This summer I started writing my life story. I'm only up to age thirteen.

I think the first fifteen years of my life were the hardest. Looking back, I realize I buried a lot of my emotions. Truthfully, I still do.

It's easier for me not to feel than it is to share my feelings, only to somehow end up being treated like I'm the bad guy. It's easier to just hide them away.

Although... the last time I did that, I ended up with severe PTSD and couldn't leave my house.

I don't know what to do with all these feelings.

I'm tired of being told how strong I am.

Because I don't feel strong.

To me, a strong person doesn't freeze in a fight. A strong person yells. Screams. Fights back.

I have fought a lot of demons in my life.

But the hardest ones I've ever faced... I stayed silent through.

Writing this book has been eye-opening. Every chapter forces me to revisit parts of my life I've spent years trying to forget. I've realized I've dissociated for most of my life. I created a world inside my head because reality was often too painful to live in.

And here I am once again...

Feeling guilty for a sin I didn't create.

Feeling bad for the one who brought the sorrow into my life.

Why can't I just hurt?

Why can't I grieve the loss of what we had... what we should still have?

You stole a piece of me.

You stole my heart.

You shattered my soul.

Yet somehow, I'm still expected to be the brave one. The strong one.

When do I get to just be me?

Do I even know who me is anymore?

I cry in silence for the little girl who was hurt.

I scream in silence for the mother who felt unseen.

I grieve in silence for everything that should have been.

Tonight I photographed a wedding.

Watching that young couple begin their forever stirred something inside of me.

I watched the father-daughter dance.

The mother-daughter dance.

The quiet moments filled with love.

I found myself grieving all the things I never had while feeling grateful that my own children did

I made sure they did.

I stayed longer than I should have.

I gave chance after chance because I didn't want my heart to break again.

But if I had known how much this would hurt...

Would I still have given all those chances?

I honestly don't know.

Because this...

This really hurts.

Knowing me, I'll probably bury it away.

Tomorrow I'll get up.

I'll go to work.

I'll smile.

I'll laugh.

I'll photograph beautiful moments.

I'll pretend everything is okay.

Because that's what I've always done.

But I can't help wondering...

If you truly hurt someone—someone you loved—and you knew the depth of the pain you caused...

Would you hide from them?

Or would you go to them?

Would you tell them you were wrong?

Would you remind them how deeply you loved them?

Or would you leave them alone to carry the weight of something they never deserved?

I don't know.

Maybe that's the part that hurts the most.

To love someone enough to forgive them...

And still wonder if your love was ever enough.