Yesterday I went to the phychologist, and I finally spoke about my dad. Somethings she said, although are awful, have really really helped me. She told me that I am a child of domestic abuse. Domestic abuse. Even writing those words now make my stomach jump up into my throat. When I think of domestic violence, I think of children and women covered in bruises because the man of their lives has hurt them in ways they never imagined he could. Although I have thought about it in the past, I never thought that I would fit into that group. But I do. And surprisingly, that has made me feel so much better. I feel like all my feelings towards my dad and alcohol and yelling have been validated, and I don’t have to feel stupid or guilty for feeling this way