I finally finished the series Animal Kingdom. Immediately after, I knew that I would write about the unbalanced, sometimes cruel, family dynamic that many of us experience, how the excessive love and attention given to one child affects the others. And in my case, how the lack of love, attention, and respect shaped the rest of us; how those experiences shaped our relationships as siblings, how they saw me. Most importantly, whether they were ever capable, or willing, as adults, to form their own honest opinion of me.

If you haven’t watched the series, don’t worry, I won’t give too much away. In the series, Julia had a twin brother, two younger brothers, and a stepbrother. At a young age, her mother kicked her out of the house. Immediately, Julia became addicted to heroin and became pregnant. At some point, she ended up back home and agreed to start rehab, yet again. Her mother agreed to take her. Julia and her twin were in the backseat when they looked up to see why their mother had stopped. It didn’t look like the parking lot of a rehab center.

That’s because it wasn’t.

The mother turned away from the steering wheel, gave Julia a $20 bill, and told her that was the last money she’d ever get from her. Then she told her to get out of the car. They were in a parking lot that resembled a spot for the homeless, those who’ve lost their way.

Julia’s two younger brothers couldn’t be bothered with her, understandably, perhaps, because of their young age. But her twin brother and stepbrother failed to even speak up in her defense, much less help her in any way whatsoever.

The mother had drawn the line: if you help Julia, you’re out.

And so, no one helped her.

Eventually, Julia overdosed. Her son, now in his late teens, reached out to his grandmother. When he meets his uncles, he carries a quiet, justified anger, aware of how the entire family abandoned his mother when she needed them the most.

The first story of my personal abuse that popped up was when I was eighteen. I knew that I had to leave home, and I was of legal age to do so. But my mother didn’t see things that way. I suppose she was deeply offended that I would leave rather than wait to be kicked out. And so, long story short, I left. But one day she and my dad came to Pollo Tropical, where I worked the drive-thru, and waited for my shift to end.

At the end of my shift, they dragged me by the hair into their car and beat me all the way home. The beatings didn’t stop when we were inside. All I remember is that they were above me, kicking and punching. I didn’t know who was using their arms and who used their legs. But I do remember my younger sister coming out of her bedroom and screaming, “Yaira, why are you doing this to us?”

And I remember thinking, My God, I’m fighting for my life here. But I didn’t say a word. I never did. I took the beating like every beating before. 

My mother always reminded everyone around her that I was bad. It took many years of doing bad things to myself to realize that I wasn’t bad at all. I never was. But for many years, I believed that I was a bad person. 

Now, I can’t help but wonder if my younger siblings believe that I’m bad because that’s what my mother always said. Is that why it’s so easy for them to dismiss my feelings, my pain, my side of the story, why it’s so easy to completely disappear from their lives? No matter how much and for how long I gave to them, gave to their children: love, support, time, money. I no longer exist in their world.

In my late forties, I’m seeing things from a different perspective. I’m seeing things through the eyes of a woman who’s been beaten down, emotionally, physically, and mentally. Who herself continued the abuse. Who’s cried herself to sleep countless nights, even contemplated suicide. 

But eventually, deep inside, I found an ounce of will and built a foundation from it. I learned practices that supported my physical, mental, and spiritual well-being. Finally, I had to remove the majority of my family from my life because it’s the only good path, the only path where my childhood and family no longer define me. Because to let that continue is to die on the inside.

And I choose life. I choose me.