11/29/2025
I grew up in a world where safety didn’t exist. From the moment I was born, I was surrounded by instability, chaos, and danger. I’m the sixth of eight children, raised by parents who were not stable, not able to provide care, and often homeless. My childhood was defined by constant moving — living in cars, temporary shelters, overcrowded motels, and houses that were unsafe and barely livable. At one point, we stayed in a condemned home filled with insects, mold, and makeshift curtain walls instead of real rooms. Privacy didn’t exist. Security didn’t exist. Childhood didn’t exist.
In that environment, I experienced years of severe abuse — emotional, physical, psychological, and sexual — from several members of my family and people they allowed into our lives. Instead of protecting me, the adults around me ignored, denied, or even justified what was happening. By the time I was six, the responsibility and blame for the harm done to me was placed on me, a child who didn’t understand any of it. The people who should have defended me chose silence, excuses, and manipulation.
My family had deep patterns of abuse and neglect that stretched across generations. My mother and father dismissed accusations, minimized everything, and even used religion as a shield to prevent us from seeking help. The church they attended discouraged us from calling the police or going to therapy. Meanwhile, my siblings and I were suffering behind closed doors, with no real adult willing to intervene.
Child Protective Services appeared in our lives many times, but nothing ever changed. Reports were made. Home visits were done. But year after year, we remained in the same dangerous environment with the same people harming us.
One of my siblings, who had severe disabilities and depended entirely on our parents for care, did not survive the neglect. She passed away as a young teenager. Despite everything, no one in my family was held accountable for her death.
By age thirteen, my body and mind were overwhelmed by years of trauma. I carried burdens no child should ever have to carry. The emotional and psychological damage continued to deepen as I grew older, and by the time I was a teenager, I had experienced more suffering than most people experience in a lifetime.
My escape finally came when someone — one of the few people who saw my pain — secretly bought me a plane ticket. Three days after my eighteenth birthday, I fled across state lines. I left with almost nothing, but I left with my life, and that was enough.
Now, as an adult, the aftermath of everything I lived through still affects me every day. I have lasting physical and mental health challenges, including trauma-related disorders, anxiety, depression, phobias, and disabilities. I struggle to leave the house. I struggle to trust people. And I struggle to feel safe in a world that once showed me nothing but danger.
But I am still here.
Despite everything, today marks 100 days sober, and that is something I’m incredibly proud of. Healing is slow. Some days, I feel alone, exhausted, and unsure of how to keep going. But I’m trying. I’m reaching out for help. And that is why I joined this group — because I need support, guidance, and a reminder that I’m not alone in this world.
I survived something unimaginable. I’m still learning how to rebuild my life. And even though I don’t know exactly where to start, I know I’m finally moving in the right direction.
