I was that child who prayed every morning, asking God to help me be good enough to avoid being beaten that day. I was the little girl who stayed awake at night, terrified of the nightmares that would come if I closed my eyes, with no one to turn to for comfort or protection. I was the child who learned to survive through extreme people-pleasing, through running away, through trying to stay outside the house as long as possible to avoid what waited inside.

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My childhood was marked by physical violence, relentless criticism, shaming, judgment and isolation. I was dragged upstairs by my hair, thrown into my bedroom with the door slammed shut, hunted when I tried to escape. I grew up feeling rejected, dismissed, held to impossibly high expectations and never shown affection.

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The child I was didn't know that none of this was normal. I was told I was the problem and I thought I was the problem. I believed if I could just be better, do better, try harder, perhaps I would be safe and loved.

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