I am a firm believer that you should treat others with kindness and respect because you never know what people are going through and how close they are to the edge and your actions can literally make the difference between them leaping off that edge or backing away from it even if only by a couple of steps. My war started at a young age, and it lives in my mind daily and will for the rest of my life. I would like to step away from my war for a moment and acknowledge other wars going on in my town. My best friend from high school became an addict and we lost touch. Even though we do not talk I still ask about her and check up on her from a distance. I have seen her struggle to get clean and then fall off the wagon and right back into the addiction. I know that she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that passed away from SIDS years ago and I truly believe that she tries to mask the pain for that internal war by numbing it with drugs. I pray for her all the time. I have an adolescent family member that was just diagnosed with childhood cancer around Christmas time and that is their new war. I can't imagine the pain and fear they are all feeling. My daughter has a couple of friends that come over to visit after Christmas and my children were excited to share what they received only to find out that the friends did not have Christmas and that broke my heart. But their parents are fighting their own wars with finances and transportation. My point is this, we are all going through things. Sure, some are worse than others, and some are more recent than others... But it takes no effort at all to be kind to everyone you encounter. A simple smile can go a long way. Whatever you do today, do it with kindness! Life is too short, and we are all on the struggle bus in some way. I hope 2025 is an amazing year for everyone. I am claiming it now! -Feisty Mommy 

This morning around 4 am I was woken up by some pretty excited kids ready to open gifts. I rubbed my eyes and got out of bed and watched as they all fell in around the Christmas tree. Their eyes were lit up with anticipation of ripping into the wrapped gifts they saw around the tree. I began passing them out making sure to keep things as even as possible so that no one was waiting to open a gift. I smiled when they realized they got some things that they had on their Christmas list. It had been bugging me because this year I was unable to get everything on their lists. I had been worried that I would let them down somehow. I watched as they opened each thing, and a smile spread across their faces. I watched as my oldest daughter excitedly handed out the handmade Christmas cards that she had made for everyone, and I smiled, and my heart melted. I watched my youngest daughter as she jumped up and handed out the little trinkets and gifts that she had bought from the secret Santa shop at school for all of us. I realized that I was worrying myself to death that I would fail them and all this time they had the true spirit of Christmas. Making each other gifts and excitedly handing them out not worrying if they spent enough or did enough. I know as the parents we are supposed to teach the kids, but sometimes I think we could benefit a lot from stepping back and remembering that we too can take time to learn from them. We grow up and we lose sight of our innocence and purity. We become tarnished by so much in this world and we forget that what counts the most is the thought behind the gifts. Not the price or the size. I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and I wish you all the best in the New Year. May 2025 be filled with many blessings, lots of love and healing! -Feisty Mommy

I lay my head down to sleep and it feels so hard to breathe. I feel my eyes begin to sting and shortly after, the tears begin to stream. A puddle on my pillow, slow and steady breaths to avoid drawing attention. Crying silent cries and a lot of unrealistic wishing. Oh, how I wish I could go back in time and save that little girl that I still carry deep inside. The one that grew up to cry herself to sleep at night. I wish I could go back and change her path, steer her to the good and protect her from all the bad. I wish I could go back and tell her that she is more than what was done to her, she deserved so much better. I would tell her to cherish her granny with every ounce in her and stop wasting time trying to make her mom be a mother. Not to listen to her dad's harsh words and to love herself and never question her self-worth. Oh, how I wish I could go back in time and save that little girl that I still carry deep inside. Lord only knows how many tears these tired eyes have cried. -Feisty Mommy

It is 12 days until Christmas and all through the house I am haunted by the ghosts of Winters past. Today, an old memory surfaced after reflecting on all that has taken place in 2024 and wondering what 2025 holds in store. I was thinking about how my oldest daughter will be 18 and my youngest will be 11. Which led to me thinking about my 11th year here on this earth. I remember those were the days that my mother was drinking and bar hopping the most. There are two nights that stand out for me the most. The first was when my mother was about 24 beers in and had almost downed an entire 5th of Early Times and out of hand was not enough to describe her once she was that hammered. Finally, I spoke up and made a comment about not understanding how she did not have alcohol poisoning at that point and the arguing began. She was very loud and belligerent when she was drinking. It was around midnight, and I was at the end of my rope. I finally lost my temper and said, "Why don't you just pass the fuck out already like every other night?" (I couldn't imagine my 11-year-old talking to me this way or seeing me the way I saw her.) I was just so ready for bed. I had already got into my pj's which consisted of a tank top and shorts. Keep in mind it is the middle of winter, midnight and about 25 degrees outside. When I said that, she shoved me out the door no jacket and no shoes, threw my cell phone at my face... (my cell at the time was the short chunky little Kyocera phones with the blue light up keypad) and locked the door. I called my dad who was about 30 minutes away and asked him to come get me. I told him what had happened, and I waited for them to get up, get dressed and make the trip to get me. By the time they got there I was frozen solid and had cried myself stupid. My dad nor my stepmom asked if I was okay. They pulled up, I climbed in and the first thing I heard was my stepmom saying, "You understand it's after midnight, right?" Knowing that any response I would give in that moment would sound disrespectful I chose to just nod and apologize. I guess I should have just not bothered them and slept outside. As if feeling like a burden wasn't enough, my dad had to follow her comment with, "You can't keep me away from my mama," mimicking my voice. I said nothing. I just let the tears flow and watched out the window. And per the usual, since the taunting didn't illicit a response, he kept mimicking me with different phrases all the way home. Finally, we pulled into the driveway, I climbed out and went in to cry myself to sleep. The second memory that haunts me from my 11th year in this life was again drinking related. My mother was knocking them back one after another and her and her boyfriend were fighting and arguing. Somehow my brother got caught up in the middle of it all and became her punching bag so to speaking. She was spitting venom at him, and I could see the pain on his face, so I stepped in and tried to get the focus on me. We had just gotten a nice half inch thick glass top coffee table. She was sitting on the couch and turned her focus to me as planned. She started saying the usual things, "You are such a fuck up, I hate you. I wish you were never born. All you do is ruin everyone's lives." I asked her to slow down the drinking and she told me not to tell her what to do. Again, I had reached my breaking point and said, "Fine. Drink up. Drown in it for all I care. I am so over you being an alcoholic," glared at her with so much disdain and hatred before turning to walk away. Before I had completely turned around and took that first step, I heard glass shattering everywhere. She had slammed her beer bottle down on that glass top table and caught it just right that it shattered, and that thick glass sliced right through her hand all the way through her tendons. She didn't want to call rescue because she was drinking and was supposed to be watching us. She couldn't drive herself because she was so drunk that she could barely even walk straight much less drive a vehicle. So, 11-year-old me got into her Subaru, and drove her to the hospital. It wasn't my first time driving without a license and I was sure it wouldn't be last considering my mother couldn't stay sober to save her life. I just could not imagine my little girl standing out in the cold freezing because she begged me to better myself, or risking her record and life to drive me somewhere because I was too drunk or high to do it myself. I couldn't imagine my children being ashamed of me. Even though these memories leak back up to the surface in the most unexpected times, I take pride in knowing those memories end here. My kids will grow up and feel Christmas coming and remember the elves being silly, or the excitement they felt on Christmas morning. When it's cold outside, the crisp cool air will nip them on the nose, and they will have memories of freezing on their walk to the preheated car in the mornings to get carried to school, or the bonfires they kept us warm while we roasted smores and shared laughs. When they are grown, and they have an argument with their spouse, or get a promotion in their career or find out they have a baby on the way... or if they just simply need to talk about how they woke up and almost wore two different shoes to work... they will forever have a mama that they can come to no matter how old they are. We can laugh together, we can cry together, we can just sit in silence. But they have a mother and that makes me happy. 

For a big part of my life, I have been a people pleaser. I don't like having to say "no" to others. I don't like putting myself out there for fear of rejection. I remember once in elementary school, a helicopter landed in the field, and they asked for students that wanted to take a ride to raise their hands. I wanted to ride so badly but I never put my hand up. I was afraid of rejection, or that another student that wanted to ride may have gotten upset if I had gotten chosen. I have given things away that I really wanted to keep just to make someone happy and avoid telling them no. I learned recently that for a significant number of survivors, this behavior is developed as a coping mechanism after traumatic experiences. It was explained to me that people pleasing is a way for me to feel in control again and avoid unwanted conflicts. Saying no was a conflict when I was a child, and that carried over into my adulthood. Now I am 36 years into life, and I have spent so much time pouring my heart and soul into those that matter like my kids and family (because I love them as a mother/daughter should) as well as those that shouldn't have mattered (to avoid conflict.) And, in doing so I poured and poured forgetting to leave myself enough to maintain my heart, soul and balance and now I feel empty. People pleasing is not healthy, and the longer you do it the harder it is to undo it. I have noticed that now that I am saying no more, I am catching more attitude than I would have had I just said no from the beginning and started with healthy boundaries. People became so used to me being the yes girl and now that I am trying to refill myself, they don't know how to handle it or how to react and that is okay. I have to remember that if someone becomes confrontational, it doesn't mean I have to engage. The other day a family member said some pretty hurtful things and I allowed him to finish and then I stood up and walked out of the front door with my dignity and peace intact. I got into my car, cranked it and left. I didn't scream and holler. I didn't engage. I didn't say a bunch of hurtful things that I would regret later. I simply removed myself from the situation and as much as the things that were said hurt my feelings, I reminded myself that it was his pain and anger talking. Life is one big learning curve. We all make mistakes and say and do things we wished we hadn't. But the biggest thing to remember is to LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES and do NOT keep repeating them! My favorite saying is Live, Love, Laugh... GROW! 

Sometimes we try our very best to see the best in others. And sometimes, in comparison to our past traumas and pain, "the best" that we see is actually only slightly better than the past pain we have been through and under a microscope it looks and feels like paradise, right? But in reality, it is just less painful and somehow that registers as acceptable. For example, my father is not an emotional man. His affection is monetary. If you need money, he will be there for you in a New York minute. However, if you come to him with conversation, he is very chauvinistic and believes that tearing the woman down in any situation is the best response even when speaking to his own daughter. I sincerely believe that this stems from his deep-rooted disrespect and disdain for his mother from his childhood traumas. Therefore, when I found my husband and he actually sat and listened to anything and everything I had to say it meant the world to me. He did the little things that were sweet, flowers, small gifts, just because texts and calls... However, he told me in the first year, "I am an asshole." I laughed it off, I thought he was joking. The men in my life have never been openly romantic or kind or vulnerable so I thought that this was his way of playing it off, I guess. He also told me his motto was, "He who cares least wins," and he told me to never forget that. Again, I chalked it up to manly sayings that don't hold a lot of meaning. We are a decade in, and it has been a rocky road because he was telling me the truth and I did not listen. This article is not a bash session by any means; however, it is true that you cannot believe what you see on social media or even outside of someone's home. In a heated argument the other night he said himself that I talk good about him to everyone but him. And it is true. I found it very distasteful for my mother to sit and bash my father to anyone who would listen. But to be fair to him, after year 6 I began telling him that I needed more. I was not vague. I was actually extremely blunt. I remember many conversations ending with, "I am telling you how I feel now, so that you can fix it or at least understand why I leave when I do." In that same heated argument, he told me that I had "checked out the last couple of years and he keeps waiting for me to 'be fun' again." I, again being blunt, told him that I had begun checking out 6 years ago, he just chose not to listen. Fun meant the me that didn't argue. The me that didn't speak up for herself and allowed herself to be doormat. Fun meant me telling myself that I am oversensitive and overthinking per the usual. And then, when I lost myself so much that I realized I don't laugh or play, or do anything that I used to enjoy, I spoke up. And it was then that I was no longer any fun. My husband is a lot like my father. Working and providing for the family is all that should be required. Emotional support is a surreal concept for them both. If he does hurt my feelings, he really does care less than I do. Over the years, I have apologized to him because I got upset when I felt disrespected, and I just wanted to stop the silent treatment even when I wasn't wrong. (Sometimes I was wrong, Lord knows I am far from perfect, and it does take two. I have had my fair share of upsetting him and pissing him off. The difference being that I sincerely apologize and try not to repeat the same things.) Anytime he is wrong there is guaranteed to be some justification in place of where the apology should be making why he did what he did my fault or someone else's. We haven't held a meaningful conversation in quite some time now. Somehow, I managed to move states away and find a younger version of my father and marry him and it took a decade to come to this realization. And yet, who am I to complain when he told me from the beginning, and I laughed it off? I take full responsibility for sticking to what I know and not leaving my comfort zone and not realizing that I was marrying an emotionally unavailable man who was blunt with me from day one. So, when someone tells you who they are, believe them. When someone shows you who they are, let them. Don't make excuses for them or yourself, don't keep repeating the same painful patterns. Understand that they are showing and telling you exactly who they are, and you are choosing not to listen to them or to your intuition, and then one day you wake up and you realize ten or twenty years have passed and you wonder why you didn't listen and save all of that time and energy for the both of you. I was asked after that heated debate a very important question because even though I am clearly a slow learner I have come to the understanding that nothing will change, and it shouldn't. He was honest with me from the beginning I was not honest with myself. He asked, "What can we do to fix it?" The honest answer is there is nothing. It should have been fixed when told me who he was. Or at the first discussion I had about my feelings. Or the second. Or the fiftieth. It wasn't. You can't buy a houseplant and neglect it for months and then call a florist and say, "Hey, I was told when the first leaf died, and the second and then when the entire plant dried out and it didn't seem to matter then. But now it's dead and I am just wanting to know, what can I do to fix it?" You should have watered it when the first leaf died. Life doesn't work that way. So, to all reading this blog here today, I have laid my personal life on the line. The takeaway that I want you all to gain no matter which side of the table you are on is this; Stop wasting time. Life is short. If you know your partner is telling you that they are not what you want, LISTEN TO THEM. If you know that your partner is telling you that they are unhappy... LISTEN TO THEM. If you want to be the someone that your partner needs, listen to what that is for them and start working on it NOW. Not when they are one foot and nine toes out of the door. You may not be able to be exactly what they are asking, and it would be unrealistic to expect anyone to be 100% perfect for anyone, but you would be amazed at how much effort alone means to someone. And last but not least, if you know that what you need is dramatically different than the person you are with, be fair. Step away. Don't make their life miserable by staying and complaining and giving them unattainable goals. It really does take two in a relationship. Some things are reparable, and some things are negotiable. But you have to be real for them and for yourself. -Feisty Mommy 

I apologize for being MIA for a few days. I had to take a step back. I believe talking about things were causing my nightmares to resurface and I just needed a few days to regroup and get my mental back correctly. Don't get me wrong, it helps tremendously openly discussing all that I have gone through, however, I do believe that coupled with the holidays which are already a hotbed for depression for me took its toll. Knowing when to take a step back is also a big key in healing. You have to know your limits and set boundaries for yourself and be okay with that. I learned a very long time ago that you will never be able to please everyone no matter how hard you try, so, if you have to take a breather even if it means keeping people waiting for a bit that is okay and if you really mean to them what they say you do, they will understand. My brother has been on my mind heavily lately. I miss him beyond words. We live in a rather humble three-bedroom home in which our boys share a room, and our girls share a room and lately our girls have been arguing over wanting their privacy. This is a new experience for me as the boys have not had this issue, granted they are much closer in age than the girls are. I finally had enough and sat down with both of our girls and wrote up a "contract." The "contract" had a list of "shared" room times as well as "personal" room times for each girl. It also included rules such as organizing and cleaning up after yourself without procrastination, who gets to set the TV show when and once everything was worked out and agreed upon, they both signed it and then I signed it, and it was framed and hung in their bedroom. Now if anything is said about the room, they are told to refer to their contract that is legally binding. LOL. After the dramatics of the contract, I sat them both down and told them that I understand they need their privacy, and I understand where both of them are coming from but that I would give almost anything in the world to have my little brother here to annoy me one more time, or one more time where he came to me and said, "Sissy, I need you." But I will never have that again. He is gone and never coming back. I will never hear his voice, see his face, feel his hug or get so mad I could slap the crap out of him ever again. I miss everything about him. The good, the funny and the annoying. And one day, when they grow old and gray, they will laugh about these petty arguments about room time and the youngest being nosey or wanting the eldest's attention all the time just like my brother and I did before he passed. And then the day will come when one has to bury the other and then the memories will flood their hearts and overflow into their eyes and spill over as tears and they will wish they were right back in this humble little home arguing with one another about what to put on the television, or who is moving the bunkbeds too much.

There are so many red flags out there to warn us about people and their true nature and sometimes we miss them. Not because we want to, but because growing up, our arsenals were not filled with the knowledge needed to recognize them as what they were, red flags. Many of us watched our mothers and fathers in toxic relationships, accepting things that were completely unacceptable, and it normalized those things for us. It desensitized us to the danger behind those actions. Then we become the grown up and we think, well that's what dad did to mom... or that that's what mom did to dad... and even though it feels so wrong, we ignore that feeling because that is what we knew as normal. Or in other situations, it could be that we were sheltered from those things so much so that we just don't understand what is happening until the damage is done. Regardless as to what the reasoning is, it is not your fault if you missed a few red flags, please do not blame yourself! I did a blog a while back listing the many forms of abuse. I will list some of the red flags here.

Life is short and I have watched survivors that survived the toughest of situations just to lead a life living in the bottom of a bottle, be it pills or alcohol. I know that it is easier to numb the pain however you can, but I promise you the road less traveled is far more rewarding. It is hard to heal and face the issues head on. It is hard reflecting on the past and opening up and letting it out rather it's a little at a time or an all-out explosion. Either way, it has to be faced, processed, worked through and finally accepted that yes this happened to me. Yes, it hurt, and it changed my life forever. Once you take that first step, I promise it gets easier. This is all necessary for the healing to begin. I went to a counselor for one visit. She had me relax on her couch and picture my favorite place in the world, which was the beach for me. Then she asked me to picture myself there. She asked me to tell her once I was there. I did the best I could, but I thought she was an absolute quack because I was in denial that anything or anyone could help me through what I had been through. After I was "there" in "my spot" mentally, she told me to start from the beginning. So, I ran her through it and once I started it all come pouring out of me so fast that I startle myself. I didn't go into broad detail... But I remember it going something like. "Well, my mother was an alcoholic and my father worked all the time and they ended up getting a divorce after I was raped for over a year by my dad's best friend and my mom knew about it but she scared me into keeping it to myself and told me that if I didn't like it don't go back, but then she sent me back over and over again almost like she enjoyed the thought of me suffering. I don't know why she hated me so much. But I know she did because after her and daddy divorced, she told me all the time that I ruined her life and that she hated me for it. She openly hated me for years and years and eventually when she was done pretending to be a mom by doing the least she could possibly do which was allowing me and my brother to come to her house on her days--even though it ended there because she would leave us home to hit the bars-- she finally stop giving a shit about everything including appearances and abandoned us altogether." There was a moment of silence, other than a pen scratching on a piece of paper from the councilor taking notes. I opened my eyes to assess her facial expression and realized tears were streaming down my face and I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I had spilled so hard so fast that I stood up, grabbed my purse and said, "That is enough for today, thanks." And walked right out the door and never returned. I got home and attempted to tuck it and compartmentalize it away again at the deepest darkest depths of my mind. It worked for a bit, but I could not deny how empowering it was to say it all out loud and not have anyone interrupt me and downplay what had happened. It was empowering to be heard. I believe I spilled the way I did because I had yearned for the day that I could get it all out and say everything I wanted to about it without my dad, mom or granny shutting it down and telling me that it had been handled, and I needed to let it go. I had yearned to be heard, and nobody would ever listen. Parts of me wishes I would have been bold and brave enough to make them listen... to tell them, "I am sorry that hearing about this makes you uncomfortable, but I assure you the lack of your comfort is inferior by great margins to the lack of comfort I felt when it was happening to me." Not to mention going from a little girl that loved Barney the dinosaur, Scooby Doo and The Lion King to a girl that knew what a man's penis was, how to properly massage it, receive it and how to "play" all the "adult games." I may not have been bold and brave enough then, but I am now. Have hope, work towards healing and find a way to spread healing! We all need each other! -Feisty Mommy

I have noticed on my journey to healing that there were a lot of lingering voices in my mind that held me back and to be honest there still are some on my very bad days. But I am trying so hard to change those voices to sound more like me and less like my parents and those that hurt me. I am trying to step out of my comfort zone more and more each day and remind myself to trust my judgement and those around me. It is so much easier said than done. But I am trying my hardest and that is what counts. I feel like complacency is a problem for all humans at some point in their life, survivors included. We tend to find a place we feel safe and then we dwell there, unable to move forward because we are comfortable in knowing that we are safe where we are and then we settle. Without taking chances and taking leaps and doing all we can to keep pushing forward we end up ultimately restricting ourselves and never seeing how far we can actually go in life. I don't want to be complacent anymore. I don't want to be "comfortable." I want to push myself to do bigger things with my life. Telling my story publicly was the first big leap. I am still "anonymous," since I haven't dropped any names, but I assure you if my parents, my rapist and a select few people come across this blog and read it, they will know without a doubt who the writer is. That is a risk I finally decided I was willing to take. For one, it has been an amazing release for me. Secondly, I have thoroughly benefitted from all of the "me too's," I have received in knowing that I am not alone. Last but not least, I pray that this blog is a "me too," for someone that needed it. It helps tremendously to know that there are others out there that understand the abuse you experienced and the aftermath it left you with. It is nice to know that all the times that I wondered why I couldn't just be normal because I was overthinking, or my mind went straight to worst case scenario, that there is someone out there that would understand wholeheartedly why my mind does that. I am "normal." My next big leap that I am working up to will be podcasting. I started this with a huge fear that my father would find it and get upset. I am to the point now, that I realize I have spent my ENTIRE life upset. This is my story to tell. I lived it, suffered the aftermath of it and now I am older and wiser, and I will be damned if anyone is going to tell me "There is nothing to talk about, it was handled," ever again. I will tell my story. I will own what happened to me. I am no longer complacent. I am bold. I am brave. I am angry. I am HEALING. And it took me long enough...

As the tears stream down my face and curve around my nose and fall down to the corner of my mouth I taste salt. The taste of pain. The taste of betrayal. The taste of trauma. Why couldn't I just be normal? Why wasn't I born into one of these amazing, caring and supportive families? Why did I have to run into a pedophile at 7 that didn't even have the common decency to put me out of my misery after having his way with me? Nighttime seems to be the worst, when everything is quiet, and my brain has the stage and the mic. I try to shut it down, but it just reels with memories, questions that will never be answered and short videos of things that happened. My own brain doesn't even protect me. I hear so many trauma stories where the victim's brain naturally blocks out details to protect the person... or their brain causes them to dissociate so they don't have to face what happened to them. Instead, my brain works differently. I see memories in short films. I see vivid photographic memories of hurtful moments. When my brain is in overtime, I feel like I am literally reliving every touch from my rapist, and every headbutt from my mother, every hurtful thing that my dad has screamed at me. This type of memory isn't all bad though because when it gets bad enough, I force the memory of my granny's hugs, and my brothers laugh, and I get to relive those as well. I have mastered the silent cry, and the concentrated breathing to avoid waking my husband and disturbing him from his sleep. I let the tears flow and eventually I drift off to sleep with the aftertaste of salt lingering in my mouth. My dreams have always been extremely vivid, and I normally remember every one of them. I have gotten heavily into dream interpretation as it has always interested me how our minds try to work through all the chaos in our lives by putting on a show for us in our REM sleep. I have found that a lot of the interpretations can be pretty accurate. They say people can't read in their dreams, but I can. I have always been able to. My mind and the way it is wired is unique. However, sometimes I fear that it is almost a curse and hard to enjoy because of the memories it was burdened to carry. I have done a lot of healing on this 36-year long journey, but I fear I still have a long way to go. I will continue to force the good memories and interrupt the bad. I will continue to fill my mind with good memories and hopefully one day it will be so flooded with all new and good things that when I lay my head down on my pillow there will be no more salt. There will be no more need for forced memories. There will only be the lingering taste of toothpaste followed with snores and sleep. -Feisty Mommy 

As I look in the mirror I see a few wrinkles, stress hiding behind the smile and pain deep in my eyes. I stare at the woman in the mirror, and I wonder who she would have been had she had the support system every child deserves, the love that every child needs and the safety that every child so rightfully needs. I wonder how accomplished she could have been had she not been scared to step outside of her comfort zone. I wonder how her social life would be if she had ever learned how to fully trust anyone other than herself. I wonder how special losing her virginity would have been had she been given the chance to choose her first time instead of having it stolen. I wonder how much her eyes and smile could really light up the room if she had ever fully found her confidence. I stare at her with so much wonder and so much pain. She was just a girl that had everything taken from her. She was just a girl that had dreams and an imagination at one point until the day that her entire life changed, and she had to grow up entirely too fast. The transition from childhood to adulthood for that woman in the mirror was going from bicycles, ring pops and hide and seek to watching porn at the demand of a grown man, being fondled and losing her innocence without ever seeing it coming. I wish I could write to that little girl and send a letter back in time to her. I would say, "None of this is your fault. You had no way of knowing this was his plan. Your mother should have protected you and she didn't but let's focus on the fact that your granny did. Find your confidence in the fact that you were strong enough to take that stand and point out the monster that did this to you. Find your trust in your grandmother's love, hugs and support and the justice system who put him behind bars and condemned him to a lifelong sentence of filing with the national sex offender registry. Step outside of your comfort zone, not everything is terrible and bad. One day you will have an amazing family of your own and you will be able to move mountains to change the generational cycles that no woman before you on your mother's side could. You are beautiful, smart, kind, strong, courageous and have an amazing heart. Live your life and don't let the trauma define who you are. Most importantly, you deserve unconditional love. Love yourself." If only she would listen... -Feisty Mommy