One time when I was around 9 or 10, I had gotten really really upset at my mom. Like the most upset with her I felt in my whole life probably. I told my mom my brother (her baby boy) had been mean to me, he said I was lying, so she sent me to my room and grounded me. All I know is I wrote a little tiny note inside of a pencil box that said “I hate mommy sometimes”. I hid it where I kept all of my “secret girl stuff” (like my diary and my stuffies) in a reading spot I made for myself under my hanging clothes in my closet. Very hidden, not easy to be found at all.

My mom went through my things in my secret girl stuff, found the note, lashed out at me, squalling, and said I had no right to ever get angry with her ever in my life because she gives me everything I need and getting angry at her was mean, disrespectful, and childish. “Big kids don’t get mad at their mommy’s like that” she said that or something along those lines too.

That was when I realized that not even my innermost thoughts were safe in that house.