My Abusive Parents Have Taught Me What Family Isn’t
Now, It’s My Turn To Define What Family Means To Me
I am 21 years old and I am about to move into my first home with my childhood sweetheart, my partner of 7 years. While I am very excited, there is a lot of pressure on this house, as it feels like an opportunity for me to finally feel at home. After all that I’ve been through, it feels important for me to have a stable and conventional family home, white picket fence, and all — specifically built for a fresh start.
Throughout my childhood, I suffered multiple forms of abuse from several family members. Various traumatic events left me in and out of homelessness and jumping around between different places. I constantly had to redefine what “home" meant, which was directly linked to my definition of family. “Family” was my parents and sisters, until my sister had to leave home for her safety. When we became homeless, family meant more than ever. As I tossed and turned on a hotel floor, my 11-year-old brain redefined family as the most important thing in the world: the only thing left to cling to. My safety net in a deeply insecure situation.
We managed to escape homelessness before things got too bad. We now lived in a place we couldn’t afford, and so “home" was still not a secure concept. “Home" still could not be defined…
