For a long time, I resented my mother. I felt like the child she didn't want and a burden. Nothing I ever did was good enough and I was overlooked. As the oldest, I was put on the back burner for the other children, that I ended up taking care of. I never understood why she treated me this way, but it took me moving out and being able to see my life kind of from the outside to realize she was a broken shell of who she should've been. For the first few years living in South Carolina, my mother's life was carefree, she lived with her mom, stepdad, and two out of four of her immediate siblings. She played double dutch, she was a pageant girl, and she had a voice that almost made her famous, but when her mother was diagnosed with ALS and on a visibly rapid decline her world flipped upside down. She became the head of the house in a sense, she took care of her mother, her two brothers, and occasionally her uncle. It was a lot to take on for an eleven-year-old but it didn't last long. By the age of twelve, her mother had died peacefully, and her family was split up. Her two brothers landed with her stepdad and her, with a distant aunt, who sadly only took her in for the money. From then until she was eighteen, she virtually was alone, if she wanted things she'd had to make a way by herself, and if she didn't she'd go without. Fast forward about eleven years later, now she has two kids and one on the way. She just lost her oldest sister to the disease that took her mother, and she's with a deadbeat guy who didn't care about her. Battling the depression that comes with the loss, the reminder of her mother, and her constant worry she becomes ill and is in and out of the hospital. Through her spells I was worried sick, wondering if she'd make it or if something was unforeseeably wrong with the baby. I had prayed every night that she'd get better and when she was healthy enough to come home I'd hold her hair while she threw up any and everything. It pained me so much because I felt like I was going to lose two mother figures at once. Once she had the baby the dynamic started to shift into something I had so abruptly felt. The once calm and joyful demeanor of our home was, for me, now tense and demanding. I was put down, I was made to feel less than and unwelcome. It was like this up until it was too much for me to handle and I left at seventeen. Now that I've had almost a year not under her roof, at times I find it hard to hate her. I find it hard to not look past the way she treated me and the way she made me feel because I know she was only showing me how she'd been treated for so many years. I was led to psychology early on when I started to notice I had more bad days than good. After seeking help in learning how to navigate my trauma I realized I wanted to help others do the same, and with your help, I could come closer to gaining the knowledge I need to get a doctorate, and open my own practice to help families just like mine, and leave no child feeling the way I was.

Growing up wasn't meant to be hard. At least it shouldn't have been. I was born into a family where real love was hard to come by. My mother had a mother who didn't have much on her mind when she uprooted her five kids, but survival. She and her husband had what seemed like this dream life in the city of Jersey, but behind closed doors, her life wasn't exactly luxury. Eighteen years later I watched at the top of the stairs as my mother and father tussled each other over who got to keep my booster seat. From then on all I remember is violence. When my father went away for drug charges, three men entered my mothers life one after another. The first unremarkable and insubstantial, left behind a brilliant son who loved and needed him. The second helped give me a sister, but for me, that's all the good he's done. I watched as he and my mother would fight, the worst time being when my sister was first born and he had struck my mother while she was holding her. He left but was back within two weeks. Although he wasn't so easily shaken they fell apart when he cheated on her with the mother of all of his other children. For a while we lived how we did, it wasn't always pleasant, but we got by. Then around my sixteenth birthday, I met my almost father. My mother's first love, the one she wished had gone right the first time, and I believe now is wishing she hadn't come back around to see if second chances could mend them. Up until I moved out I was the one to break up their daily fights. It was a vicious cycle of alcohol, control, and neglect. He would go from job to job with long bouts of unemployment, drink himself into pennilessness, and then try to keep his cool when my mother fussed and beat on him for not listening to what she wanted and doing it before she could finish her unrealistic list of demands. Neither were perfect but neither were ready to admit that. Sometimes he'd disappear and it spelled the end for them until somehow he found his way back into her distrustful good graces and all was good for about a week until they began again. Watching for eighteen years took a toll on my perception of love and family. I fell in love with lessons and lost sight of the things that mattered, much like my mother. It took me taking a look into myself to realize if I didn't change I would continue the cycle. Some women in this situation seek help, but either aren't heard or don't make it out alive. Both leave behind children, mothers, fathers, friends, and people who care for them with lasting emotional injuries. Others can flip and can become abusers themselves. For these reasons, and more, I decided to delve into the world of psychology and how I could help. With my mother and many others in mind, I plan on starting a practice for women and children facing all kinds of issues, including abuse. At the heart of this practice, I want to create organizations for the abused, rehabilitating them, and giving them a new sense of life, while also helping them through their traumas. A lot of times seeking help can be difficult and seen as weak in the black community, but I want to crush that stigma and with your help, I could be on the path to doing it.