I was stronger

But the battles got bigger.

I was 13. I stood up for myself. I fought my dad. I had boundaries. My own voice. Opinions. Courage. Moxie.

I wanted him to stop drinking so badly, I would pour his bottle of scotch in the trash. I knew there'd be consequences, but I didn't care. The alcohol was ruining our family, and he had to know I wasn't afraid.

But the battles got bigger.

The voices were louder. The words cut deeper. The control grew stronger.

I became frightened.

I became weaker.

I became stressed.

I became protective.

But the battles got bigger.

I became anxious.

I became quieter.

I became uncertain.

I became me.