What I don’t get is, I had an awful childhood. Addict parents, CSA by a “family friend” from when I was 4 until I was 9, lived in filth. I vowed my life would be different. I am now a mother of 2 in my 30’s, my Husband is an amazing man, kind and caring, we’ve never touched drugs, we had our babies, built a business and they have a loving, normal, safe, clean and calm environment to grow in. I wanted better so I knew I had to break the cycle. You can keep saying woe is me, my childhood was awful and keep playing the victim or you can choose to be a survivor, do differently for yourself, for your children. She failed those poor girls, not her mum, not anyone else but her. Sure, I’ve been in therapy for much of my life, I am not ashamed to admit that, I take antidepressants, my developing brain dealt with too much trauma too young and I will be on them for life, I’m not ashamed. These are the tools that help me live a normal life. Therapy gives me a healthy outlet, antidepressants help my mindset when the inevitable sadness and trauma kicks in sometimes. It’s on me and me only to keep attending therapy, keep taking my tablets, keep pushing through the small minority of bad days that I have now because I’ve got two young children that watch me, idolise me, LEARN from me. They didn’t ask to be born, my Husband and I wanted them, we love them so deeply and I’d rather crawl through broken glass a billion times over than fail them. I will always be honest and open with them about my childhood when they ask, about mental health and why it’s so important. I won’t hide it but I sure as hell will not fail them due to my own childhood.