A Letter to You
On October 28, my world crumbled.
My abuser discarded me, froze my accounts, and left me with nothing but despair and a demand to sell my body to survive. Trapped in debt and depression, I faced three choices: beg to go back, succumb to the darkness of suicidal thoughts, or dare to do things differently and fight for myself. I felt powerless, stripped of any semblance of control, as his words cut through me like a knife: ‘Go sell your body for groceries - you’re good at that.’ The weight of those words pressed down on my chest, suffocating me.
What did I do?
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t fight back.
I did what I knew how to do - I begged for his forgiveness. I begged for him to take me back. It wasn’t because I didn’t know better. I knew how I was being treated was not right, I KNEW yet I did nothing. I STAYED and even when he discarded me I begged...... I begged because the chaos, the pain, the abuse - it was familiar. It was my ‘normal.’ I was trapped in a cycle, and I couldn’t see a way out.
Or so I told myself. For four agonizing days, I pleaded with him.
And then - on the fifth day away from him - something shifted. I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest, tears streaming down my face. I felt like I was sinking, like I was disappearing into myself. And then I felt a small hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw my daughter standing there. She didn’t say anything at first. She just held me. Finally, she spoke. She wiped the tears from my cheeks, looked me in the eyes, and said, ‘Mom, you’re so strong. You don’t need him. We need you. Please stay.’
