My mother consistently abused me and my brother. She would pin me down on my bed and sit on top of me, screaming into my face, her nose an inch from mine. She covered my nose and mouth with her hands until I couldn't breathe. She told me that I was the devil, that I ruined her life, that she should have aborted me, that she would kill herself to get away from me. She hit my father and bit my brother. Her moods shifted quickly and she sometimes would be praising me the very same day, telling me how much she loved me and how proud she was, holding me tight and stroking my arms and thighs. I survived the trauma by "going away"—dissociating so effectively that I have very few memories of my years living with my parents.

It's been four years since I cut my mother out of my life, and I still have nightmares about her. I suffer from PTSD, chronic migraines, fibromyalgia, ulcerative colitis, and vulvodynia (which makes it too painful for me to have sex). I am hyper-vigilant about people's behavior because I was "trained" to expect abuse, even when everything seems fine. But I still smile every day when I get up. I cry easily, but I laugh easily too.

I love my home with my husband and our two cats, my friends, my blog which is my creative outlet. I love being outside and animals and food and travel, I love gardening and making things with my hands, and I love the simple things in life like good books and good people. I try to be there for my brother and father, who still live with my mother. I've been in therapy for years and recovery is going to be lifelong, I think. But I set boundaries now—nobody touches me unless I want them to. And even though I get sick a lot, life is good, you know?