And yet, the world outside saw none of this. To everyone else my abuser was kind, generous, and well-liked. This happened because the best parts of me were stolen and shown off as if they were never mine. My words, my kindness, and my ideas were used, all while I faded into the background. Still, I defended the person causing me harm because I was conditioned to protect that polished image at any cost.
The aftermath of abuse is profound. I was left questioning everything, even my worth and my identity. I wondered how I let it happen, not realizing how methodically I had been groomed to accept it. Abuse isn’t just about bruises; it’s a theft of identity and an attempted theft of spirit. However, I have learned that no one can take away my spirit as much as they may try.
That is what has brought me back to center, kept me grounded, and reminded me of who I am again. also lived in a community where everyone was busy maintaining perfect appearances, which made speaking out feel impossible. The pressure to “keep up” made it hard to admit I was struggling, let alone that I had been abused. I worried people wouldn’t believe me.