Belonging

Illustration by the Author

The isolation was my only companion for so many years.

How do you articulate a pain that seems almost too vast, too deep to put into words? Growing up in what appeared to be the quintessential Southern home — massive ancient Dogwood trees, manicured lawn, the “perfect family” that went to church every Sunday and sometimes on weekdays — I harbored a secret that would have shattered the pristine illusion.

My childhood was a masterclass in contradiction.

From the outside, we were the epitome of upper-middle-class affluence. But behind closed doors, I was a prisoner in my own home, subjected to daily beatings, and physical, verbal, and psychological abuse that left scars far deeper than any physical mark could reveal.

Judith Herman, in her groundbreaking book “Trauma and Recovery,” writes that “The first principle of recovery is the empowerment of the survivor. She must be the author and arbiter of her recovery.” These words would become my lifeline, though I didn’t know it then.

The most profound abuse isn’t even physical violence. It’s the systematic destruction of one’s sense of self.