My name is Emma, and I’m from Derby. My story isn’t easy to tell, but I’ve learned that the truth can be powerful and maybe even help someone else feel less alone. I had my first child when I was 17. I was still a kid myself, scared, vulnerable, and already carrying more pain than most people could imagine. My home life had been chaotic, addiction, violence, and the kind of emotional neglect that leaves deep scars. By the time I became a mum, I was already using drugs to block out the noise in my head.
At first, I told myself I had it under control. But addiction is sneaky, it creeps in slowly and then takes over everything. The father of my first child was abusive. He used my pain against me; told me I was nothing without him. I stayed longer than I should have, partly because I believed him, partly because I didn’t know where else to go.
Over the years, I had three more children. Each one changed me. Each one gave me a reason to try and fight. But the world around me kept dragging me down. I ended up in more abusive relationships, with men who promised love and instead gave me bruises, broken bones, and broken trust. They used my addiction, my trauma, even my love for my kids as weapons. I felt trapped in a cycle I couldn’t break.
I tried recovery twice before. The first time, I left early to go back to a partner who swore he’d changed. He hadn’t. The second time, I was doing okay, I was clean for a few months but looking back I didn’t have the right support and I was still carrying so much unresolved pain, and eventually, I relapsed.
Each time I failed, the guilt got heavier. I felt like I was drowning in shame.
But this is my third time in recovery and this time, it’s different.
I’m finally starting to face the root of my pain. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD, and for the first time, I’m getting the help I need to deal with my trauma and mental health. I’m not just surviving anymore I am healing.
And I’m not doing it alone.
I met an awesome friend Claire in recovery, and from the start, there was a bond. She’s like the sister I never had. We’ve shared our darkest secrets, held each other through panic attacks, and laughed until we cried. She sees me, and I mean really sees me and never judges. With her by my side, I feel stronger.
I still have bad days, but I don’t run from them now. I face them. I go to therapy. I write letters to my children, hoping one day they’ll understand how much I love them and how hard I’ve fought to become someone they can be proud of.
I’ve been broken, bruised, and buried but I’m still here. I’m rebuilding my life, one day at a time. And this time, I know I can make it
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