A Letter to My Abuser

For a long time, I carried the weight of your words, your actions, and your silence. I twisted myself into knots trying to understand why, how, or what I did to deserve the pain you handed me so easily. I searched for answers in the wreckage of my self-worth, thinking healing meant forgiving you first.

But now I see it differently.

This letter isn’t written in anger, t’s written in clarity.

You taught me some of the hardest lessons I’ve ever had to learn. Not because I wanted to be taught, but because I had to survive. I had to find strength I didn’t know existed. I had to rebuild trust in myself, brick by shaky brick. And I did.
You do not get to define who I am. You don’t get the final word in my story. The scars you left on me? They are mine now. I carry them not as shame, but as symbols of everything I’ve overcome.
I once believed I needed closure or an apology, an explanation, a shred of remorse. But the truth is, I don’t need anything from you anymore. Healing is mine to claim. Peace is mine to protect. Power is mine to take back.

So this is not a letter of reconciliation. It is a letter of release.

I release the grip you had on my past.
I release the fear that followed me like a shadow.
I release the idea that my worth depends on your approval, your presence, or your acknowledgment.

And in that release, I rise.

To those reading who have walked a similar path — I want you to know: your voice matters. Your pain is valid. Your healing is possible. You are not alone, and you are not broken. You are rising, too — even if your voice trembles, even if the wounds are still fresh.

This letter is not just mine, t’s a step toward collective healing. For every survivor reclaiming their story, their body, their spirit, I see you. We are rewriting what it means to be free.

With strength and softness,
Someone who chose to heal.