Why Didn’t You Say Anything?

One of the most common questions I get asked about my childhood is, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

It’s a fair question—but one that’s impossible to answer simply.

When you’ve already watched your parents go through a separation, and the only parent you have left feels like your entire world, you don’t want to risk losing them too. You stay quiet. You learn to survive in silence.

You can read my first confession about my terrible childhood and upbringing here.

My mom wasn’t a safe person to live with, but as a kid, I couldn’t see that clearly. She gave us smokes, bought us alcohol, and kept us home from school to get high and watch movies. To a 13-year-old, that doesn’t look like abuse, it looks like freedom. It looks like love, even if it’s twisted. You don’t want that to disappear.

And beyond that—it’s embarrassing. No one wants to admit the truth about the conditions they live in. You don’t want people to see the filth, the fear, or the shame. You don’t want to lose your hookup, your parent, or what little control you think you have. At that age, you don’t even know who can help or how to ask for it.

My brother and I were the ones taking care of our mom. It was terrifying. I was addicted to drugs and cigarettes, trying to numb everything around me, and my brother hid away in his room just trying to stay alive.

There were nights when things got violent—objects flying across the room, crashing into walls and leaving deep dents that told stories no one ever asked about. There were days when the cupboards were bare and we were so hungry we ate whatever we could find. I ate ketchup and noodles; my brother once ate a whole package of Shake ’n Bake until he got sick.

We saved our mom’s life more than once—from overdoses, from lighting herself on fire on the couch, from slipping so far away she almost never came back. 

We didn’t understand that this wasn’t normal. That this wasn’t love. By the time we did, it was too late. I was already addicted. I was already broken. And I still loved her, because she was my mom.

So when people ask me, “Why didn’t you say anything?”—this is why.

Because kids don’t always know they’re living in chaos.

Because they’re scared.

Because they love their abuser.

Because they think the dysfunction is normal.

Because they don’t want to lose the only person they have.

If you’re ever unsure about a child’s situation, look closer. Don’t wait for them to speak up. They might never find the words. Kids often don’t understand that they need help, or they’re too scared to get their parents in trouble.

Please, if you see something that doesn’t feel right, step in. These children deserve to be protected, loved, and safe, even when they can’t ask for it themselves.

This series of tell-all tales is going to continue as I reach out to others being abused, neglected, and mistreated. The addicts, mentally unstable, healing, and battling, I was once in your position, and I am now healthy and successful. You can do it too! Share my path and my stories and we can help anyone.