What My Mother Forgot

Before reading this, you should know...

This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending. Simply put, this is a chronological account of the abuse, neglect, and bullying I suffered at the hands of loved ones from birth to 17 years old. It does not include reflection. It is meant to be a recounting from my perspective at the time. When you read content from Birth to around 11 years old, it is intended to sound like a young child is telling the story, versus those written about events that occurred when I was older.

Before embarking on writing this, I considered how honest I wanted to be and what details I truly wanted and needed to share. Ultimately, I chose to publish these things anonymously. I've taken some responsibility for hiding the identities of those I wrote about, but I did not protect them nearly as much as I protected myself.

Over the years, I've kept these stories secret because I love these people who hurt me. I believed I was loving them by not telling. But now that I'm an adult, and I understand love a little better, I realized that while I may have been making someone feel safe, I was not keeping myself safe.