Don’t hurt me. I cried and cried. It was the first day of the hell that began.

I grew up with pain, guilt, and the responsibility of caring for my siblings. When I was 10, I was sexually abused by my uncle and my grandfather, over and over again. I grew up carrying that burden alone, convincing myself it was normal. My parents’ beatings were part of everyday life. I had no one to trust.

When I burned my legs and couldn’t walk, he came to the bed where my siblings and I were sleeping. I just cried; I didn’t want to go with him. He told me that if I didn’t, he’d take my youngest sister. He carried me away. I just cried and prayed to God.

Many times I thought about running away with my three siblings, but I couldn’t. We had nowhere to go.

When I was 18, I confronted my uncle and my grandmother, and with all that weight on my shoulders, I decided to seek refuge in the church. I asked God to heal my wounds, to make my parents stop treating us badly. Time passed, and one day my mom hit me so hard that I passed out. When I woke up, the only thing I could think of was running away from home with the first person who came along. I met the father of my children, but that wasn’t a good thing either. He was the first person I dared to confide in, to tell what had happened to me. It was a mistake. During our first fight, he threw it all back in my face. He cheated on me with as many women as he wanted, and I just cried, kept quiet, and felt guilty. That’s how he made me feel.

He hit me when I was pregnant with my son. I held on until my baby was born; I almost lost him, but I stayed strong. I didn’t lose him. I loved him. Both of them—my first daughter and my son. They were my happiness, my reason to keep going. I wouldn’t put up with any more abuse or betrayal.

My daughter was 10 and my son was 5 when I seriously thought about leaving that house. I couldn’t muster the courage. Everything was for them, because I love them so much.

Then I lost my brother. One Friday he left for work and never came back alive. I found him two weeks later. That day, all the memories of my childhood started flooding back, and I felt like I was losing my mind.

I moved to another state with my children in search of a way out, and then I went to the United States without them. My children are my most precious memories, and leaving them behind was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. But at that moment of total breakdown, there were only two paths in my mind: to give up, or to travel to this country and move forward. I chose to move forward. For them, and for myself.

Today, being in therapy at VIP has been a huge support for me and my son. The counseling, safety rules, and group discussions have given me tools I never had before. The crafts have also helped me, and the referrals to therapy clinics have made a real difference. Little by little, I am healing.

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Image Credit: La Madre, 2021. Isabelle Tuchband (Brazil, 1968-Present)