Although I’ve had physical pain and difficult challenges in the past few months, probably the worst I’ve ever had to deal with, I’m reminded that emotional pain hurts and scars even more.
I lived in an abusive environment for the first eighteen years of my life. The day I moved out of our family house, I felt like my emancipation had arrived. I felt a giddiness that life might be kinder to me since I had escaped from the tyranny of the home I lived in.
My sister, still in high school, escaped with me and we rented an apartment in a well-lit apartment complex featuring a whooshing water wheel, palm trees, and one loud neighbor. It promised a new beginning for us, and my sister continued to attend school while holding a job at night.