Eight years ago today, a new journey for me started. I didn’t ask for this to be part of my story; no one would. I entered into the day an abused wife, recently estranged from her husband, a mother taking care of her children, a medical transcriptionist, and a woman whose voice had been long since squelched, but who found joy in her children and was giving them a good life, despite everything.
I closed my eyes that day as a widow, sexual assault survivor, domestic violence survivor, survivor of gun violence, single mother (that’s the good part), and displaced from our home.
