u/Lolu1005

I’m 35 years old, and lately I’ve found myself asking the same question over and over again.
When does life finally let you breathe?
I was born in one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods in Colombia. My childhood wasn’t what a childhood should be. My family was dysfunctional, home never felt safe, and I learned very early that survival came before happiness.
The brightest part of my childhood was my grandmother. We had almost nothing, yet she somehow always found a way to help people who had even less. Across the street from our house was a cancer hospital. She would make hot chocolate, buy bread, and bring it to people going through chemotherapy. Sometimes she’d watch their children while they received treatment. Looking back, I think she taught me that kindness isn’t something you have—it’s something you choose.
At 15, my father brought my twin brother and me to Spain. We thought our lives were finally going to change.
Instead, it became one of the darkest chapters of my life.
We lived in a single rented room. We often went hungry. After school, my brother and I were sent to restaurants to sell pirated DVDs. I became responsible for cooking, cleaning, and taking care of my father while I was still just a teenager.
Eventually, I left home hoping life would finally get better.
Instead, I found myself alone.
Over the next few years, I experienced things that no young woman should have to experience. I trusted the wrong people. I was manipulated, exploited, and hurt in ways that took years to even begin healing from. There were many nights I genuinely believed my life would never get better.
But somehow…
I kept going.
I eventually returned to Colombia, and later moved to the United States.
For the first time in my life, I felt hope.
I found a job with an amazing boss, met wonderful friends, and slowly began healing. I started believing that maybe my story wasn’t over after all.
Then I met someone who completely changed my life again.
He was emotionally abusive. After I became pregnant with my son, the manipulation and threats became constant. I was terrified. My mother was living in Canada by then, so while I was four months pregnant, I crossed the border because I truly believed it was the only way to protect myself and my baby.
That decision saved my life.
In Canada, I started over for what felt like the hundredth time.
My first job was cleaning buildings. I worked hard every single day. Little by little, I worked my way into an administrative position. I rebuilt my confidence. I rebuilt my future.
Then something happened that I never thought was possible.
I met an incredible man.
For the first time in my life, I experienced what love was actually supposed to feel like.
Together we’ve built a beautiful family. We bought our first home. We have two amazing children. We laugh together. We dream together. We finally built the peaceful life I had spent my entire childhood wishing for.
If you met me today, you’d probably think I’ve always had a normal life.
You’d never guess how many times I’ve had to start over.
Recently, our daughter was diagnosed with autism.
She is the light of our lives. She is funny, beautiful, affectionate, and perfect exactly as she is.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.
Now my husband and I spend our days learning about therapies, worrying about her future, wondering how we can give her every opportunity possible, and hoping we’re making the right decisions for her.
And sometimes…
After everyone has gone to bed…
I sit alone and wonder why life always seems to have another mountain waiting for me to climb.
Please don’t misunderstand me.
I love my life.
I love my husband.
I love my children more than words could ever describe.
I’m grateful for every blessing I have.
But I’m tired.
Not physically.
Soul tired.
The kind of tired that comes from spending your entire life surviving.
Sometimes I wonder what it must feel like to wake up and not be waiting for the next crisis.
I don’t regret the woman I’ve become. Every hardship shaped me into the mother I am today, and my children are worth every battle I’ve fought.
I guess I just needed to tell someone that sometimes the strongest people you know are simply people who never had the option to stop fighting.
If you’ve read this far, thank you.
I don’t need pity.
I don’t need anyone to fix my life.
I just needed someone to hear my story.

Hi everyone,
I just need to vent. I don’t really know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just need to finally say out loud everything I’ve carried inside for most of my life.
I’m 35 years old, and I was born in a poor and unsafe neighborhood in Colombia.
My family was deeply dysfunctional. My grandmother was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. She spent her entire life taking care of everyone else. We had very little, yet she would make hot chocolate and buy bread for people receiving cancer treatment at the hospital across the street from our house. Sometimes she’d even watch their children while they were in treatment. She taught me what kindness looked like.
My parents had me and my twin brother when they were only 19. They were never married, and they never truly loved each other. Their relationship was full of conflict, and I grew up witnessing things no child should ever have to see.
As a child, I always felt like the forgotten one. My twin brother and younger brother seemed to receive most of the attention, while I often felt invisible.
My grandfather wasn’t an easy person, but he was kind to me. When you’re a child who feels unseen, even a little kindness means everything. Before he passed away when I was 15, he told me he loved me. I’ve never forgotten those words.
My father had moved to Spain years earlier. He started another family there, while my mother remained in Colombia. Ironically, my mother even helped care for one of his children while he built a life with someone else.
Eventually, my father brought my twin brother and me to Spain. We were convinced we were finally getting the fresh start we’d dreamed about.
Instead, it became one of the hardest periods of my life.
The reality was nothing like what we had imagined. We lived in a single rented room with my father and his partner. My brother and I slept on the floor. Home never felt safe.
She openly disliked me. She damaged my belongings, expected me to cook and clean, and treated me as if I existed only to serve. My father never stood up for me.
We also had to help earn money. Every afternoon after school, my brother and I were sent to restaurants to sell pirated DVDs to customers. We were children trying to help support adults.
Food was scarce. We often went to school without breakfast and came home hungry. I learned very early that surviving meant taking care of everyone else before myself.
My father’s relationship became increasingly chaotic. His partner would leave, come back, leave again, and each time he would sacrifice everything to keep her. Eventually, my brother couldn’t take it anymore and moved away to live with one of our aunts.
I stayed.
Looking back, I think I stayed because I felt responsible for my father, even though he had never truly protected me.
I found a job as a waitress while I was still in school. After work, I would cook dinner and bring it home because my father depended on someone else to care for him. Without realizing it, I had become the caregiver instead of the daughter.
Over time, his behavior toward me became increasingly controlling and emotionally abusive. He also took money that I earned from work. Eventually, I decided I couldn’t stay any longer and moved out on my own at 17.
I thought I had found people who cared about me, but instead I found myself in situations where my trust and vulnerability were repeatedly taken advantage of. I experienced abuse in different forms, including sexual abuse and exploitation, where people used my vulnerability for their own benefit and left me feeling powerless and deeply hurt. It left deep emotional scars that I’m still trying to heal from. There were moments where I felt completely powerless, like my voice didn’t matter and my pain didn’t count.
Later, I met someone who seemed kind and protective. Instead, he manipulated me and eventually trapped me in an exploitative situation that took me weeks to escape. Somehow, I found the courage to leave and never look back.
I eventually returned to my father’s home because I had nowhere else to go. My mental health had reached one of the lowest points in my life. I struggled with severe depression, but I never had any treatment. The only thing that kept me going was prayer and my faith in God. He is the one who has kept me standing up and trying to be better, even when I felt like I had nothing left.
But nothing had really changed. The emotional abuse continued. I later moved in with relatives, hoping life would improve, but it felt like I was stuck in the same cycle no matter where I went.
Eventually, I returned to Colombia for a while. It was the first time in years that I felt even a small amount of peace.
Two years later, I moved to the United States.
For the first time, I felt free.
I met wonderful friends, found a job, and worked for an amazing boss who treated me with kindness and respect. Slowly, I began healing. I finally started becoming the person I always wanted to be.
Then I met someone who completely changed my life again.
He was psychologically abusive and extremely controlling. After I became pregnant with my son, the manipulation intensified. He constantly threatened me, telling me he would have me deported and that he would take my baby away from me after he was born.
By then, my mother had moved to Canada.
Terrified, and four months pregnant, I crossed the border into Canada.
That decision saved my life.
I had my son here and started over once again.
My first job was cleaning buildings. I worked hard, accepted every opportunity I could, and slowly moved up. Today, I work in an administrative position that I’m proud of.
Most importantly, I eventually broke free from the trauma bond that had kept me emotionally tied to my son’s father. It wasn’t easy, but I rebuilt my confidence and my life.
Then I met someone who showed me what a healthy relationship actually looks like.
Together we’ve built a beautiful family. We welcomed our daughter. We bought our first home. We created the kind of life I never imagined I could have.
Today, I’m a wife, a homeowner, and, above all else, a mother. I work hard every single day to give my children the childhood I never had.
Recently, we learned that my daughter is autistic. We’re preparing for her official diagnosis and doing everything we can to get her the support she needs. Like any parent, we worry about her future, but we’ll never stop fighting for her.
I love my children with everything I have.
But if I’m honest…
I’m exhausted.
I work hard every day, and sometimes it still feels like it’s not enough. Money is tight, responsibilities never stop, and I feel like I’m constantly trying to stay afloat. There are days where I feel completely drained, physically and emotionally, like I’ve been running my entire life without ever getting a real break.
Sometimes I feel like my entire life has been one challenge after another.
Every time I think I’ve finally found peace, another obstacle appears.
I’m grateful for everything I’ve built. I know I’ve come so far, and I’m proud of the woman I’ve become.
But I also carry so much pain from everything I’ve been through—the abuse, the neglect, the fear, the moments where I felt completely alone.
I guess I’m just wondering…
I feel like life never stops testing me…
If you’ve read this far, thank you. I don’t need anyone to fix anything. I just needed someone to hear my story. I’m just really tired, and I wish I could have a break.

them?
Hi everyone.
I don’t really know why I’m writing this. I guess I just need to get this off my chest.
I’m 35 years old, and sometimes I wonder what it feels like to live a life where you’re not constantly waiting for the next crisis.
I was born in one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods in Colombia. My family was deeply dysfunctional. My parents had me and my twin brother when they were only 19, and they were never in a healthy relationship. I grew up surrounded by conflict, neglect, and instability.
The one bright light in my childhood was my grandmother. We had almost nothing, yet she was always helping others. There was a cancer hospital across from our house, and she would make hot chocolate, buy bread, and take it to people receiving chemotherapy. She even watched their children while they were in treatment. She taught me what kindness looked like, even when life wasn’t kind to her.
As a child, I always felt invisible. My brothers seemed to receive all the attention, while I mostly learned to take care of myself.
When I was 15, my father brought my twin brother and me to Spain. We thought we were finally getting a better life.
Instead, it became one of the darkest chapters of my life.
We lived in a single rented room with my father and his partner. My brother and I slept on the floor. We often went to school hungry, and every afternoon my father sent us to restaurants to sell pirated DVDs because he wanted us to “earn our own things.”
His partner openly disliked me. She damaged my belongings, treated me like a servant, and expected me to cook and clean while my father watched and said nothing.
As I got older, my father became emotionally abusive as well. I found a job while I was still in school, but he controlled the money I earned. I became the person who cooked for him, cleaned for him, and looked after him, even though I was still just a teenager.
At 17, I finally left.
I thought leaving would mean freedom, but instead I found myself alone and vulnerable. I trusted people I shouldn’t have trusted, experienced different forms of abuse and exploitation, and spent years simply trying to survive.
Eventually, I returned to Colombia for a while before moving to the United States.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I could breathe.
I found a job, met wonderful people, and slowly started healing. I finally believed my life was moving in the right direction.
Then I met someone who turned out to be psychologically abusive. After I became pregnant with my son, the threats and manipulation became unbearable. My mother was living in Canada by then, so while I was four months pregnant, I crossed the border because I truly believed it was the only way to protect myself and my baby.
That decision changed my life forever.
I started over once again.
My first job in Canada was cleaning buildings. I worked incredibly hard, accepted every opportunity I could, and slowly worked my way into an administrative position. I eventually broke free from the trauma bond that had kept me trapped for so long.
Then I met the man who is now my husband.
For the first time in my life, I experienced what a healthy relationship actually feels like.
Together we built a beautiful family. We have two amazing children. We bought our first home. We built a peaceful life that little girl from Colombia could never have imagined.
People who meet me today probably think I’ve always had a normal life.
They don’t know how many times I’ve had to start over.
Recently, our daughter was diagnosed with autism.
I love her with every part of my heart, and I will fight for her for the rest of my life. This isn’t about wishing she were different. She’s perfect exactly as she is
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.
Now we’re learning about therapies, worrying about her future, wondering how to give her every opportunity we can, and trying to navigate another chapter we never expected.
Sometimes I sit quietly after everyone is asleep and think…
Will life ever stop testing me?
I know I’m incredibly blessed. I have a wonderful husband, beautiful children, a home, a career, and a life I fought so hard to build.
I’m proud of the woman I’ve become.
I’m just…
Tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
The kind of tired that comes from spending your entire life surviving.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading.
I don’t need anyone to solve my problems. I think I just needed someone to know that behind every smile, there can be a lifetime of battles nobody else sees.