I am the biological son of an abuser and alcoholic.

He used to tie my sister under the table and not feed her while my mother was stationed in another country. At that time, my mom was serving in the United States Army, so she would send money for food and general care. My biological father would use the money for his own convenience

Years later, when my Mom was pregnant with me, my family moved to Germany, which is where I was born. I was born in Bamburg, Germany, on the first snowfall of the year. When my Mom went into labor, she called him on the phone, but he was too anxious to care for her. My mom drove herself to the hospital that day. My biological father didn’t even want to go into the birthing room.

When I would cry, he would order my mom to shut me up or else he would throw me out of the window.

My Mom was basically a single parent, so she asked my grandparents to move from the Philippines to Germany to help her. They flew over and took care of my sister and me, while my mother worked. For years, my grandma was verbally and emotionally abused by my biological father. Still, my grandparents stayed.

I remember in Oklahoma when he took a butcher knife, chopped the chord to the telephone, and then hacked at it in the kitchen where our two puppies were. He was angry that my sister talked too much on the phone. I remember I hugged my Mom as my sister and I cried. The next day, he showed me how fascinating the inside of the telephone looked. I remember playing with a magnet that was stowed away in the mess.

I remember eating dinner at the table and my parents fighting behind me. I broke the plate with my spoon because I wanted it to stop. It did.

My parents divorced in 1999, in Oklahoma, after my biological father pulled a knife on my mom. He was upset that she did not have food for him after work or something equally ridiculous. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and began threatening to kill himself, then began pointing it at my mom. My sister woke up to the argument. When my Mom saw her scared face, she ordered my sister to wake me up and take me to her.

I remember that night. I remember my sister grabbing me while the yells echoed through the hall. I remember being carried to my mom and standing across from him. There was nothing between us and him, except my mother. My mom called the military police and they took him into custody. That didn’t stop him from saying he would shoot her with a gun he hid in the house.

We spent the rest of the night searching the entire house.

I was seven-years-old.

My childhood, the first building blocks of life, was a mix of shouting, threats, and fearful embraces. I remember my relationship with my biological father being that of hitting, funny dancing to music, counseling, and anger therapy. I didn’t know what was going on, and I didn’t know how much it would affect me later.

Upon entering high school, I began experiencing clinical depression, anxiety, and immense anger. At times, I felt so numb that I didn’t seem to care what happened to me or anyone around me. I would walk the streets hoping a car would just hit me to stop how I felt.

I had two girlfriends in high school who I treated like absolute shit. I never hit them, but twisted their emotions and disrespected them to feel the power, control, and importance, but I never knew why I was doing it or how much it hurt those I cared for.

For most of my life, I felt like a black hole of insecurities and anger sucking the happiness from my family and friends.

Although this is uniquely my story, I see a story that is all too common among children of violence. I am not going to build my case with statistics because it is important you hear stories from your peers.

I am now 23-years-old, and a senior Washington State University majoring in psychology, with a minor in women studies and ethnic studies. Currently, I serve as the president for an organization called Men for Social Change that has brought speakers like Bob Hall and Byron Hurt to discuss violence, especially concerning sexual and domestic.

I plan on a career in counseling psychology, as well as continuing my activism by becoming a lecturer on issues concerning toxic structures around masculinity, and creating needed leadership programs.

I consciously make choices to be good role models to both girls and boys in my life, because I know how important it is to have that. I know how important it is for a little boys and girls to be supported in their expression, as well as to learn respect for others and themselves.

I am who I am, today, because of the failings of others in my life, as well as my own. I know how it feels to feel like you aren’t enough, and there are a lot of us living with pain and childhood trauma, every day. I invite you to not be some robotic member of society, but a loving citizen of this world.

The imminent truth learned from my life is the immense importance of love and growth in our lives, together. Your past does not define you by any means; it is the little and big choices you make, and hopefully those choices lead you closer to a more concrete love.

Laugh as much as you can, stay kind, and always love are my mottos.

In regards to violence, seek help when you need it, help others, and be a listener.

I may be the biological son of an abuser and alcoholic, but most importantly, I am the son of an incredibly strong and beautiful mother.

Thank you and I love you, Mama po.