We are all different, each of us with unique experiences and diverse lives. Our paths are peppered with untold stories, some kept secret for reasons only we understand. Sometimes, the weight of these stories silences us, making us feel as if an invisible force has clamped our mouths shut. Have you ever felt that way? Longing to speak but unable to find the words?
Let me share a story of a little girl who knew this feeling all too well—a girl who was afraid to speak up, who cried inside, yearning to share her message with the world but couldn't. This story has a happy ending, though, as that girl grew up and healed her wounds.
That girl was me. A long time ago, I loved my mother dearly and longed for her affection. But my mother was struggling with her own sorrows and difficulties, transforming her into someone I couldn't recognize—a monster in the guise of my mom. Too young to comprehend her pain, all I saw was her rage. I prayed day and night, seeking God's help. My mother’s condition remained unchanged. She shouted and beat us. My brother and disabled sister suffered too. I witnessed her turning into a terrifying monster, beating my brother. I wasn't brave enough to intervene. Each time, I cried, wishing I could take his place, but fear held me back. I continued to pray.
My baby sister, just an infant, needed protection. Every night, I would take her to my room, singing lullabies to drown out her cries and keep her safe from our mother’s wrath. One dreadful night, my mother attacked my sister with a knife. That night, I found the courage I never knew I had. I took my sister and fled to another room, locking the door behind us. My mother beat on the door for a while before stopping. I prayed fervently, feeling God's presence beside me.
An angel in my life, my grandma, often held my trembling hand, shielding me from harm. Once, I hid in the bathroom, terrified of my mother’s anger. My grandma found me and held me, preventing my mother from touching me. Eventually, I grew up. My mother decided to stop her monstrous behavior, pretending nothing had happened, thinking we had forgotten. But we hadn't. We grew up wounded, never understanding why the person who gave us life also wanted to take it away. How could someone beat another so viciously out of love?
That little girl was me. I felt depressed, scared, and afraid to tell my mother that I remembered everything. My life was filled with fear until one day, I decided to shout out loud. From that day, everything changed. I blossomed into my true self. I was brave enough to tell my mother how much I hated and loved her simultaneously. Once I expressed my feelings, I felt a tremendous sense of relief.
I remember everything, and I seek the truth. I am wounded but forgiving. I love my mother with all my heart but can no longer remain silent. She, too, was scared and had a hard life. As children, we didn't understand. Now, I am thankful for the life I have, for the ability to experience the beautiful love of being a mother myself. I hope one day my mother realizes her wrongs. It's hard to say anything more, but now I am free because I found the courage to speak.
In sharing my story, I hope to inspire others to find their voice, to confront their pasts, and to seek the freedom that comes with speaking their truth.