I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 7.
I’m standing in the doorway, staring at flames taller than I am. I can feel the heat burning my face. My mom and my Mimi keep running back inside while both of my cousins scream and cry in terror.
I don’t know what to do.
Do I stay outside?
Or do I run inside to make sure my mom and Mimi are okay?
So I keep running back and forth, terrified either way.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 11.
I’m trapped in a room with the person I fear most.
How do I tell anyone?
He’ll hurt my baby cousin.
He’ll hurt me.
No one will believe me anyway.
But he’s not the only one doing this to me.
So I stay quiet.
My favorite older cousin comes to visit. She’s the only person I trust with my secrets.
I tell her about my stepbrother…
But never about you.
Never.
I have people to protect.
As long as they’re safe, I’ll carry this alone.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 13.
I don’t see either of them anymore.
My cousin told my mom about what my stepbrother did.
At first, I was angry.
Then I realized…
She saved me.
She saved my baby sister.
And somewhere in the middle of all that heartbreak…
A boy with bright blue eyes smiled at me.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 15.
I’m sitting in the bathtub, crying.
He cheated again.
He promised he’d call.
He didn’t.
He’s with another girl.
Why am I never enough?
Why does everyone leave?
No one would miss me if I disappeared.
The razor beside me whispers that it could make all the pain stop.
“Just do it.”
So I do.
I cut myself.
I drink Gemx.
I swallow every pill I can find.
Then panic sets in.
“Mom…”
“I don’t feel good.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please help me.”
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I just don’t want to hurt anymore.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 16.
That blue-eyed boy has been my boyfriend for three years.
I don’t like the way he treats me.
I don’t like always coming second.
I don’t like feeling invisible.
But he says he loves me.
And that’s enough…
Isn’t it?
If I leave, no one else will ever love me.
I’m convinced I’m impossible to love.
So I settle for being tolerated.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 17.
I’m shattered.
Cassidy…
I loved you like my own sister.
I’m so sorry I left you alone.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why did you use my scarf?
You were only eleven.
Eleven.
You never got to fall in love.
You never got married.
You never got to have babies.
You never got to chase your dreams.
God…
This hurts.
I’m not okay.
I don’t think I ever will be.
The depression I’d been fighting suddenly feels unbearable.
I take back every time I wished for death.
I didn’t mean it.
Not after losing you.
I need something—anything—to numb this pain.
So I find alcohol.
For a while…
It feels like my only friend.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 20.
The hole in my chest still aches.
“Cassidy… I still miss you.”
“Please… send me someone who will love me.”
Then…
Two pink lines.
A positive pregnancy test.
Hope.
Then blood.
“No… God… please don’t take this baby.”
Weeks later…
Another positive test.
This time I beg harder.
“Please don’t take this one.”
“I promise I’ll be better.”
“I promise I’ll deserve this.”
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 21.
You’re lying on my chest.
The room is quiet.
You’re perfect.
Beautiful.
Tiny.
How can love this big fit inside one heart?
I kiss your forehead.
“I promise I’ll make better choices.”
“I promise I’ll love you every day.”
“And I promise I’ll protect you.”
No matter what.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 23.
I’m alone in the apartment again.
He left.
Again.
He says I’m worthless.
He’s drinking again.
He’s probably cheating again.
Did he just throw me across the room?
Did he just punch the door?
Who is this man?
This isn’t the boy with the blue eyes I fell in love with.
I’m terrified.
My little girl is crying.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m okay…”
Even though I’m not.
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 25.
I think I’m losing my son.
“Please, God…”
“Please don’t take him.”
Why am I bleeding?
Why can’t I feel him move?
Everything happens so fast.
Bright lights.
Doctors running.
An emergency surgery.
They have to cut him out of me.
Then…
Silence.
A cry.
He’s alive.
We’re alive.
We’re okay.
I’m okay…
Except his father leaves the hospital to go home and drink.
I’m lying there, stitched together, holding our son.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry this is the father you were given.”
I’m 30… but sometimes I’m still 26.
“What do you mean I have to choose between him and my best friend?”
This isn’t fair.
I hate his drinking.
I hate what he’s become.
He chokes me.
He rapes me.
And he’s been doing it for years.
Then one day…
My daughter watches him choke me.
Something inside me finally breaks.
I’m done.
Then my son starts turning blue.
We’re rushed to the emergency room.
He leaves us there.
Of course he does.
I know exactly where he’s going.
Home.
To drink.
I call you, my secret friend
He stays on FaceTime all night while I’m alone in the ER with our son.
Everything inside me is breaking apart.
Fear.
Hope.
Anger.
Love.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore.
I’m 30.
And I survived.
I got out.
I escaped.
I found the courage to leave.
I remarried.
I had another beautiful baby.
And one day…
A wild mustang walked into my life.
She helped heal pieces of me that I thought were gone forever.
My children laugh.
They feel safe.
They know what peace sounds like.
The people who hurt us are no longer part of our story.
For the first time…
We are safe.
And maybe that’s the most beautiful part of all.
Because the little girl who stood in that burning doorway…
The little girl who kept everyone’s secrets…
The teenager who thought she was impossible to love…
The young mother who believed she deserved the pain…
She made it.
She survived every chapter that was meant to destroy her.
I’m 30.
And for the first time in my life…
I’m finally free.
