Stay strong. Stand up. Have a voice. - Shawn Johnson
It all started when I was a little girl. My father was a severe alcoholic and I watched him physically abuse my mom almost every single night. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and hear her on the living room couch crying so I would curl up and sleep with her to comfort her. One night my mom and I were sleeping in the front bedroom when my dad came home incredibly drunk. I was woken up by my mom trying to slip me out of the nightgown I was wearing, quietly to not wake my dad up because he had passed out, urinated on the bed, and had a tight grip on my nightgown. When he woke up later that night he was furious, drunk, and decided to beat my mom. I watched him torture her and was terrified he was going to kill her so I ran next door, naked and afraid, and asked the neighbors to call the cops. After they divorced, my mom was a single mom of 2, me being the oldest, she worked job after job to take care of us and wound up pregnant with my little brother. Shortly after my brother was born we would go stay with different family members during the day while my mom worked. For many years, I was sexually abused by two different uncles who made me feel like I could never say anything because it was my fault. They took advantage of a scared and sad little girl any chance they got. I remember asking them to stop and saying no but it didn’t change anything. The shame bothered me for a very long time because it happened over and over.
When I was about 13, my mom moved us to Roswell. We were in a pretty bad car accident that caused us to be left without a vehicle and it jumpstarted a severe autoimmune disease in my mom. She was unable to work and had to see doctor after doctor. She met a man through her old job and was remarried shortly after the accident. He worked nights and would sleep during the day. As a newlywed, my mom wanted to spend as much time with him as she could so she stayed on his schedule, leaving me to care for my younger siblings. I made sure they were fed and got to school on time every day; I also kept up with the household chores. Her new husband didn’t want anything to do with my siblings and I felt so betrayed by my mom. In a matter of 2 years, I had to grow up very quickly and around 14-15 years old, I had no clue how to deal with all of the anger and hurt I had experienced in my short life so I began to self-harm to relieve some of the inside pain I was feeling. Night after night I would pick away at my wrist with scissors or a safety pin.
It felt so good to have a few short minutes of not thinking about all the hurt on the inside, but after, I was left with an ugly scab that soon became scars and the pain inside was still there.
When my mom found out about my cuts she told me to cut the other way because it would work faster and then sent me to a mental health hospital where I received some counseling. I wanted out of there more then anything but during one of the counseling sessions my mom was able to join in and I finally opened up about the abuse I had endured. Later on, she told me she didn’t initially believe me.
Those words cut deeper than anything but they also ignited a fire inside of me.
When I returned home I was kicked out of the house and left to find somewhere to stay and some way to survive. Being out on my own and learning how to care for myself was a huge journey and thankfully I had a sweet woman take me in and help guide me through those crucial years. After the stay at the mental health hospital and being kicked out, I learned that I am stronger than the pain I was going through. I learned that I am an overcomer, and that I was made for something grand.
I never cut myself again.
Years later I still have scars to remind me of what I have gone through. When I see my scars my initial reaction is to hide them out of embarrassment, but I am quickly reminded that they are a testimony and should be shared with others in hopes of letting someone out there going through something similar know that you are not alone. It may hurt right now but Joy comes in the morning. You just have to persevere through it to get to the other side. It was only by the Grace of God that I was able to overcome it all, forgive, and move on with my life.
Now when I look down at my scars I am reminded of how good He is and how strong I am.
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