The Shadow of "Never Enough"

​⚠️TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️‼️:

​⚠️Content Note: This is a difficult story to tell, and it may be difficult to hear. It touches on themes of childhood trauma, abuse, and sexual assault. If you are not in a place where you can hold space for these topics today, please feel free to skip this post. To those who have walked similar paths: you are not alone. ⚠️

​I am 38 years old, and for the first time in my life, I am handing back the weight that was never mine to carry.

​For decades, I lived in the shadow of my stepfather’s narrative. I was the "bad guy." My sister and I was the target of his rage, his insults, and his deep-seated misery. I used to think the bottle was the problem. I thought if he could just get sober, maybe he would finally see me.

Thirteen years ago, he quit drinking. But the man who emerged wasn't a hero; he was just a sober version of the same person who has been trying to break me since I was three years old.

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A Lifetime of Being the Target

My memories don't start with warmth; they start with fighting. From the age of three, the noise of his anger was the soundtrack of my life. By the time I was ten, that anger turned physical in a way my family still talks about today.

​I remember a trip to Florida, staying at my aunt’s house. I can’t even remember the "why" behind his explosion—because with him, the reason never mattered as much as the release of his rage. I just remember being ten years old and being slammed into the car by a grown man. To this day, my cousin still looks at me and sees that little girl being thrown against a vehicle.

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The Weapons of a Coward

As I grew, the physical violence was joined by a verbal assault designed to strip me of my dignity. Bitch. Whore. Cunt. Those were the names he used to make me feel small.

​When I was sixteen and at my absolute lowest—surviving a rape only to be told by him that I deserved it—I felt like I would never get away. I felt like his voice was the final word on my value. I wanted to die because I couldn't see a world where I wasn't his punching bag.

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The Myth of Change

The truth I’ve had to accept is that you can remove the alcohol and still be left with a person who chooses to be miserable. He’s been sober for thirteen years, but he’s still looking for a fight. Even now, when I visit as an adult, he still tries to exercise power over me.

​Lately, he says he’s changed. He says he wants a relationship. But I see it clearly: an alcoholic’s narrative—even a "dry" one—requires a scapegoat. If he can make me the "bad guy," he never has to look at the monster in his own mirror.

I am told that things are "different" now, but true change isn't a claim you make—it’s a peace you provide. I am no longer waiting for a peace that never arrives.

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It Stops Here

I am done auditioning for the role of the "good daughter" in a play where the lead actor refuses to change. I am done being the scapegoat for a man who won't face his own demons, sober or not.

​"Getting away" isn't just about moving out of a house; it’s about moving out of his story. I am looking at the man who tried to make me feel like I didn't matter and I am finally saying: "You are no longer allowed to be the narrator of my life."

The names, the fights, and the "never enoughs" stop here. I am 38, I am whole, and I am finally, finally free.

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I’ve got this.

Kimmi Hope❤️