The past few days have been incredibly challenging but also deeply transformative. With the unwavering support of friends and family, I’ve navigated sleepless nights filled with phone calls, tears, and a flood of emotions. Together, we’ve confronted the sadness of lost years and the weight of a life that was overshadowed by abuse and trauma. It’s been a raw and heart-wrenching process, but also one of profound awakening.

For years, the abuse and danger I endured became my normal. It was a reality I adapted to, not realizing just how damaging and perilous it truly was. Stepping away from it now, I see the full extent of the harm—not just to me, but to the relationships and opportunities that were lost along the way. The most painful realization is the indifference of my adult step children, whom I spent 32 years nurturing and loving. Despite their witnessing of events and their knowledge of the history with their mother, their lack of empathy and understanding has been a source of deep hurt. It’s a complicated pain—one rooted in love but marked by disappointment and grief.

Still, this journey is about reclaiming my life and moving forward. I’ve come to see that my survival and healing are not contingent on their validation or support. With every session with my psychologist, I’m peeling back the layers of pain and exploring the more intimate aspects of my story—the parts I’ve kept hidden even from myself. These are the wounds that have festered for decades, quietly shaping my self-perception and decisions. Sharing them now, in a safe and supportive space, is a liberating act. It’s a step toward freeing myself from the shame and self-blame that have lingered far too long.

One of the most significant breakthroughs in this process has been learning to forgive myself. For years, I’ve carried guilt for not leaving sooner, for not protecting myself more effectively, and for enduring so much. But I’m beginning to understand that my actions, or lack thereof, were shaped by fear, manipulation, and a desire to protect the family I cherished. I see now that staying was never a sign of weakness—it was a testament to my strength and resilience in the face of overwhelming circumstances.

As I move forward, I’m rediscovering love for myself. I’m learning to honor my journey, to celebrate the progress I’ve made, and to embrace the person I’m becoming. This is not just a process of healing—it’s a process of transformation. I’m letting go of the past, but not forgetting it. Instead, I’m using it as a foundation to build a future rooted in self-respect, joy, and authenticity.

The support I’ve received has been invaluable, but the real work is happening within me. It’s in the moments when I choose to believe in my worth, when I face difficult truths with courage, and when I envision a life free from the shadows of my past. There is still much to uncover, much to grieve, and much to heal, but I’m ready for the journey. For the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to what’s ahead—to the next sessions with my psychologist, to the progress yet to come, and to the life I’m reclaiming day by day.

This is a story of survival, but more importantly, it’s a story of renewal. It’s about finding strength in vulnerability, hope in healing, and love in the mirror. I’m writing this not just for myself, but for anyone who has ever felt trapped, broken, or forgotten. There is life beyond the pain. There is freedom in forgiveness—especially the forgiveness we give ourselves. And there is immense power in choosing to move forward, no matter how long it takes or how difficult it seems. This is my journey, and I’m finally proud to own it.