No. Worse.

I’ll never forget that moment. Those two words: “No. Worse.”
I was sitting across from someone who knew the situation. I had just minimized what I’d been through. I said something like, “Well, it wasn’t that bad.” And they looked me dead in the eye and said it.
No. Worse.

That was the first time I really let it sink in. How bad it actually was.
How much I had tolerated. How much I had survived. And how far I had come.

It’s easy to downplay trauma when you’ve been conditioned to believe you caused it, deserved it, or imagined it. It’s easy to call it “messy” or “complicated” instead of what it actually was. Abuse. It’s easy to move forward and want to forget — until forgetting starts to feel like erasing yourself.

That’s why I’m writing now.

I spent too long staying quiet because I didn’t want to make people uncomfortable. Because I didn’t want to be seen as broken or dramatic or angry.
But here’s the truth.
I am angry. I am healing. And I am thriving.
Not because I got lucky, but because I fought for it.

I left. I stayed gone. I did the work. I faced the courts. I faced myself.
And I did it all while raising a little boy who deserved to grow up without fear in his home.

This blog isn’t about being a victim. It’s not about blame.
It’s about taking your voice back — in court, in community, in conversation.
It’s about using mine so someone else might recognize a red flag, believe themselves faster, or stop wondering if they’re just too sensitive.
It was that bad.
No. Worse.

And we’re still here.

So here’s to the start of something new. To turning pain into purpose and silence into strength.
To helping the next woman, say, “That’s enough,” and mean it.

If you’re ready to stop minimizing what you’ve survived, I’m glad you’re here. You’re not alone.