So this is love?

I am 5.

I am playing peekaboo with my dad, hiding behind the door jamb and jumping out shouting, "Peek!" "Oh, there you are!" my dad replies enthusiastically, pretending that I have miraculously been discovered after a long absence. He is holding my newborn baby brother who has just arrived home from the hospital. We are happy.

I am 8.

I am standing with my face toward the wall, sobbing. I've been whipped with a belt. My nose is running. Tears and mucus are dripping down my face. My sniffling is annoying my dad. He rushes to me, yelling, "STOP THAT SNIFFLING!" He'll give me something to cry about. But I can't stop. He orders me to use my vest to blow my nose, but I can't take it off as fast as he wants me to. He rips it off my body and demands that I blow my nose in it. He repeats himself, not letting me stop, forcing me to blow and blow.

This vest is special. It's a hand-me-down from cousins in Texas and they have nicer things than we do. I was so happy this vest had fit me. But the buttons are now broken, tossed across the room. I know they won't be replaced. This small, but meaningful item represents so much more than just a piece of clothing. It's a representation of something better than what I have, a gift from an outside place where I can own beautiful things. And now, it's ruined - torn away from me.

I am 10.

Dad is angry again. He's whipping me with his belt. This time, my older brother and I were arguing. This always leads to one of us being punished. I'm standing stoically, taking this beating without showing any emotion. I am shutting down. I am cold. I am tired.

I refuse to feel. I refuse to flinch. I refuse to cry.

He grabs my arm, noticing that this time is different. Something has changed and he doesn't like it. "Oh, you're not going to cry, huh?!" He whips me two more times, then lets me go.

Parents are supposed to love us unconditionally, right? These explosive events and violent circumstances inflicted upon young children confuse them about what love actually is. Their understanding of trust becomes distorted, and they are unable to make sense of these concepts when compared to the reality of the violence and abuse they endure. There are two beliefs such a child must try to hold on to at the same time and, because they are opposites of each other, it causes a dramatic split in the child's ability to assess reality.

Belief: My parents love me.

vs.

Reality: My parents hurt me.

This is a piece of my story. Growing up in poverty and abuse has shaped my worldview. It has taught me resilience, but also left scars that influence how I navigate my relationships with others and how I perceive authority.

Despite outward success—a fulfilling career, an advanced degree, even a position as a state senator—I carry with me a guardedness born from early experiences of betrayal and instability.

For many raised in similar circumstances, these experiences perpetuate a cycle of poverty that stems from an inability to be a properly socialized individual.  Relationships are the bedrock of stable families, success in the workplace, and supportive friendships.  Adults who have lived in this confusing existence where those who claim to love you also hurt you, wonder (understandably so!) how any of these relationships can be trusted. 

To cope with the loneliness, confusion, anger, and shame, self-medicating through destructive behaviors becomes a means of navigating daily life.  These behaviors push people away, unraveling much-needed relationships.  It is notable that these behaviors, while not always an addiction to substances, are still addictive in nature.  The abused child, now an adult, returns to these reinforced habits time and again for any sense of relief from the internal turmoil they've yet to process.

Breaking free requires understanding and support.  Those who desire a relationship with the previously abused and impoverished individual must recognize the various ways in which past trauma has shaped their response to stress and authority.

Personally, navigating professional life sometimes still triggers deep-seated reactions, especially when I feel cornered or mistrustful of authority figures. These moments remind me of the internal struggles many face silently, where resilience often manifests as defiance or withdrawal.

Breaking the cycle of poverty isn't just about financial stability; it's about breaking ingrained patterns of behavior that limit personal and generational growth. It requires compassion, education, and a commitment to understanding the psychological impact of early adversity.  Specifically, of those in our community tasked with the betterment of the human condition (e.g., doctors, law enforcement, and teachers).

In sharing my story, I hope to provide personalized insight into the internal emotional complexities faced by individuals who have lived in abuse and poverty. By fostering empathy and awareness in both personal and professional environments, we can increase the opportunity to thrive, regardless of one's upbringing.