How did I get here?

If you had asked me a few years ago how life was going, I would’ve told you things were great—maybe even amazing.

I was a homeowner, living in what my husband called his dream house. I was pregnant with our second child. I was climbing the corporate ladder, traveling the world—Australia, Spain, Hawaii. I thought I had done it. I thought I had outrun my past and built a beautiful life.

I’d look at what some friends and family were going through and silently think, “Thank God that’s not me.”

But now, as I sit in the debris of the life I thought I was living, I find myself asking:

How did I get here?

And the answer… is complicated—but obvious. So obvious, in fact, I don’t know how I ever believed that a few years of therapy, some surface-level healing, and forgiving my mother could erase the decades of physical and emotional trauma I endured.

That was only the tip of the iceberg.

Looking Back

For a long time, I couldn’t cry. Maybe I wouldn’t cry. But now, the tears come almost instantly when I reflect on my story.

When I was around 12 years old, I told my mom something I’d been carrying in silence for years: I was being abused by a family member.

I was so young when it started, I don’t remember how or when it began. But by 12, I knew I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. I trusted her to protect me. But instead, she confronted him—with me standing right there. He denied it. She believed him.

That betrayal still echoes.

The abuse had started before we moved from Cleveland to Charlotte. I have faint memories of telling her even before the wedding. But nothing changed. Life went on—and so did the abuse.

Eventually, I told a trusted adult at school. That conversation saved me. Authorities were called. He went to jail.

But my mother stayed married to him.
Even after he got out.
Even after he moved back into our home while I was still in high school.

I had to live under the same roof with the man who abused me, pressured to forgive and “move on.” So I buried it. The betrayal. The fear. The pain. I pushed it all down and built a life on top of it.

Then and Now

I used to believe I had made it through unscathed. College educated. Beautiful sons. A successful career. A lovely home. I told myself I was okay.

But I wasn’t. I just hadn’t unpacked any of it.

It wasn’t until after my separation that the truth became unavoidable.

My husband started showing up to my apartment unannounced—even while I wasn’t home. One day, I returned from a dentist appointment to find him sitting in my living room. That wasn’t the first time. When I asked him to step outside to talk and then asked him to leave, things escalated. Later that that morning, I took the kids out to try to shift the energy into a more positive vibe for the day.

That’s when I noticed his car following me.

I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t feel safe. So I drove straight to the nearest police station.

The police helped diffuse the situation, and I was granted an emergency restraining order by a compassionate magistrate. He encouraged me to file for divorce. But when I went to court the following week to request a longer-term order, the judge denied it—suspicious of my motives and dismissive of my fear.

I started to second-guess myself. Had I overreacted?

So I went back. I re-read years of text messages, looking for “evidence.”
What I found was undeniable: cycles of verbal abuse, manipulation, gas-lighting, rage, apology… repeat.

For years, I’d been surviving an abusive relationship—and I hadn’t even named it.

Survival mode

For me, survival has often looked like over-functioning. Controlling everything. Taking on too much. Not asking for help. Because if I’m the one holding everything together, maybe I won’t fall apart. That strategy worked—until it didn’t.

Motherhood changed me

Becoming a mother gave me a different lens. It made me realize how complex parenting is. How parents are also people, often carrying their own unhealed wounds. But it also clarified what I never want my children to experience.

So I’m learning to be human in front of them. To tell the truth (age appropriately). To model healthy communication and emotional honesty. I believe this will help them express and feel their feelings without shame.

So, how did I get here?

I got here because I believed survival was the same as healing. Because I was taught to suppress, to perform, to carry the weight silently. Because no one ever showed me what it meant to be safe—emotionally, physically, spiritually.

But now, I’m choosing something else. I don’t have all the answers and I’m still working through the wreckage.

This is my healing. This is my truth. And it starts by asking the question out loud: How did I get here? And refusing to stay stuck in the answer.

Journal prompts

Reflect on the key experiences, choices or beliefs from your past that may be influencing your current emotions, habits or relationships.

• What patterns do you notice?

• What parts of your past have you never fully unpacked or processed?

• How do you see those moments showing up in your present behavior, boundaries or self-worth?

• Are there any painful experiences you’ve labeled as ‘dealt with’ that might still need space to breathe, feel, or heal? If so, what are they?

• How are those unspoken pieces influencing your current life?