I was 33 years old when I finally opened up to my mom about being sexually abused as a child. For years, I was embarrassed, ashamed, and utterly disgusted at the things I endured. When someone strips your innocence from you, someone you know and love, it confuses you. You're never able to understand why someone who was supposed to protect you would violate you in such a. heinous way. My abusers were several years older than me, and convinced me that if I ever spoke up, I'd be in trouble too. For the majority of my childhood and adolescent years, I was isolated, burying my face in books, escaping reality and focused on being the best in school. As a teenager, I became confused about my sexuality because for a while, the thought of a boy touching me disgusted me, so I began to believe I was gay. I grew to become hyper-sexual the minute an older boy showed interest in me. It made me feel mature, and grown up. By 16, I'd lost my virginity and by 19, I'd given birth to my first daughter. I spent most of my adult years emotionally scarred, depressed, and feeling unworthy of love because it seemed like the only thing men wanted from me was sex.  Twice in my life I've tried to commit suicide, and I was about to try for a third time in 2020. Instead, I called for help.  I called my medical insurance and sought therapy. It took a while for me to open up about my sexual abuse because I still didn't want to be judged by my therapist. I spoke about the toxicity in my family, the times I was physically abused by siblings, and the feeling of being misunderstood and ignored in my own home. I was labeled as having an "attitude problem" in my home because I was often secluded and didn't speak much. My parents never realized my silence was a literal cry for help because I was being molested. The wet bed sheets, my fear of the dark, the flinching at someone trying to touch me, disappearing to my bedroom for hours at a time, my drastic change in appetite, me pretending to be on my period at 10 years old (using ketchup for blood), and literally lashing out at school over the smallest things, were all signs that something was happening to me. Therapy taught me that what happened was not my fault. I was a child. I was a victim. I learned to accept what happened to me because I needed to get past it and not feel ashamed of myself anymore. I spent the following years working through my depression, anxiety disorder, divorce, weight gain. and single parenting, by structuring my life around healing the little girl inside of me. Therapy encouraged me to acknowledge my pain, accept it, understand it, and grow from it, while actively finding a way through it. I forgave myself for what I never said, and how I never told. Eventually, I graduated with my B.A. in English, became an educator, entered my Masters program, and wrote and self-published my first book, "Broken Cycle." I made the conscious decision not to address my abusers because I strongly believe people have to heal in ways that are conducive to maintaining healthy mental and emotional stability. Forgiving myself was enough for me.