Aside from introducing myself, I'm really unsure of where to begin. This probably isn't the beginning of my story but it's definitely a start. Have you ever heard someone say, "I had to grow up too quickly" or "I didn't have a childhood"? Those simple statements are the literal definition of my life. At 9 years old, I didn't know how to be a child. I never played with friends, went to sleepovers, or had birthday parties. I was too busy taking care of my two younger siblings. Making bottles, getting them dressed, changing diapers, cooking meals, giving baths... the whole nine yards. I was raising children that I didn't create. I was raising children as a CHILD. My "parents"? They were drunk. They were high. They were fighting. They were passed out. They were somewhere else. One of my earliest memories includes packing lunches for my sister and I before school. We lived in a little trailer in Powell, Wyoming and we walked to school every day. Rain, shine, snow, sleet. We walked. One morning on our way out the door my sister asked for popsicles. Being a child myself, I grabbed us some popsicles and tossed a knife inside her backpack so we could open them on the way to school. Here we are two young children probably 6 & 9 walking to school, eating popsicles and minding our own business. That is until we finally arrived at school and my younger sister's teacher decides to go through her backpack in search of something - but what she finds instead is the knife. Landing my kindergarten sister in the principal's office. Before long the school officer is involved, my parents are called and all of us are sitting in the office. I can remember the tears rolling down her face as the school officer explains how serious this is. Little does he know, I'm the one who put it in there this morning. As he scolds my sister, I can feel the rage welling up inside myself. Because I know it was my fault. The only other thing I remember about that day is getting whopped later that evening after school. It was "MY responsibility" to get us both to school. It was "MY responsibility to make sure she was safe. It was "MY responsibility".... But I was 9. I was supposed to be the child, not the adult. It should have NEVER been my responsibility to set an alarm. It should have NEVER been my responsibility to wake up my younger sister and get us both ready for school. It should have NEVER been my responsibility to begin with. However, looking back now I realize I'd gladly take that beating all over again because it meant that my sister wouldn't have to. I was forced to grow up early. I never got a childhood. I was "mom" to my siblings. I was the adult in my home. Even though I was only 9 years old...even though I was a child.

If you have the privilege as a woman to never have been sexually abused or assaulted, it might be difficult for you to understand the mixed emotions you might have towards your abuser. Let me explain better. When someone you love or admire assaults you, you might not hate them immediately, heck, you might never hate them at all. It's difficult to go from admiration and love to hate. It's also a very exhausting process. When my favourite person in the world, outside of my nuclear family assaulted me when I was barely 8 years old, I didn't know how to feel. I was pretty close to my mum so I just had to tell her. Before I did, I made her promise to not flair up. I didn't want my abuser to feel ‘bad'. Obviously, she flared up and banished him from visiting or sleeping over. This was very difficult for all of us because we really loved this person. His mum (of blessed memory) was my favourite aunt and my mum's closest sister. My brothers also didn't know what happened at the time so they didn't understand why he was banished. The next time I met him at a family function, I was worried sick that he would hate me. To give context, this man is about 20 years older than me. I remember how relieved I was when he smiled at me. It meant he didn't hate me. It's been about 15 years since this thing happened and although he took the time to apologize to me when I was much older, I almost can't stand him. It was like one day, a switch flipped in my head and I instantly became angry. But even then, sometimes I still admire him. It's really exhausting. While interning in a broadcast outfit when I was 18, I went to get this exclusive interview with a (now dead) well-known and loved musician. Apart from the fact that he was loved by the general public, I also really loved his music. The interview took place in an apartment. First, we watched him play his instrument and I videoed the whole thing with a smile plastered on my face. I couldn't wait to show my father. I was watching this man play live! This legend! Throughout my stay there, this entertainer kept looking at me funny and making inappropriate sexual comments. I was starting to get uncomfortable but we were so many in the apartment so I didn't really feel threatened. While trying to leave the apartment, this man rushed behind me, held me behind and groped me. I tried to get away from him but he held me firmly. I almost had to be forced away from his grip after I raised an alarm and I immediately ran outside. I really admired this man. I loved his music but I was highly irritated. When I got home, I still showed my family the video before I dropped the bomb. I went to bed that night watching the videos of the talented musician that I really admired with mixed feelings. The days that followed weren't any better. I had to conduct vox-pops on this man, asking people what they loved about him. I didn't even know how to feel. When he died and I kept seeing the news everywhere, all I could remember was the humiliating incident. My best friend asked me if I was okay, and my mother told me how uncomfortable she felt seeing everyone worship the man and was wondering how I felt about it. How did I feel? Was I glad that he had died? Did I hate him or dislike him? Honestly, no. Do I still think his music is great? Yes. Would I listen to his songs? Maybe. Sometimes I think about these unfortunate experiences and I'm angry with myself for not hating my abusers. I should hate them right? Imagine not knowing how to feel about a terrible thing someone has done to you because you remember all the good that they have done. If you're feeling this way, I just want to let you know that it's okay to feel what you feel. Sometimes you hate them and sometimes you don't. But don't ever beat yourself up about feeling any type of way. If you feel like you can forgive them, it's fine but if you can't forgive them, that's equally okay. I've heard people talk about how it is impossible to heal from abuse if you don't forgive your abuser but I've also read too many articles that say otherwise. People shouldn't tell you how to feel about these things, it's pretty complex so it's okay to heal at your own pace.

Jump, Now!!! Those words rang in my head, as I took a drastic decision that changed my life for the better. 28th February, 2014, remains imprinted on my mind to this very day. I was a grade ten student of Bright Stars Model Secondary School. I had a couple of good friends, read my books, and made sure to be the perfect kind of son my parents wanted, I wanted. It was about 4pm on the said date, we had just finished our last class for the day, as the exhausted students scurried out of the school premises—the euphoria evident in them as they longed for home. I packed up my bags, said goodbye to my friends and boarded a tricycle home. I sat in-between a plump woman and a mid-sized dude. We had just passed a green traffic light, when an SUV in front of us collided with a minibus, as the bus tumbled to the side, crashing down on the pavement. Our driver tried to manoeuvre his way, in an attempt to avoid bashing the SUV. Just as he narrowly missed the SUV and drove onto the sidewalk, I saw this big tree, looming in front of us. Surrounded by a carpet of merciless granite stones, the thick, dense tree, situated itself a few inches from our tricycle. My thought at that fleeting moment in time, was that our vehicle was going to impinge on the tree and we would all be dead. The dude beside me jumped out, and without thinking, I followed suit, jumping out of a moving vehicle. That was a life-threatening decision I made in seconds. I closed my eyes and leapt out, face first onto the granite ground. Miraculously, I landed on my knapsack, as it scraped through the granite with fierce force. I was left with only a shallow wound but nothing serious. The event of that day marked a turnaround in my life. Two weeks after the accident—on my way back from school—I decided to head down to the University of Uyo Teaching Hospital, Uyo, Akwa Ibom State, Nigeria. I went to the Accident/Emergency unit, my heart sank. I saw a whole lot of helpless, hopeless people, most of them lacking limbs. The looks on their weary faces sent chills running down my spine. I had always considered myself a staunch believer in how blessed I was, but that day showed me I had a whole lot more to be grateful to God for. I met this particular girl named Grace. She has lovely brown eyes and a cute smile, about 5'2 in height. She recently turned nine. When I got to know her well, I discovered that she suffered from a fatal car accident, one which wiped out her immediate nuclear family, leaving her as the only survivor. Her kneecap got smashed in, rendering her unable to walk. Her maternal aunt takes care of her at the hospital. I made it a point of duty since then, to always visit the hospital twice a month and make anonymous donations from my little savings, mostly to Grace's aunt for her welfare. A friend once said to me, “you start living—not just being alive—when you impact positively, on the lives of others.” It's starting to make a whole lot more sense to me now. I feel in a way, the accident made me a better version of myself, one that now views the privilege of life, as an avenue to help those on the verge of losing theirs. Surviving a ghastly car accident has taught me a few things in life, one being that life is fleeting, and can be cruelly snatched away at any instant of time. I believe in helping the needy. Each time I walk past a ward and see a kid I anonymously donated funds to, playing and jumping around happily, it gives me some sense of self-accomplishment (knowing I've been able to impact one more life). In my subconscious, the sayings of John Bunyan come alive, “you have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.”

As someone who struggles with depression, the term one of those days has a whole different meaning to me. Today has been one of those days. It has been one of those days where I call it a win to have gotten out of bed. Where it was a Herculean effort to put one foot in front of the other and stay up and moving. When I wanted nothing more to lay down, pull a blanket up over my head, and not move for like a month. You can't do that in society. You definitely can't do that as a stay at home mom. Being a stay at home mom adds an element to depression I never knew before. On days when you can't even fathom taking care of the basic needs of yourself to keep functioning – you have to keep your kid(s) going. You managed to open your eyes – you deserve a medal. You sat up and considered getting out of bed. You deserve a parade to go with that medal. If you get up and out of bed, you get a party. If you get up and parent those days…you get it all. You won't care of course. All you want is to curl up, rock, maybe hum, under a blanket, listening to headphones, all alone. So you know, when you are feeling a little more up to it – medals, parades, and parties. Now add in a toddler who just wants to run, climb, dance, spin and play outside - then inside - outside - inside…you get the point. You get up and you manage to do all that - making sure your kid eats, dresses plays laughs and learns. You get all the accolades and celebrations in the land. Except here's the thing – you don't. I want to introduce you to the mind of a stay at home parent in the throes of depression and anxiety. There are days I wake up and every inch of me is screaming. Do you know what it's like to have a toddler dump all her blocks off the wagon, and use it for a skateboard? Exhausting. This kid never stops. Don't get me wrong, I'm lucky. I have a healthy, smart child with a love of life. It's awesome - and exhausting. Her mouth also never stops. “Mama Up. Mama shoes, out. In. Snack, please. Mama Doc. You ok?" You know what you want and aren't afraid to make it known. Mama doesn't want to watch Doc McStuffins for the 150th time - if Mama hears time for your checkup again, Mama is going to want to run into a wall. When you're fighting to just function, excessively cheerful kids shows DO NOT help. Outside. Yeah. When you are in the throes of depression, the last thing you generally like is nature. Let alone playing in a sandbox, and then blowing bubbles and let's not forget playing drag baby girl around the yard in her pool because she loves it and you love her, but you don't want to even be out here let alone running in a circle. No baby girl, Mama is feeding you lunch, but on a normal depression episode day she wouldn't be eating so please don't shove that cheese stick in her mouth, please don't no, no and now I am eating a cheese stick. Around this time, anxiety will show its ugly face. You will doubt everything you do, say, act. Are you being a bad mom, are you letting your mood affect your kid? Did you make sure they ate right and enough, as you have no desire to eat? Are you taking them out enough because you hate being out right now - or are you going out too much to compensate? Does she need quiet time right now, or do you? Did you play enough and teach enough and love enough and discipline enough....and...and...and... So it continues into the night. You will inevitably lay awake at night while anxiety reigns, making your mind constantly go from one worry to another, examining everything for what you did wrong. Once you finally go to sleep though, depression will take over and you will start the cycle again the next morning. It is rarely just one day. Depression episodes last a while, often with anxiety. Besties – isn't it sweet. So to other stay at home parents suffering from depression and anxiety you aren't imaging the suckiness we're stuck with. Your kid(s) are the best things in your life, but sometimes, you have to force the behavior whether or not that feeling is there. Take it easy on yourself. You love them, you would do anything for them and sometimes the disease that turns your entire life upside down wants to take that away from you. It won't. You have made it through this disease to have a life, a spouse and kids – which makes you damn strong. So keep opening your eyes every day and making it about that kid. It's important for them and you. There is NOTHING in your life before them that could have gotten you out of bed on a day like today. That is powerful. That is important. That is lifesaving. You are NOT alone. There are many others. Just know whether you get out of bed today, or just sit up – I am proud of you. The episode will eventually end. You won't have to pretend to have fun chasing your kids around and dancing. You will have fun. You will treasure it in a way that parents who don't suffer from depression will never understand. I do. So here is your medal. Whether you're ready for it or not.

There was no pool and no lifeguard. Well, not literally. The pool was my depression and I while I was drowning to my death; I was rescued by my friend. You'll understand me in a bit. I tried to kill myself once. Actually I didn't intend to kill myself. I just wanted to put myself in so much pain; so much so that I wouldn't feel the terrible heart ache I had at the time. I was so torn one night after I had cried my eyes out in grief and sadness and I just took pills. First, I swallowed 10 pills, and then I tried another 10 immediately. Fortunately, I was online and I saw a friend online and I just told her that I was in so much pain. She immediately came up to my room and saw the state I was in. She was so devastated and I was so scared. I thought I was going to die for sure. She tried to make me induce vomit but I just couldn't. She said we should go to the health center but I was scared. I didn't know what to tell them. It was around 2:00am, so it was a miracle that she was even up. In the end, she just stayed with me until morning. When I slept, she slept and when I stirred, she woke up and asked if I was alright. The next morning I pretty much acted like all was well. I was very ashamed of myself. I felt very stupid and overly dramatic. I was very weak, I didn't eat anything because I didn't have an appetite. Why did I do that to myself? I did it because I was in so much pain; the heartache was just too painful to bear. I felt very worthless and very useless. I felt like a burden, like a cast away. I wouldn't say that my friends weren't there for me, cos they were. When I remember this incident, I am just very grateful to God for sparing my life. I would have brought tears to the eyes of many and hurt a lot of hearts and now that I think about it, it wasn't worth it. I'm sharing my story today to let everyone know that they matter. No matter what you're going through, there's someone that cares. You might have to look a little harder, but people are there. People are always there to help you. You are not alone; you never are, most importantly, God is looking out for you.

'It's been a good year for the roses', by George Jones is playing loudly through the cassette player. As I toss and turn lying nervously alone in my bed. Praying that I can fall asleep before everything gets bad. Before my dad gets shit-faced wasted. Before my mother gets her ass beat again. This same routine happened every single day. As if I were an actual re-run playing on my t.v. But this night was different from all the rest. I didn't just lay there in fear. Dressed in my well worn Barbie night gown, down the hallway I fled. Attempting to help mommy, afraid if I didn't then soon she'd be dead. "Daddy stop", I screamed. And low and behold, he actually listened to me. Suddenly a feeling of peace came over me. And just as fast as it came, he took it right back. I was told to sleep between mommy and daddy that night. Is this my reward for being so brave? Although I finally knew what it felt like with being content with my surroundings, it only lasted for a very short time. It was within thirty minutes when I felt daddy's hand caress me. He was being nice but yet it still just didn't feel right . After playing like I was asleep for so long, I started to actually doze off.. But daddy's hand wouldn't allow me. I wake up at the sound of an alarm clock and literally sit straight up. Startled at the memory of last night's despair. Frightened at the thought of what may happen next. Although I probably should have cried, I didn't. I didn't have time. Emotions are running wild. The school bus would be here soon. Relieved to be leaving home but at the same time I'm not ready to face the mean black kids at school. When I was at school I wanted to go home. When I was at home I wanted to go to school. But never did I want to be where I was at . 'I just wanna go home' I spoke aloud. Lying alone in my bed. Tears soaked my cheeks. Feelings of confusion and loneliness consumed me. On so many occasions I recall lying in bed alone and scared thinking out loud to myself. I guess you could say I was praying. Crying out for help. Though no one could hear me if I wanted them to with the loud music that was always playing.

My name is Kayla Armstrong and I grew up in a home where it was just my mother and not my father. I grew up with a lot of hate and anger but kept it all inside. My mother had me at the age of 22 and it was only her and I up until now. My childhood was amazing, adventurous, and happy. By the time I was 12 my mother met someone, someone who made her laugh, smile, and was always loving to her. They married later on and I was happy for my mother because we had a family and I finally had a father figure. By 15 my mother had gotten pregnant and I was excited to be a big sister, but our home collapsed and my mother's happy marriage turned into something different and there was no love anymore between my stepfather and mother because of his affairs. Not long after I became a victim of rape. By age 15 1/2 my stepfather molested me and threatened me with different things to keep me from saying anything. I was a different person and not the "Kayla” I used to be. I was a freshman in high school and wasn't able to live my life because of something I thought was my fault. I lived in silence and I became silent. My reasons for not saying anything was because I was scared that my mom wouldn't believe me, my sister would grow up and think I caused it, I didn't want anyone to think there was something mentally wrong with me just because of it, and I didn't want to be killed for saying something. By age 16 my mom divorced my stepfather because of the affairs and lies my stepfather told her. I was still silent and I was living in guilt. I couldn't have boyfriends because of being scared that they would do something to me and I couldn't trust anyone at all. My appearance changed as well and I went from wearing shorts to wearing sweats and baggy clothes all the time. I never wanted to be with a guy alone in an elevator or anywhere because I was scared that they would do something to me. Throughout the two years of being violated, I was having nightmares. My nightmares caused me to stay up all night. By age 16 1/2 I told my mother what happened to me and all the things my stepfather did to me and I felt free because immediately she took my side. The next morning we went to the police station and I felt scared at the same time because I didn't want him to come after me. My mother also put me in therapy which helped me to become stronger because I learned it wasn't my fault and he was the one with problems, not me. Throughout the process of the investigation, I was diagnosed with sleep paralysis and PTSD along with also finding out that I may not be able to have children in the future because of the damage my stepfather did. Over the course of my healing, I started doing outreach to young girls who went through the same things as me. I now mentor young girls from ages 7-14 years old to help them heal from the terrible things that happened to them and help them become a better person. My stepfather did horrible and unspeakable things to me, but at the same time, it was a blessing afterward because I became wiser and stronger and never realized that girls in my own neighborhood and even girls who sit next to me are going through the same things I went through. I overcame two long miserable years and used that to help make myself stronger, wiser, beautiful spiritually, mentally and physically, and more intelligent. I was able to become my own person again and wear what I wanted to wear and be a new "Kayla" without caring what others thought of me. Not only that but my mother and I became stronger and our bond can never be broken because she has been by my side my whole life. My little sister and I also have a great relationship and she loves me and looks up to me and I know in my heart our relationship will be strong as well. I am now 17 years old and junior in high school. I am in a beautiful and strong relationship with a young man I can trust my life with and who accepts me for my flaws and scars and helps me become a better person every day and I am also a mentor and inspire young girls to speak up and teach them that they have power as well. Today in 2018 my stepfather has a trial coming up and no matter if I get justice or not I already got justice because I became more powerful and stronger than him with my words and I am free from any guilt and fear that I used to have.