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Let's start a discussion about how abuse affects a person long after it has stopped. I'll share my story, then you share yours. Let's work on this together.

I released the knife I held against my father’s throat and watched his body slump — a one-two punch of an unwilling confession of infidelity combined with the realization that he was powerless against me was too much for him to continue the fight.

My mother watched helplessly as her son fought her husband only feet away. I instructed my mother to get in the car, we were leaving. We walked out on my father with nothing but the car keys. We sat in our seats beside one another in complete silence. I don’t remember where we slept that night.

An important note: before you continue reading this article, if you haven't already, please read the previous posts that precede this one. In order:

In a matter of a day my mother found us a quaint row house to rent in the same tiny…


I moved out of our family home at 16, immediately after I pinned my father against the kitchen wall and held a knife to his throat.

My action of force was abrupt, unannounced and uncharacteristic of my typically timid self. My right hand reached blindly for a knife I knew lay on the counter beside us as I was cutting bread moments before the bustle hoping to make a sandwich.

I felt the palm of my hand connect with the plastic handle of the knife and I brought the blade to the skin on his neck. The rush and the…


NOTE: If you haven’t read the other posts related to this series, please read my other submissions “Sixteen isn’t an Ideal age to Have a Baby” and then “The Monkey Bars Mid-Dangle.

My sister experienced her childhood at home much differently than I did.

Six months ago my sister dropped an emotional nuclear bomb on me. For a brief moment, every feeling I had was vaporized in the explosion that blasted out of her. A veridical confession where I learned I was accountable for what happened to her.

I’ll get to her confessional in a moment, but let me provide…


It’s not simple to say my mother doesn’t recognize herself in the life that has become hers.

As often is the case with many mothers, her kids and her husband have taken more than she gave them.

Mothers make peace with this facet of their lives every day and as the decades of doting erode away the life she once knew, she will take control of all of the challenging moments, turn the frustrations into warmth and store it deep within herself.

Turning the strife her loved ones force upon her into warmth and love is a superpower only mothers…


I remember a surprising amount of my toddler years.

I can recall the difficulties of balance after learning to walk. I remember my first bike, a rather scratched and tired red tricycle with white handlebars. It had those hard rubber wheels that never required inflating and caused your teeth to rattle when you rode it. And I can still recall the exact layout of the first house we lived in at the city boundary — a single-wide trailer headed up by a tiny living room at the front of the trailer furnished with classic brown shag carpet and off-white linen…


It’s not simple to say my mother doesn’t recognize herself in the life that has become hers.

As often is the case with many mothers, her kids and her husband have taken more than she gave them. Mothers make peace with this facet of their lives every day.

When something is too unbearable to face, a mother will conjure forth the love she gathers from her family and she will use that inner-pride to carry on when it seems she cannot. Mothers live in these moments. If they’re lucky the moments they relive are joyous.

My mother was quiet and…

The Anonymous Son

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