\/p>\n

“No,” I replied flatly, clutching my backpack tightly against my chest. “That fund belongs to my dad’s memory and my education. I am not funding Jackson\u2019s life.”<\/p>\n

Carol completely snapped. She slammed her hand on the table and issued a brutal ultimatum. “You have exactly one week to sign the papers to authorize a joint account. If you refuse, pack your bags and get out. You turn eighteen next month, Maya. The minute you do, my legal duty to feed and shelter you drops to zero. Choose wisely.”<\/p>\n

I walked out of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had one week to plan an escape before being thrown onto the streets. But as I locked myself in my bedroom to call the one person I thought I could trust, a shocking text message popped up on my phone, revealing that my mother hadn\u2019t even waited for my answer.<\/p>\n

Being betrayed by your mother is a pain that leaves permanent scars. But when that text revealed how deep her betrayal actually went, I knew I had to run before her trap snapped shut. The rest of the story is below \ud83d\udc47<\/p>\n

Part 2<\/h2>\n

My hands trembled violently as I dialed Mr. Harrison, my late father\u2019s estate attorney. If my mother was willing to throw me out of the house over this money, there was no telling how far she would go.<\/p>\n

“Maya, I’m glad you called,” Mr. Harrison’s voice came through the line, sounding deeply concerned. “I was actually about to reach out to you. Your mother called my office yesterday afternoon.”<\/p>\n

A knot tightened in my stomach. “What did she say?”<\/p>\n

“She requested an emergency early withdrawal form for the trust,” Mr. Harrison explained, his tone hardening. “She claimed that you were experiencing a severe mental health crisis and had voluntarily agreed to reallocate fifty percent of the funds to your stepbrother, Jackson, to alleviate family stress before you checked into a treatment facility. She even emailed over a scanned authorization page with your signature on it.”<\/p>\n

The room spun. She hadn’t just given me an ultimatum; she had actively committed forgery and attempted to fraud my father’s legacy right out from under me.<\/p>\n

“Mr. Harrison, that is a complete lie,” I choked out, tears of absolute betrayal stinging my eyes. “I never signed anything. She is trying to steal my college fund because my stepdad is broke. She threatened to evict me in a week if I don’t give it up.”<\/p>\n

“I knew it sounded wrong,” the attorney sighed with profound relief. “Your father knew exactly what kind of woman Carol was, which is why he locked this trust down so tightly. I rejected the document immediately due to a lack of notarization. But listen to me, Maya: you are unsafe in that house. Keep your head down for the next seven days. The moment you turn eighteen next month, come directly to my office, and we will transfer every dime to an independent account where she can never touch it.”<\/p>\n

That phone call transformed my fear into cold, calculating resolve. My mother had officially crossed a line into criminal territory. For the next seven days, I played the part of the broken, defeated daughter. I kept my mouth shut at the dinner table while my stepdad Richard smirked at me, and Jackson openly bragged about the expensive out-of-state colleges he was suddenly planning to attend. They thought they had broken me.<\/p>\n

In reality, I was orchestrating my escape. Every morning, under the guise of taking out extra school supplies, I sneaked my clothes, childhood photos, and vital documents out of the house, storing them safely at the home of my best friend, Chloe. I also connected with Chloe\u2019s cousin, Sarah, who was looking for a roommate near the university campus we both hoped to attend. Together, we found a modest apartment and prepared a lease to sign the exact day I turned eighteen.<\/p>\n

When the one-week deadline finally arrived, Carol cornered me in the kitchen. Richard and Jackson stood behind her like a wall of silent intimidation.<\/p>\n

“Time’s up, Maya,” Carol said, crossing her arms. “Did you decide to be a part of this family, or are you going to continue being an egoistical brat?”<\/p>\n

I looked at the woman who gave birth to me, feeling absolutely nothing but pity. “I’m not signing a single thing, Carol. The money stays mine.”<\/p>\n

Carol\u2019s eyes flashed with manic fury. “Then pack your bags and get out of my sight! You have until sunset to clear your room!”<\/p>\n

I grabbed my car keys from the counter and offered a tight, calm smile. “No need. I packed my final bag this morning while you were at work. I’m leaving right now, and you will never see a single cent of my dad’s money.”<\/p>\n

Before she could scream, I walked out the front door, drove straight to Chloe\u2019s house, and shut the door on my old life. But I wasn’t done defending myself. That night, sitting safely on Chloe’s living room couch, I opened my laptop and wrote a meticulous, scorched-earth post on Facebook and Instagram. I laid out everything: the eight years of emotional neglect, the attempt to illegally forge my signature on my dead father’s leukemia trust fund, and the heartless eviction ultimatum. I tagged Carol, Richard, and Jackson, ensuring our entire local community, church members, and family friends saw the unvarnished truth.<\/p>\n

By morning, the post had gone completely viral in our town. My mother’s carefully curated image of a perfect suburban matriarch was thoroughly incinerated. My phone began exploding with incoming alerts. Carol was spamming me with a barrage of unhinged, venomous text messages.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are a malicious, evil monster!\u201d<\/i> one text read. \u201cYou have completely ruined my reputation! My friends won\u2019t even look at me! If your father were alive today, he would be utterly disgusted by your vindictive heart. You are dead to me!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

The mention of my late father cut deep into my soul, causing my hands to shake. Sensing my vulnerability, Chloe gently took the phone from my grip, swiped upward, and officially blocked Carol\u2019s number on every single platform.<\/p>\n

If you’ve read this far, don’t hesitate to leave a like and comment before reading part 3. It makes us as happy as reading a complete story! Thank you. \ud83d\udc4d\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n

Part 3<\/h2>\n

Two weeks passed in absolute silence. Staying at Chloe\u2019s house felt like entering a different dimension\u2014one where people actually smiled and cared. Chloe’s parents, the Millers, treated me with a warmth I hadn’t felt since my biological father was alive. Yet, the emotional damage ran deep, and I spent nights wondering how a mother could discard her own flesh so easily.<\/p>\n

The quiet shattered on a rainy Tuesday evening when an aggressive knocking echoed at the door. Before Chloe\u2019s mom could open it, Carol pushed her way into the foyer, her eyes radiating pure malice. She ignored everyone else; her venomous gaze locked instantly onto me sitting on the couch.<\/p>\n

In her hand, Carol dragged a heavy, industrial black trash bag. Without uttering a single greeting, she hoisted the bag and flung it violently across the room. It slammed onto the floor right in front of my feet, splitting open. My remaining childhood yearbooks, old winter coats, and cherished trinkets from my dad spilled out like garbage.<\/p>\n

“There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat,” Carol spat, her voice trembling. “I hope you’re happy. You dragged my name through the mud, made me an outcast in our church, and destroyed my marriage all for some pathetic internet clout. You are an absolute disgrace.”<\/p>\n

A suffocating wave of shame washed over me, paralyzing me where I sat. The familiar, toxic grip of her psychological manipulation was freezing me entirely.<\/p>\n

Before Carol could insult me further, Mr. Miller stepped squarely between us, his massive frame completely blocking her from my view.<\/p>\n

“That is enough!” Mr. Miller roared, his voice shaking the room. “You will not step into my home and treat your daughter like trash. You are a cold, malicious excuse for a mother. To try and rob your own child\u2019s dead father\u2019s legacy because your new husband is a failure is disgusting. Get out right now before I call the police!”<\/p>\n

Mrs. Miller rushed to my side, wrapping her arms tightly around my shaking shoulders. “We know exactly who Maya is,” she called out fiercely. “She is a brilliant, hardworking girl. And you don’t deserve to be anywhere near her.”<\/p>\n

Carol stepped back, stunned by the absolute wall of defense. Realizing she had no power here, she let out a bitter scoff, turned on her heel, and slammed the front door behind her.<\/p>\n

As her car tires squealed down the driveway, I burst into uncontrollable sobs. But for the first time in eight long years, they weren’t tears of sorrow. They were tears of pure, overwhelming relief because I finally realized I wasn’t alone. I had people in my corner willing to fight for my dignity.<\/p>\n

Over the next few months, I poured every ounce of my pain into my schoolwork. On my eighteenth birthday, I met with Mr. Harrison and legally secured my father\u2019s trust fund, completely untethering it from my mother.<\/p>\n

When the acceptance letters rolled in that spring, the universe handed me the ultimate victory. I was accepted into my dream university with a prestigious, full-ride academic scholarship. My biological father\u2019s trust fund remained completely untouched, sitting safely in a high-yield account, destined to fund my future graduate school or my first home.<\/p>\n

Last week, Sarah and I officially signed the lease on a beautiful, sun-drenched apartment just blocks away from campus. As I unpacked my dad\u2019s old photos onto my new desk, I checked my phone. Out of pure curiosity, I had unblocked Carol a few weeks prior. There were no missed calls, no messages, no apologies. The absolute silence was her final answer. But looking out at the bright city skyline, I smiled. The kind strangers online who had cheered for my escape showed more genuine humanity than the woman who raised me. I closed my phone, stepped out onto my new balcony, and breathed in the sweet air of absolute freedom. My life was finally my own.<\/p>\n

What do you think of this story? Please leave a like and share your thoughts in the comments. Your support means a lot to us and inspires us to keep writing more meaningful and powerful stories. Thank you! \ud83d\udc4d\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part 1 “Your father would be absolutely disgusted by your selfishness, Maya!” my mother yelled, her voice piercing the tense silence of our living room. My name is Maya. I\u2019m a seventeen-year-old high school senior, and those stinging words were hurled at me by my own mother, Carol. For eight long years, I had quietly […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":69465,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-69449","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-purpose"],"yoast_head":"\n"There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!" my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger's couch, realizing she didn't just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund. - Purposeful Days<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\""There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!" my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger's couch, realizing she didn't just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund. - Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Part 1 “Your father would be absolutely disgusted by your selfishness, Maya!” my mother yelled, her voice piercing the tense silence of our living room. My name is Maya. I\u2019m a seventeen-year-old high school senior, and those stinging words were hurled at me by my own mother, Carol. For eight long years, I had quietly […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-05-30T08:31:23+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Phong Nguyen\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Phong Nguyen\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"9 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449\",\"name\":\"\\\"There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!\\\" my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger's couch, realizing she didn't just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund. - Purposeful Days\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-05-30T08:31:23+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg\",\"width\":1000,\"height\":1000},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"“There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!” my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger’s couch, realizing she didn’t just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund.\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\",\"name\":\"Purposeful Days\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951\",\"name\":\"Phong Nguyen\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Phong Nguyen\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=3\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"\"There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!\" my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger's couch, realizing she didn't just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund. - Purposeful Days","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"\"There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!\" my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger's couch, realizing she didn't just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund. - Purposeful Days","og_description":"Part 1 “Your father would be absolutely disgusted by your selfishness, Maya!” my mother yelled, her voice piercing the tense silence of our living room. My name is Maya. I\u2019m a seventeen-year-old high school senior, and those stinging words were hurled at me by my own mother, Carol. For eight long years, I had quietly […]","og_url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449","og_site_name":"Purposeful Days","article_published_time":"2026-05-30T08:31:23+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1000,"height":1000,"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Phong Nguyen","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Phong Nguyen","Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449","name":"\"There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!\" my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger's couch, realizing she didn't just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund. - Purposeful Days","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg","datePublished":"2026-05-30T08:31:23+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/A_candid_high-brightness_realistic_photograph_202605301528.jpeg","width":1000,"height":1000},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=69449#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"“There\u2019s the rest of your junk, you ungrateful brat!” my biological mother screamed, throwing a black trash bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. I sat sobbing on a stranger’s couch, realizing she didn’t just evict me; she tried to forge my dead father\u2019s signature to steal my college trust fund."}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/","name":"Purposeful Days","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951","name":"Phong Nguyen","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Phong Nguyen"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org"],"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=3"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/69449","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=69449"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/69449\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":69468,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/69449\/revisions\/69468"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/69465"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=69449"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=69449"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=69449"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}