Life has a way of shaping us, often through experiences we never would have chosen for ourselves. Without going into too much detail—because some topics are just too heavy—I want to share a little about my story and how it has shaped the mother I strive to be today.
I grew up with an addict for a father and a mother who, despite her best efforts, often felt more like a child than a parent. My mom was a hard worker, no doubt about that, but her upbringing left her unprepared for the realities of life.
She grew up in a large, struggling family where favoritism was openly displayed, and unfortunately, she was not one of her mother’s favorites. Her father doted on her, but her mother’s indifference left scars that would later affect how she navigated her own life. She wasn’t taught much about the world. I’ll never forget how she once told me that she thought she was dying when she got her first period because no one had explained such things to her. That innocence followed her into adulthood, making her an easy target for people with bad intentions.
Every man my mom ever loved battled some form of addiction, but my father turned out to be the worst of them all. I don’t know much about him except that he was given a choice between going to prison or fighting in the Vietnam War, and he chose the latter. People say war changes a person, and maybe that’s true. Maybe he was a decent man before. But if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that abusers don’t show every side of themselves to everyone. It’s possible he was always this way, but only those closest to him saw the worst.
By the time I came along—born late in life to older parents—his demons were firmly rooted. At first, his abuse was subtle: yelling, breaking things, and neglecting me. I’d spend weekends with him starving because he wouldn’t bother to feed me. Then it escalated—physical abuse first, and then sexual abuse by the time I was just seven years old.
I didn’t tell anyone for a long time. I felt this overwhelming need to protect my mom from the truth. She was so innocent, so fragile in my eyes, and I loved her too much to risk shattering her. Even when I finally told her years later, I was right—she didn’t handle it well. I can’t say she was my rock during those times, but I never doubted that she cared deeply in her own way.
Because I couldn’t lean on anyone else, I became my own rock. I found solace in friends, books, and a quiet determination to rise above the life I’d been handed. Becoming a mother changed everything for me. It gave me purpose and clarity. I made a promise to myself that I would be the kind of mom my kids could always rely on.
Today, I work hard to be that rock for my children. They know they can come to me with anything—whether it’s bullying at school or bigger life struggles—and I’ll always be there. We face problems together, as a team. I make sure they know that no matter what, they’ll never have to navigate life alone the way I did.
The past is heavy, but I refuse to let it define me. It’s made me stronger, more empathetic, and fiercely protective of the ones I love. My children won’t have to carry the burdens I did, and that’s the greatest gift I can give them.