For many people behind bars, the story didn’t begin with a crime; it began with a wound. Cycles of abuse, neglect, and survivalism shape countless lives long before a prison sentence ever does. When children grow up without guidance, without safety, without anyone modeling compassion, it’s not surprising that some eventually stumble into the only patterns they’ve ever known.
She didn’t get to choose her birth order, yet somehow it became her full-time identity. Before she even understood what responsibility meant, it was handed down like a family heirloom. She is the firstborn, the test run, the one who had to “know better,” “do better,” and “hold it together.” While other kids her age were allowed to be children, she was busy being the example, the helper, the emotional buffer, the one who kept the family from tipping over.
There’s a particular kind of fear that comes from being sick and unheard at the same time. It’s the moment you realize the person meant to help you has already decided your suffering isn’t real.
We were not born into this world with the belief that we are “less than.” That notion is not innate; it is taught to us over time, until it embeds itself deeply into our identity. It arrives in small, nearly imperceptible moments: like being talked over when we share something, having our ideas questioned more harshly than others’, or being misunderstood repeatedly without anyone attempting to see from our perspective.
In a world where wars, disasters, and everyday violence shape so many lives, trauma is far from rare. Researchers estimate that nearly 70% of people will face at least one potentially traumatic event in their lifetime, and about 5.6% will develop post-traumatic stress disorder. But when the trauma comes from abuse, especially the kind that unfolds behind closed doors, the impact can be even more insidious.