Who Would I Be Without the Trauma?

Who Would I Be Without the Trauma?

I often wonder about the type of person I might have become if my childhood had been different. If Sheryl, my mother, wasn’t riddled with mental illness and addiction. If she had chosen me over the fleeting adoration of men. If my father wasn’t an alcoholic, absent from my life when I needed him most.

Would I have grown up to be someone free from the weight of trauma? Or would life have found another way to test me? Would the abuse have taken a different form?

These questions don’t have answers, but they linger, shaping the way I see myself and the world around me.

Who Would I Be?

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine an alternate version of myself. A version untouched by the chaos and pain. Would I be kinder, more patient, less guarded? Would I be less angry, less bitter, more open to accepting and giving love?

I wonder if I would feel like I was “good enough” without constantly having to prove it to myself and others. Would I have found my passions sooner, pursued my dreams with confidence, or been unafraid to trust people?

The Cost of Growing Up Too Fast

The truth is, I didn’t have the luxury of being a carefree child. I wasn’t given a safe space to explore, to make mistakes, to just be. Instead, I was forced to grow up far too quickly, learning to navigate a world that felt dangerous and unkind.

I spent my entire childhood afraid—afraid of being hurt, both mentally and physically. That fear has followed me into adulthood, a shadow I can’t quite shake. Even now, as a grown woman, I find myself bracing for the worst, struggling to believe that safety and love can be more than fleeting illusions.

The Anger That Remains

There are days when I feel like I’ve come so far in my healing journey, and then there are days when the anger resurfaces. I get so angry with my mother for what I had to endure—the abuse, the lack of love and support, the absence of stability. There is also the regret I have of holding on to so much anger and hate towards her and not allowing myself to forgive her before she died.

I know she was battling her own demons, but it’s hard to reconcile that knowledge with the pain she caused. It’s hard not to feel robbed of the childhood I deserved, the one I’ll never get back.

The Work of Healing

Healing is a journey, not a destination. I’ve made progress, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. But there’s still so much work to do. I still carry the scars of my past, and some days, they feel as fresh as they did years ago.

I want to believe that one day I’ll overcome the fear, the anger, the bitterness. That I’ll fully open my heart to love and trust without hesitation. But I also know that healing isn’t about erasing the past—it’s about learning to live with it and finding peace despite it.

Closing Thoughts

I may never have answers to the “what ifs” that haunt me, but I’m learning to focus on the person I am becoming. A person who is resilient, compassionate, and determined to break the cycle of pain.

To anyone who has ever felt the weight of their past pulling them down: you are not alone. The road to healing is long and often messy, but it’s worth it. You are worth it.