The Trio & Me

2. Teach my children about charities that mean something to me and our family!

I was 16 years old when I was kicked out of home. After years of trauma, abuse, and experiences that are still hard to put into words, I suddenly found myself without a place to go. No safety net. No family to fall back on. Just… gone.

Trauma stole my youth – instead of being a child, I was learning to survive. 

I moved between homeless shelters, and sleeping on friends couches – while trying to finish high school. Those years were some of the darkest of my life.

There’s a particular kind of loneliness that comes with being that young and completely on your own. No guidance, no emotional support, no one to help you make sense of what you’ve been through – only the constant pressure of figuring out how to get through the next day.

And somehow, I did. Without support, without direction, I picked myself up and did what I needed to do to survive. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t easy. But it was necessary.

What followed through this fight to survive, were then years I now understand more clearly – years spent in abusive relationships. When chaos is familiar, it doesn’t always feel like something to run from. It can feel like something you unconsciously return to.

Until one day, something shifted. I became a parent. And with that came a line I was no longer willing to let anyone cross.

I made the decision to leave – not just for me, but to protect my children. To give them something I never had: safety. And once more, I did it alone.

I moved. I rebuilt. I created stability where there had been none. I worked through my healing in the only ways I knew how at the time. Not because I didn’t need help – but because I didn’t know where to find it.

I didn’t know what support existed. I didn’t have the education or awareness to understand what I had been through, or what I deserved access to. So I just kept going, doing the best I could with what I had.

Now, as a parent, my role is clear. I am my children’s safe place.

But more than that, I want them to grow up knowing something I didn’t: that support exists, and they are allowed to access it. That they don’t have to do everything alone. That asking for help is not weakness – it’s strength.

Recently, I came across Share the Dignity through social media. And it stopped me. Because this is something I could have used – more than once – throughout my life.

This organisation provides essential items to women, children, and teenagers affected by domestic violence. Things many people take for granted – basic hygiene products, clean essentials – for someone arriving at a refuge, often with nothing but the clothes on their back. That first night in safety matters. And having even the smallest sense of dignity in that moment matters too.

So I used it as an opportunity. An opportunity to teach my children not just about hardship – but about compassion. About giving back. About recognising that even small acts can make a real difference in someone else’s life.

Together, we went shopping, and put together a bag of essential items and donated it at Bunnings Warehouse, who were collecting donations in November.

It was simple. But it was meaningful.

Because in that moment, I wasn’t just giving back – I was gently healing a part of myself that once went without. Slowly, quietly, and in ways that feel safe… I am learning that healing doesn’t always come from looking back.

Sometimes, it comes from what we choose to do next. To acknowledge your past, but to stand tall and look to your future – and support those less fortunate. 

🤍 Kobe