More Than My Pain

I was born in a community that most people had never heard of. Whenever I told someone where I lived, they would pause, look confused, and ask me to repeat it.

To them, it was just an unfamiliar place. To me, it was home.

My childhood was not filled with the carefree moments many children remember.

Stress lived in our home like an uninvited guest. Even when I smiled, there was always something heavy sitting on my heart.

As a little girl, I wanted what every child wants—to feel safe, protected, and loved. I believed the adults around me would keep me from harm. I believed that home was the one place where nothing bad could happen.

I was wrong.

A terrible event changed my life forever. I was violated by someone who should never have harmed me. The pain was overwhelming, but what hurt almost as much, was discovering that the people I trusted already knew the danger existed.

When I finally found the courage to tell my mother, she told me she knew. My eldest sister also knew. What happened to me, had happened before.

In that moment, my world changed. The people I thought would protect me had failed to do so. The little girl I had been was gone.

But this is not a story about what was taken from me. It is a story about what I fought to keep.

After everything happened, the people who gave me a reason to keep going were my younger siblings. I swore to protect them as how I should have been protected.

They looked up to me, and without realizing it, they gave me purpose. On my darkest days, when I felt lost and alone, they reminded me that I still mattered.

I did not know it then, but surviving would become the first step toward building a completely different future.

One day, that future would include two little girls of my own. A future where the cycle would end with me.