My trauma began when I was young. My family had just moved to a new state when I was 4. By the time I was 6, we started swimming in our neighbor's pool. The adults quickly became close friends. It was during this time that I began to be molested by the man living there. This abuse went on for a while, and I remained silent. Also, around this time one of my brothers sexually fondled me. It was so minor I didn’t think about it for years, but I knew it was wrong. When I was 13, I attended a party at a girl’s house from my middle school. There, I was sexually assaulted by some male classmates while others looked on without intervening. Though I felt a surge of pain inside, I initially planned to keep it to myself. However, a boy from my neighborhood witnessed the assault. He went home and told his parents, who then called mine. I was forced to share what had happened. It was during this time that I realized just how my family viewed me. I wished they had remained oblivious because the truth was, them knowing was more painful than remaining silent. The punishment my parents decided on was to have them rake leaves in our yard—a task I had completed just the week before. My parents talked about not wanting to ruin their lives, while my own life felt shattered. I had hoped my mother, who worked in nursing and even wanted to eventually do psychiatric nursing, would understand, but she failed to provide any compassion or empathy. Instead, I was left to navigate my trauma alone. My two older brothers chose to side with our parents, treating me as if I didn’t exist and like it was my fault from that moment on. They offered no sympathy or any kind of brotherly support at all.  Returning to school the following Monday was a nightmare. All I could hear were whispers and teasing; I wished I could disappear. The day culminated with me sitting next to one of my assailants in health class where he teased me, a cruel reminder of everything I had endured. I had no one to go to for support.  Throughout those years, I coped by spending most of my time under the influence of alcohol. I lost myself in reckless behavior, even walking down a highway backwards, with my eyes closed and no fear. Eventually, I left for college. One weekend, after returning home, I sat on the couch with my emotionless mother. While she scrolled through the TV guide, she casually informed me that our neighbor had been arrested for molesting his 4-year-old granddaughter. I was devastated—if only I had said something, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. When I replied, “Yes, he did the same thing to me for years,” she merely paused, contemplating my words before returning to her magazine, seemingly unfazed. I would find out later she would stay friends with them and when I asked her why she would do that, she replied "no one told me not to stay friends with them." I was done. I moved away, even relocating to Japan. There, I faced a new set of challenges, manipulated by a man while working as a hostess at a bar; he stalked me, making me feel unsafe. Frightened, I left Japan and settled in San Francisco for the next 14 years. I married, but that relationship fell apart, and I found myself pregnant by a mentally and physically abusive partner. He managed to beat me up a couple times before I finally got smart and left. It was the birth of my son that finally made me realize I needed to prioritize his safety above everything else. After some time, I forgave my mother again. She and I became close and her and my son were inseparable. Due to various circumstances, including mold in a home I had purchased and the difficulty of being a single parent, we ended up living together. As the relationship improved she came to me with a proposal. She asked if I would like to buy a portion of her house. Eager for stability, I paid for my portion and one of my brother’s portion and took out a loan to pay her and also updated the home. Life was challenging, but I managed to provide for my son but I did refinance on my house loan a couple times. I had never received help from his father and my mom did not help me financially. I did know he always had whatever he needed and I was proud of that. Then, in 2020, while I was in Morocco, the COVID-19 pandemic broke out, stranding me for nearly an extra month. After being evacuated and returning to the US, I faced a 12-day quarantine before I could get back to my job as a charge nurse in a department of the emergency room at the hospital. My paychecks dwindled as I confronted numerous exposures and isolation during what was very stressful times. Amid the chaos of COVID, I began experiencing never felt before flashbacks from my childhood abuse. Colleagues tragically took their own lives, making the burden heavier. When my lending company informed me they were offering a forbearance for people being affected by Covid. My co workers had done it so I jumped at the chance. They checked with my employer and in fact I had been negatively affected. So I was offered the forbearance program. About a year later my lending company asked for a letter from my mother stating that she was fine with me putting what I owed on the end of the loan even though she had nothing to do with my loan. It was because she was on the title of the home. I had continued to pay as much as I could every month. I knew it was time to discuss my situation with my mom. After we talked, she agreed to be supportive and do whatever we could to keep the house. She suggested we reach out my brother for help. He is a multimillionaire. He was aggressive, and he was dismissive, claiming he would never assist me. His reaction left my mother frightened. Things deteriorated further when my mother saw her son’s were coming to her aid. They had not been a big part of her life. I then found out her and my brothers decided to hold a meeting about the house without inviting me. I had a long-standing agreement with my mother: I would care for her for the rest of her life while I would be able to stay in the house also due to my nursing background. Neither of them wanted anything to do with the house or the money from it but they disregarded this agreement completely and insisted on selling the house. My mother began to act as if I had wronged her, going so far as to lock her belongings away and accuse me of stealing from her. She began saying bad things about me to everyone, especially my son making him confused and sad. My family became increasingly hostile, fabricating lies against me. My mother only needed to sign a document and I could keep the house. I had found a way to keep the house and buy her out. I even offered for her to move back in. Despite the support from my ex-husband, my mother wouldn't sign the necessary documents, and the house went into foreclosure. I was so wounded and traumatized by the situation I became completely unable to function. Even my sister-in-law who I had never done anything to was acting aggressive and my own son turned against me. My mom had jumped at the chance of having her son’s in her life, so she was continuing to say terrible things about me so she looked like a victim. It is ironic because I had been the victim of her abuse throughout my life with no one ever recognizing it.  Feeling utterly isolated and despondent, I lost my job and received a devastating cancer scare while in Africa, which my family ignored upon my return. I felt like I had lost everything, including my sense of purpose. Desperate, I withdrew funds from my retirement account to survive, as I felt utterly lost. My mother even suggested I use the money to finally get therapy, blaming me for my struggles, rather than recognizing the trauma I had endured as a result of her actions growing up. I told her she failed to provide anything in terms of support regarding my childhood trauma and only made it worse.  I even reached out to my brother, pouring my heart out about my pain, only to have him block me. Now, I find myself without a home, without money, and estranged from my family. Although my son has reentered my life, the hurt he caused has left a lasting mark. I've been ostracized and isolated, and I can’t trust anyone anymore. The pain from my family's betrayal is unbearable, leaving me without any desire to move forward