When I was growing up, I never grew up. It simply wasn’t allowed. I grew taller just like any other child. I grew wider, but there is no need to talk about that. My hair grew longer, but I never grew up. I just couldn’t. You may be asking yourself by this point, “What in the world is this girl talking about?”

There were many characteristics of development that ceased at age five, the time at which traumatic experiences began to invade my life. My ability to think abstractly, intuitively and wisely was thwarted. Maybe you understand this. Maybe you have been there. I closed all of those processes down to protect myself from the trauma, from the fear, from the anger.

In the therapeutic community it is often discussed how people who experience trauma, especially at a young age and for long periods of time, cease or slow in cognitive development due to the trauma. When they face another emotionally strenuous time later in age, they are likely to resort to the mental capacity and age at which they first experienced trauma.

The processes that were closed down in order to protect myself soon became my worst enemy. I never fully developed emotionally according to age appropriateness. When I was faced with trauma or hard events later in life, I would close myself off before I knew it. I would often find myself in the fetal position crying. That is what I knew how to do. That is what my five-year-old self-knew best.

I hid the traumatic experiences deep within my heart. I hid them so deep that nobody recognized the signs. I had great grades. I was social. I was in the gifted program, excelling in all that I did. I hid the experiences so deeply that I barely recognized what was happening in my life was not normal. I did not want to admit that what was occurring was not okay. I denied the reality. I refused to succumb to the truth.

I lived in fear that if I were to come clean and open up about what was happening both inside and outside of my home that I would be told I was lying, be ignored or be in trouble. At a young age, I believed the abuse was my fault - that I was the cause of the abuse and that I could do nothing to stop the abuse.

While I did not grow up in some areas, there were some parts of my life where growing up was the only option. With both parents incapacitated most of the time, I was often the keeper of the family. I made sure that laundry was done as well as other necessary household chores. I filled my life with ensuring that my family looked “typical” from the outside, if only in an effort to avoid questions being asked. I made sure that appointments were kept and I fulfilled the role of “mother” in relation to my brother when necessary. Growing up, in these circumstances, was not an option. It was vital for survival.

Had I not stepped up as the parent in my family, so many people would have suffered. I would have. My brother would have. My parents would have. Our well-kept secret would have been revealed, and that was simply not an option to me at the time.

I am not angry that I wasn’t allowed to or capable of growing up emotionally. Is it still hard today? Absolutely. But I don’t hate my biological parents for it. I also don’t hate my biological parents for being so emotionally distant and physically unwell that I was forced to grow up and take on the parental role. I have learned how to step back and allow my adoptive parents to be the parents. I have learned how to not be codependent and how to hold healthy relationships with others, particularly with authority figures. I have learned how to forgive and walk in that forgiveness toward my biological parents daily. I have, lastly, learned how to love despite the hurt — to love through the hurt.

I challenge you, if you relate to this story, love through the hurt. Challenge yourself to not walk in hate and bitterness, but to walk in love as an example for those around you, but especially for yourself. It is freeing to walk in that love and forgiveness. It doesn’t make what is wrong, right - it simply allows you to be at liberty.