How Being Abusive Helped Me Forgive My Abusers

I used to carry enough anger for every victim of child abuse and then some until I discovered my anger kept me clinging to violence.

When abuse happens inside the home, it’s difficult to escape your abuser even after you are grown. My sisters and I ran opposite directions. We each had different traumas and different symptoms in reaction to those traumas. We were so young.

My oldest sister left town and changed her name twice; severing all ties with the family, including me. My other sister dove into college. When the trauma of sexual assault found her inside the dorm, she ran into the Air Force. Next, she ran to love. While she’s happily married, she draws so much distance from the family, she might as well be gone. Me? I stayed. I am still holding on.

It took a long time to understand and forgive my sisters. It came with a unique kind of pain. While there are great sacrifices in running from your past and great triumphs to be gained, choosing to stay can be the same.

Choosing to stay can be healing if the abuse has stopped and you’re willing to put that anger away. I hear people say,

Abuse is a choice!

I agree. I hear them say,

You abuse because you were abused?! Bullsh*t!
You abuse because you’re an abuser.

Deep down, there’s a piece of me that feels the same way. I know that anger. I know that pain. Those statements and feelings are valid, but they don’t create healing or change. People are not born abusive. Something makes them that way.

I was barely a teenager the first time I hit my sister. I had been watching a movie on Lifetime. At the beginning, a man abandoned his three kids at a gas station. It showed them standing with their toys and belongings. The youngest was screaming as he drove away when I grabbed the remote to turn it off. I headed to my bedroom, fuming with anger, as my sister headed the other way, and I hit her. I hit her and I didn’t feel a thing! I don’t even know why I did it.

I have no memory of the rest of that day, but I do remember the day I hit my mother after she was done belittling me and calling me names. I blamed myself for the abuse after that. I felt like I must’ve deserved it because I did the exact same thing.

If I believe what the majority say, I am an abuser. But I believe I was a victim. I believe my actions and my anger were controlled by other things. It took years to identify and understand those things. It took years to forgive myself for violence beyond my control and convince myself it’s okay to let go of those mistakes. It took years to release the guilt. I still carry the pain.

Because of those experiences, I can look at my abusers and identify the same kind of causes and distinguish their pain. Does that validate the abuse? Does it negate the consequences of child abuse? Does it mean my abusers didn’t have the choice to change? No.

Am I making excuses for them by recognizing how domestic violence and degenerative illness caused my life to be this way? In my younger days, I did. I don’t allow myself to do that anymore. Still, the elements of abuse haven’t changed.

Being able to identify why the abuse happened helped bring understanding. It helped me offer my parents insight into their abuse and the sickness that caused it. It opened the doors to forgiveness that many victims lock before throwing the keys away. It helped bring healing in the middle of pain.

Some people do abuse because they were abused. If they can’t talk about it, if we’re too busy labeling them as abusers instead of acknowledging they were victims; if we can’t show them the why behind the violence, how can they change?

I escaped the abuse. I stayed to break the cycle.

And I’m stronger for it.



I wanted to know what would happen if I just started writing. So I started this blog at home… on Facebook.

I thought maybe if I took the pressure off and just wrote like I always do, maybe I’d write something brilliant. We’ll know if that worked at the end, I suppose.

Funny how brilliance defines us.

More like, we define it. Two years ago, I was just a blogger. Then, I got published and I was a “writer.” That’s when the stress began.

Every blog post became something more than what I ever intended it to be. I started worrying about daily trending news and over thinking every single word I used and trying to make every post something… brilliant.

But I wasn’t a writer. I was barely a blogger! Then, I became a non-writing writer who got the non-writing blues, and my blog fell silent.

I mean, how could I possibly post if it wasn’t HuffPost material? Not that I’ve made it there yet.

But I set my bar for brilliance.

I set it too high. You know the high I’m talking about, right? Just high enough for people to encourage you not to give up, but not high enough you can reach it. And you know the whole time, but you still reach. You still try. Why? You reach for brilliance.

But you follow the same steps the whole world has tried.

No one achieves greatness by coloring inside the lines!

So I thought, what if I stopped trying to write? What if the news stayed unwatched? What if I just slowed down to capture the words floating all around me?

Like this morning, 8am, sun rising through the clouds and peeking through my not-so-effective blackout curtains, I rolled over in bed, to the beautiful face of my daughter.

She was sound asleep with the blankets pulled tight. And I didn’t want to wake her (come on, I’m a single mom!), but I just had to capture the moment.

I put my hand around her little fingers and I drew her close to my side. She sighed. Still sound asleep, with a smile, and then she wrapped her hand around mine.

That’s life.

All this time trying to write a beautiful blog, while missing the beauty beside me the whole time.

I woke up this morning in yesterday’s T-shirt, with matted hair and my kid by my side. And I thought maybe I’d just write about what comes to mind.

How could I think about anything else? She’s the beautiful part of my life. She make every day, any pain, the hard times, the broke times and the sleep deprivation, worth it.

She has my eyes. She always wears a smile. She’s gorgeous. Now… I don’t know much about writing, but I know this…

She’s every ounce of brilliance I’ll ever find.

Bullying Stops Here

Every seven minutes someone is bullied in Canada, According to Global News,

A recent survey found cyberbullying surpassed drugs and alcohol as the top concern among Canadian parents.

Here’s how you can help.

This matters.

This is how I own my voice. Use yours!


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