Three years ago, I was angry. At myself, at the unsafe world around me, at anyone who didn’t understand. Two years before, I left my abusive boyfriend and found myself writing to clear out head noise. My post, “Five Things An Abused Woman Wants You to Know,” hit a thousand views the first day it was posted here, the highest amount of traffic I’d seen for my writing. People poured out comments, thanking me for my honesty or questioning my aggression.
Sucked into a whirlwind I didn’t expect, I found myself shuddering at the thought of dishing out advice to people who needed answers. I’m not an expert. I’m not a therapist.