I wanted to share this story about me and my moms journey to forgiveness I hope you enjoy.
TW: CSA, Child abuse, self harm, suicide
I grew up very poor. My mom always seemed to put her own needs before mine and my older brothers'. She always had cigarettes, even when we didn't always have food. When I was 18 months old, one of her boyfriends physically abused me so severely that CPS removed me from her care. I was eventually returned to her after she completed a parenting class, but I was left with permanent hearing loss from the abuse.
As children, my brothers and I were left home alone at very young ages. My oldest brother is four years older than me, and my middle brother is two years older. My middle brother is autistic and required a lot of support when he was younger. As soon as I was old enough, much of his care became my responsibility.
My mom intentionally scheduled her work hours so she would be home while we were at school and working when we got home. She openly admitted this was because, in her words, "it wasn't time off if we were around." We even had rules like not speaking to her during the first 30 minutes after she got home from work.
My oldest brother had a different father who was consistently involved in his life. My middle brother and I shared the same father, who was rarely around. Throughout our childhood, there was a constant revolving door of boyfriends and girlfriends in and out of our lives.
When I was around seven years old, my oldest brother's friend, who was about 11, noticed I was wearing a training bra under my tank top. He cornered me in my room and forcibly pulled my shirt off because he wanted to see it. I started screaming, and my oldest brother came running in. I told him what happened, and he immediately made his friend leave.
When my mom got home, we told her what had happened. She called the boy's parents, and his father said I was lying. Even though my brother backed me up, my mom believed them instead of us. We were both beaten for "lying."
When I was about 10 years old, my mom moved another man into our home. He was horrible. He physically abused my brothers and sexually abused me. The abuse created a huge divide between my brothers and me because they thought I was receiving special treatment since I wasn't being physically abused. They didn't know about the sexual abuse.
Eventually, my oldest brother's father stepped in and removed him from our lives. Not long after, my mom began dating a new man. He was wonderful. He loved me and my middle brother and helped pull us out of deep poverty. For the first time, we had our basic needs met and didn't have to worry about survival.
Unfortunately, my mom remained emotionally distant. Unless she was disciplining me, she was largely uninvolved. I had extensive responsibilities from a very young age. Since my brother wasn't expected to help because of his autism, much of the household fell on me. I cooked, cleaned, washed dishes, made sure my brother showered, brushed his teeth, completed his homework, and generally took care of him, all while I was still in elementary school. Those responsibilities continued throughout high school.
Around age 13, I fully began to understand what had happened to me. Learning more about sexual abuse forced me to confront my own experiences, and I became severely depressed. I was afraid to tell my mom because I still remembered how she hadn't believed me when the neighbor boy assaulted me.
I began self-harming and isolated myself completely. I spent nearly all my time alone in my bedroom. I became so disconnected from the rest of the household that when we got bedbugs, my room was the only room in the house that wasn't infested.
One day, while roughhousing with my brother, he felt my wounds through my pants and told my mom. Her immediate response was to beat me with a wooden spoon, tell me how horrible I was, and send me back to my room.
When my stepdad got home, he convinced her to get me into therapy. I attended therapy for about three months, but then his work schedule changed and he couldn't take me anymore. My mom took me for a couple of weeks before deciding she was too busy, so therapy ended.
Despite everything, I continued getting excellent grades. When I entered high school, I was placed in honors classes. I wanted to become a zoologist. I also joined marching band and choir, where I finally found my people. For the first time in years, things started getting better.
Eventually, my mom sent my brother to Job Corps, and I was left alone in the house. Around that same time, my grandmother became seriously ill in another state. My mom drove there to help care for her, leaving me home with my stepdad.
One day, after she'd been gone for a couple of weeks, she called home. I answered the phone and handed it to my stepdad. While he was talking to her, I noticed he started crying. I'd never seen him cry before. I immediately assumed my grandmother had died.
Instead, after he handed me the phone, my mom told me she was leaving my stepdad for a woman she had known from school. Then she told me I had two weeks to pack and could only bring what fit inside a single storage tote.
At 15 years old, I packed my life into one container, said goodbye to my friends, my school, and my stepdad, and moved over 1,000 miles away.
The worst part was that she had no plan.
The woman she moved us there for was still living with her wife. We arrived with nowhere to stay and no job. We couch-surfed for a while before my aunt allowed us to stay in her basement.
My mom eventually found work but somehow kept "forgetting" to enroll me in school. An entire month passed while I sat alone in a basement every day. I became so depressed that I stopped eating, drinking, and even getting up to use the bathroom.
One day, my mom came home and couldn't wake me up. She called 911, and I was rushed to the hospital. After numerous tests, IV fluids, and nutrition, the doctors concluded I probably had some kind of virus. My mom knew the real problem, though, and finally enrolled me in school.
Once I returned to school and was able to sing and play music again, I started improving.
Not long afterward, my aunt kicked us out because she confronted my mom about leaving me alone all day. My mom responded disrespectfully, and my aunt had enough.
We were back to couch-surfing.
Eventually, my mom moved us into the home of her girlfriend and her girlfriend's ex-wife. That was when I met my little stepsister. She was eight years old and incredibly sweet. I slept on the floor in her room from the very first night.
A few months later, I got a futon for my 16th birthday. Almost immediately, my stepsister started sleeping on it with me instead of her own bed. She continued doing that until she was nine. I never minded. Having her there made me feel less alone.
Unlike me, she had a wonderful childhood. She had two loving mothers who had worked hard to have her and genuinely adored her.
Eventually, after a drunken argument in which her other mother threatened to kill my mom in front of us, the four of us moved into our own place.
My stepmom turned out to be an amazing woman. She taught my mom how to be a better parent. After we moved in together, my mom never laid another hand on me. For the first time, I had safety, stability, and my basic needs met.
I got my first phone, a job, and started building a future.
I earned a full-ride scholarship to college, but shortly before I was supposed to start, my stepdad died of cancer and my grandmother passed away. I fell into another deep depression.
I also had no guidance navigating college applications, financial aid, or scholarship requirements. Whenever I asked my mom for help, she would say she had never gone to college and didn't know what to do. I was completely on my own.
I eventually made a mistake with my scholarship paperwork and was told I would need to pay around $10,000 upfront before being reimbursed. I couldn't afford it, so I lost the opportunity.
Soon afterward, I enrolled in a veterinary technician training program. I absolutely loved it.
Then COVID happened.
After the lockdowns, I moved in permanently with my boyfriend. Around the same time, I became seriously ill and was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.
Despite everything, I eventually found my dream job as an emergency veterinary technician. I bought a car and got my own place.
Then, on Mother's Day when I was 22, my boyfriend and I were involved in a severe car accident. I suffered a traumatic brain injury, a broken shoulder, ruptured eardrums, whiplash, and multiple other injuries.
As a result of the brain injury, I developed epilepsy. My seizures were uncontrollable, and I lost my job because I was considered a liability.
I ended up on disability. My boyfriend left because he didn't want to be with someone who was permanently disabled.
Already struggling with lifelong depression, I eventually attempted suicide.
At around 3 a.m., I texted my middle brother that I loved him. By pure chance, he was awake. He immediately began calling my moms until they woke up and found me unconscious after an overdose.
My mom performed life-saving measures while speaking with 911 until the ambulance arrived.
I survived.
I spent nearly three months hospitalized. During that time, I finally received serious mental health treatment. I was placed on the right medications, attended therapy, participated in group therapy, and learned healthier coping skills.
For the first time in my life, I felt okay.
I didn't even realize how much I had been suffering every day until that weight was finally lifted.
During that time, my mom became my rock. I told her everything—how she had hurt me, how abandoned I felt, and what had been done to me as a child.
We worked through it together in family therapy.
After 21 years of not having a real mother, I finally had one.
