You Will Not Win


“This is a story that I have never told. I need to get this off my chest, and let it go. I need to take back the light inside you stole..”

      Not many people know this about me. Not many people want to know. But people need to know. Still as I type, my mind is frazzled with the ifs, ands, buts about whether or not I should be writing this. Whether I should really come forth with my story. Whether anyone cares. I’m healing. This, I think, is another part of that healing process.
      The picture you see above is one of the most powerful pictures I have probably ever taken. Tonight, my mind has been overwhelmed with thoughts, ideas, concepts, on how I can continue to heal. Social media contributes a big part in our society. So, what better way for me to continue healing than to write about it on my blog?
     Warning; what you’re about to read is graphic and horrifying. It kills me, it kills the people I love that it happened. But I’m using this to fight for others. I’m using this to fight for the voiceless, and for the younger me, who absolutely no one fought for.




 My father was abusive. Physically, mentally, emotionally. These pictures are the bruises you can see. These are some of the physical bruises he left on me, not to mention the emotional damage he gave as well. Dragging me across the floor, choking me against a wall, slapping me to the ground, whatever you can think of, it probably happened. I will never remember the night where I lay, helpless, on the floor of my room as my evil-eyed father looked down on me, my stepmother standing in the doorway. Sobbing uncontrollably I looked up to her and begged “I helped you so many times. Why won’t you help me?” She shrugged her shoulders. When I ended up leaving my dad’s house due to the abusive circumstsnces, my entire family, who claimed they’d always be there for me, left. They abandoned me. Their reasoning? “They didn’t like the things I had put my dad through.” What I put through my dad? Are you serious? And still to this day they refuse to speak to me. They don’t believe me, even with all of the pictures and recordings. They are against me.
      For a long time I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to cause trouble. I only told my closest friends, if that. Who would believe an 11 year old girl? Who would believe me? “I’ll wait until I’m older.” I told myself every year. Yet, 365 days passed and it had been too long. I look back and realize it was a HUGE mistake to wait. By the time I had called it in myself, they told me I had “waited too long.” 
     Look at those pictures. There’s evidence. I could have called the nights that these happened. I could have been saved. I could have inevitably saved my little sister, my little brother. I could have saved my mom in the earlier years. I blame myself. I brought this on to my family. I should have saved them when I had the chance. I almost deserve it, I feel.
      No child should ever have to go through this. Ever.
      No child should have to wear long sleeves in July because there’s a welp on their arm.
     No child should hear their classmates make an abuse joke and feel themselves fall apart inside.
      No child should coward away when someone raises their voice, or they hear a loud noise.
      This. Is. Not. Okay.
     If you know someone struggling with abuse, don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Don’t brush it off and say “It’s not my place to do something.” you know what? Bullshit. Bullshit!! There’s a 7 year old child somewhere, struggling to cover bruises on their arms, too skittish to even speak. They need you. They need someone to fight for them. The abuser will lie. They’ll say they won’t do it again, and it’s a lie. Or, even worse, they’ll narcissistically make you out to be the bad guy, which is what my father did. “It’s your fault.” they’ll say. “You deserve it.” and if you’re like me, it won’t be until you’re rocking back and forth on the bathroom floor that you realize he’s WRONG. He has been all along.
     Stand up and fight. It’ll be hard. It’ll be the worst night of your life. But you will regret not taking your chance when time flies by.
     Don’t let them win. Don’t let them get what they want. Why does my father get to brag that he’s in control? Why does he get to win? He’s not going to. I’m in control now. This is MY life.
      I live 868 miles away from him and he still attempts to control me, to push me down. Well guess what? I’m stronger now and I won’t be pushed. The biggest of tidal waves couldn’t drown me.
     If we come together, we can put an end to child abuse, to domestic violence situations. We have to stop it for the voiceless. We have to stop it for our future generations.
     Because this isn’t childhood. Children scamper and play. They stay outside all day. They ask for bedtime stories at night.
     Don’t make them grow up faster than they have to.
– The Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453)
–  The Domestic Violence Hotline
     “Now I’m taking back my life today, there’s nothing left that you can say, because you were never gonna take the blame anyways.
      Now I’m a warrior, I’ve got thicker skin. I’m a warrior. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.”

      My name is Taylore Nicholl Mullins, and I’m a victim of child abuse. But that doesn’t define me, because I won’t let it. I’m a warrior then, a warrior now, and a warrior forever.

Until next time,