As I scrolled through social media recently, I stumbled upon a video that immediately brought back memories I had tried for years to forget. It showed a father hitting the mother in front of their child—a scene all too familiar to me. Seeing that video opened a floodgate of emotions and vivid memories that I still carry with me, even after all these years. These aren’t just distant recollections; they are deeply embedded scars, wounds that continue to shape who I am today.
When I was younger, I witnessed my father physically hitting my mother. The fear, the helplessness, and the overwhelming sense of confusion that came with each of those moments are as fresh in my mind now as they were then. The scene would play out the same way each time—the yelling, the physical blows, and the gut-wrenching fear. My father even resorted to using a gun to scare us, and the sound of that gunshot still echoes in my mind. No matter how much time passes, the trauma of those events feels as though it’s permanently etched into my memory.
Childhood is supposed to be a time of safety and love, but for children who grow up in environments of domestic violence, those basic needs are often violated. As a child, I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I knew that I didn’t deserve to witness such violence. I didn’t deserve to feel unsafe in my own home, and yet, I did. That fear slowly turned into anger—anger that grew and festered because I couldn’t change my reality, and I couldn’t escape it. The trauma of witnessing domestic abuse doesn’t simply vanish with time. It buries itself deep inside, manifesting in ways that sometimes aren’t even clear until much later.
For me, it has contributed to my anger issues, my struggles with aggression, and my difficulties in trusting others. I learned early on that the people who are supposed to protect and love you the most can also be the ones who hurt you the deepest. That realization, unfortunately, has followed me into my adult life. Even now, I find it hard to fully trust anyone. There’s always a part of me that wonders when someone might betray me or turn against me. It’s a defense mechanism that I developed as a child to protect myself from further hurt, but it’s also a barrier that keeps me from fully embracing the love and respect I deserve. I’m learning—slowly—that I am worthy of love, that I deserve to be treated with kindness and care. But the journey is far from easy.
Trauma, especially from childhood, doesn’t just disappear. It stays with you, quietly shaping the way you see the world and the people around you. For me, the journey to healing is ongoing. There are days when the anger and sadness feel overwhelming, and other days when I feel hopeful and resilient. Writing this is part of my healing process—an attempt to give voice to the pain that I’ve carried for so long. I know I’m not alone in this experience. So many children witness violence in their homes, and the effects of that violence linger long into adulthood. It’s not something you “get over.” It’s something you learn to live with, to manage, and to heal from over time. And while I’m still on that journey, I believe it’s important to talk about it. To give voice to the pain and the trauma that so many children experience in silence.
Healing from trauma takes time. It takes courage to confront the past and work through the emotions that come with it. I still have a long way to go, but I’m learning to be kinder to myself, to recognize that I didn’t deserve what I went through, and to slowly let go of the anger that has been with me for so long. My story is one of pain, but it’s also one of resilience. And while the fear and trauma may still live inside me, I am fighting—every day—to create a life where I feel safe, loved, and respected. Because I deserve that. We all do
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