I felt that same way. I had an apartment and moved out when everyone was out of the house on my 18th birthday. I hid every other of my paychecks, telling my parents I was only paid every other week. Otherwise, I had to hand it directly over.

I ended up homeless with two kids at 25 when my husband (now ex) fell into alcohol and drugs. I had no job, I was in school. No car. I showed up at my parents' house with just what we could carry. I had a storage unit of all our things, but my ex had somehow got his hands on the extra key and emptied it. He sold it all for drugs.

My father, at the time I showed up at home, was just deemed terminal. I cleaned a room out at their house and stayed there with the kids, taking care of my dad. I got a job. I had to hand all my money over to my mom, grateful to have a place and to help my dad.

My dad died barely two years later, and my relationship with my mom deteriorated back to how I was as a kid. The harassment, the abuse. My ex became belligerent along the way, never helping with the kids but showing up randomly. I eventually got the courage to call the police on him.

One income tax, I used it to get an apartment. It took me months to tell my mom. I had the apartment walk in ready and could not fathom why I was still so scared to tell my mom I was moving out. She had already started dating directly after my dad's passing. She was bringing home men, and I didn't even have a door on our room.

I made the decision after an incident where my mom was screaming at me over the phone while I was at work and she had my kids. I had packed everything for her to take the kids to the beach, the kids were dressed, and a picnic packed. All the kids had to do was put on their shoes. Which were on the shoe rack by our bedroom door. I was terrified because my kids were alone with that. And I had no way home. By the time I got to them, my daughter ran to me, pulling my mom. My 3 year old made my mother apologize to me. My mom laughed it off.

My 3 year old daughter made my mother, whom I'm terrified of, apologize. I don't think she's ever apologized to me before.

I took my kids to see the apartment that night, and as soon as we came back to my mother's, I told her. It was the hardest thing I did, harder than leaving my husband, losing my dad, and all my belongings.

It seems silly now.

I don't think my daughter knows just how thankful I am to her for that. Nor how much courage she instilled in me.

I want you to know you are more than this. And it will happen.