As a child, we encounter a myriad of scenarios that mold us over time into the adults that we will eventually become. When I was young, I was ignorant of the mental and emotional implications my own mother would have upon my personal development. It was her own childhood trauma that ultimately ended up affecting my sister and I due to her inability to recognize her mental illness. As children, we were able to see past her flaws – deep down to her true self. We wouldn’t realize the full extent of our mother’s mental illness until well into our adult lives and after her passing. It is essential that we destigmatize mental health and make it as much of a priority as physical health, to improve quality of life and provide people with the treatment they so desperately deserve. My mother suffered severe emotional and physical trauma as a young child that affected her mental stability and well-being, and in turn, fueled her addiction problems later in life. She endured long-term physical and mental abuses from her own immediate family, and the concept of mental illness wasn’t taken as seriously as it is today. Some of her classmates had themselves endured shock therapy and beatings as forms of valid treatment in the 1950s. She was forced to bury her emotional problems, and was made to feel guilty and insufficient; weak. Fast forward to her young adulthood, her mental problems were exacerbated due to her living situation. She was married to my father – a proud military man – which involved moving around the country frequently. At first, it must have seemed heaven-sent, being away from her family. But over time, being away from her close friends and siblings took its toll. Her alcohol addiction was in its infancy. It eventually spiraled out of control over a matter of 16 years and led to the collapse of her career, marriage, and other important relationships. My parents divorced when I was very young. My mother was awarded full custody and my father was granted temporary bi-weekly weekend visitation. Immediately commencing this decision from the court, my sister and I endured the brunt of her backlash. We were forced to move every one-to-two years due to her inability to maintain a job, and hopped from school to school. We had no time to form any meaningful friendships, as we would probably be at a different school the following autumn. We were gaslighted and made to feel guilty and weak, even though we were straight-A students with impeccable records and awards. We were mistreated by the few men she managed to hold a relationship with at that time. We didn’t know it then, but our mother was projecting her frustrations upon us, almost in the same manner that she must have been treated as a child. My mother’s mental illness fueled her addictions and fast lifestyle, which ultimately was responsible for her passing. She lived fast and died much too young at the age of sixty-two. It breaks our hearts, my sister and I, because she was such a wonderful woman. She deserved to live a normal happy life – free from her childhood demons. Had she been able to get help early, we often wonder and marvel at her potential. She was so talented in many ways – painting, baking, sewing, and singing almost every line to every musical ever written. Her all-time favorite was South Pacific, which we often heard while shampooing in the bathtub as children. She still made things work and provided for us, even when things seemed hopeless. We were able to see past her flaws – deep down to her true inner self. That is how we prefer to remember her. My personal relationship with my mother taught me the importance of patience, and to really view human beings as metaphorical onions – with all of their unique layers and levels. I’m already an empathic person by nature, so my experiences have made me acutely cognizant of the behaviors of those around me – many of which are tied to mental health. I’m convinced that this is also the explanation behind my fascination of cultural anthropology – the desire to travel and see/understand that which is different. My personal relationships have been richer because of it. Despite difficulties during our childhood, my sister and I persisted to become upstanding, well-functioning, productive members of society. We were lucky enough to recognize our emotional scars early on and seek treatment for them. As a result, we didn’t let those scars define us as people. We both fully believe, that our experiences with our mother and subsequent recognition of mental health ultimately saved our own lives.