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When I was very young, something was taken from me that I didn’t fully understand at the time. My uncle, someone who was supposed to protect and care for me, betrayed that trust in the worst possible way. I was too little to comprehend what had happened, but the pain and confusion stayed with me, hidden deep inside, shaping the way I saw myself and the world around me. As I grew older, I carried that silent burden. I tried to push it away, bury it beneath a strong exterior, but it was always there, lurking in the shadows. When I was 21, I met someone who made me feel seen for the first time in a long while. I wanted so badly to be loved, to feel in control of my body and my desires, that I dove headfirst into something I didn’t fully understand. The intense physical connection we had made me feel powerful and alive, like I was reclaiming a part of myself that had been stolen so long ago. But it wasn’t just about the physicality it was about trying to find control, trying to make sense of a past that had left me feeling so powerless. Over time, I realized that while the wild, intense moments gave me a temporary sense of freedom, they weren’t healing the deeper wounds. I started to understand that true healing wouldn’t come from external experiences, but from within. I needed to face what had happened, to acknowledge the pain, and to begin the long, difficult journey of healing. I sought help, found people who supported me, and slowly began to rebuild myself, piece by piece. I learned that it’s okay to feel what I feel, that my past doesn’t define me, and that I have the power to create a future where I am whole and in control. Loving myself became the most important step in that journey, and with it, I found a new kind of strength one that isn’t tied to the past, but to the person I am becoming.