My name is “Joniqua” and I am the youngest girl (babygirl) of 6 children. Although I may look innocent in the pictures, my innocence was stolen from me before I knew what “innocence” meant.

I am sure my truth, my story, my perspective may disturb or hurt some family members, friends, and readers. If so, do yourself and favor STOP READING because I WILL NEVER STOP TALKING AND WRITING.

I have been a victim of abuse since the age of 4 to the age 26. Sexual, physical, verbal, mental, emotional and even financial abuse are all included. My childhood impacted my decision making in the young adult relationships I would form, which prolonged the abuse. ... My earliest memory of sexual abuse that I can recall when I was 4 walking into the living room of my house one night and I saw my mother and father having sex on the couch. When they saw me, they continued as if I were not there. They did not tell me to close my eyes, look away, turn around or to leave. I remember standing and staring, feeling disturbed and confused.

The same standing and staring I would do when I witnessed my father and mother physically fight directly in front of me. I clearly recall a day when my mother was frozen standing on the bed with her backside and arms pinned against the headboard and wall as my father had a belt in his hand whipping it across her body as if she were a slave. This was the one of many beatings I witnessed as a child. ... I always felt hated by my mother for reasons I can or cannot assume. I slept in the bed with my parents as a young child. I vividly remember my mother putting her foot on my back, kicking me off the bed, falling extremely hard on the floor, and hysterically crying that entire night. I would always try to be affectionate towards my mother by attempting to grab her hand or hug her and my mother would push me away, ask me if something is wrong with me and tell me to stop.

At the age of 4, I remember my older brother telling me to get into the bed with him and him not having on any underwear or pants. I took my stuffed animal with me when I got into the bed with him and after I got out of the bed, I remember my animal having stains all over it. That’s all I can remember from that incident. ... When I was 5, I was exposed to pornography while sleeping in the bedroom with my parents. And from this, at the very young age of 5, I developed an addiction and obsession with pornography and I began masturbating.

My older siblings discovered this, gathered together to watch me, and then teased me for watching porn and masturbating. I felt like a creep and a weirdo….ashamed and disgusted with myself.

By the age of 6, I was exposed to porn again, but this time through my older siblings. They would gather at night and quietly watch porn together. This deepened or worsened my addiction to porn. ... My father was mentally, verbally, physically, and sexually abusive. I recall receiving beatings for wearing unclean socks and when my younger brother would misbehave. My father would scream, yell, and spit at me and point his finger into my face and chest. My father would punch me on my arms and shoulders and he would elbow me in my shins. My father would leave me at home alone to take care of my little brother at the age of 6-7. There were so many days and nights when I was confused and scared out of my mind. Fear that someone was going to break into my father’s apartment and harm me. Although my father was abusive and neglectful, he protected me from my siblings until he was no longer in the house. ... My mother had 6 children by 5 different men. The first of her 5 children all have different fathers. And although my father was verbally and physically abusive towards my mother and my older brothers, and sexually abusive towards my sisters, my father was the only man that my mother married of all her children’s fathers. My father was the only present and active father. My siblings' fathers were never supportive or present. I believe this added to the animosity and resentment towards me from my siblings.

By the age of 7, my parents were officially divorced and my mother, my siblings and I moved away from my father. After this, my mother and siblings began to bully me and insult me out of hatred for my father. After my father left, I was treated as if I were my father. I was treated as if I did everything my father did to them. Everything my mother and older siblings wanted to say to my father, they aggressively said to me…..a 7 year old. They confronted me as if I were him. ... They also had animosity and resentment towards me. It was like “your father isn’t here to protect you now. What you gone do now?”

My entire childhood, my mother and my older siblings would say “you look like a black and ugly man just like yo daddy.” “Joniqua, yo daddy is this.” “Joniqua, yo daddy is that.” “Joniqua, you have man hands and feet like yo daddy. Your voice is deep like a man's.” If we were watching a movie or a show, whomever was the bad guy or antagonist was either my father or compared to my father by my siblings. I could not express negative emotions or my mother and siblings would use my father’s actions to make me feel as though I did not have the right to be sad or upset about anything. ... I was told not to wear certain colors on my skin because I was “too black and ugly.” One day my sister wanted to paint my fingernails and I asked for the color “red” and she ignored me, suggesting other colors. I insisted on the color red and she continued to ignore me and suggest different colors. Then she finally told me “black and red don’t go together.” Meaning my “black” skin was too dark for the color red.

I remember one night, my father was being bashed relentlessly for hours upon hours to the point where I ran downstairs crying to my mother begging her to make them stop. They were calling my father a rapist, a pedophile, and wishing death on him, saying that I was going to be just like him or that I was already just like him. They constantly referenced and compared my behavior to my father’s behavior. After I pleaded with my mother, she looked me straight in the face, laughed and told me to go back upstairs. ... When my brother and I would argue, my mother would hide behind the door, wait for me to get angry and insult my brother during the argument. After I would insult my brother, she would jump from behind the door and punch me in my chest and my back as if I were a grown woman. ... By the age of 8, I was molested by my other older brother. I would wake up to him in my bed….fondling me, groping me….molesting me. Sometimes I would wake up to him standing over me and he would quickly run out of the room giggling and laughing. I recall one day when he urged and convinced my stepbrother to come into the room and molest me as well. They took turns molesting me. I told my mother about this several times, and each time, she aggressively & angrily shut the conversation down by telling me “it was handled.” She said it in such a tone to let me know if I kept talking about it, I would be punished. And I was punished because I would not stop confronting her about it. In the end, I blamed myself while my brother and step brother were protected. ... By the age of 9, this older brother was allowed to physically abuse me. He would look for any reason to punch me, hit me, push me or fight with me. He never, and I mean NEVER talked to me in the house. I was invisible. He would come into the “girls’ room” (the room of my sisters and I) and only speak to my sisters. He never acknowledged my presence, unless he was insulting me, cursing me, and fighting with me. The only time my brother saw me was when he wanted to fight. When we went to school, he did not claim me as his sister and would not speak to me at all. I remember my peers being amazed when they found out that we were brother and sister because he was so cold to me. ... I remember my siblings and I were watching a KeKe Palmer movie, “The Longshots.” I was so inspired by the character she was portraying. I remember smiling and being all bright eyed every time Keke Palmer graced the screen, and my brother looked over at me and said “you will never be that beautiful in your life.” His comment gutted me and stole the joy and hope I was gaining from watching the movie. He said this in front of all of my siblings and none of them said anything. This was normal behavior.

I recall one afternoon my older sister and brother got off the school bus and my mother was not home. So we had to sit outside and wait for 1-2 hours for her to send someone to let us in the house. To this day, I do not know why my brother was so angry, but he commonly liked to take his frustrations from anything and everything out on me, because he could. ... He started to bash my father (again). He got in my face, started yelling at me and calling my father a rapist and several other names to trigger me. I started to argue with my brother who was a few years older than me at the time and punched me in my jaw and face several times. To this day, I can still remember how painful and stunning each punch was. I thought I was going to pass out. At one point, I could not feel my face, thinking my face had to be ruined. I remember waiting on my older sister to say something to him but she was getting satisfaction from seeing him punch me. My brother even asked her “do you think I just get another one?” as in "Do you think I should hit her again?" And she said “if she keeps talking, yes.”

I remember calling my mother when we got inside the house and her response was “wait until I get home because neither one of y’all can handle me” sending threats to both of us. Which didn’t make any sense. Still doesn't make sense ... There were several days when I had to fight all of my older siblings in one day. My older siblings liked to boss me around and provoke me and if I said anything back to them, they would beat me. They would purposely agitate me and use my reaction to justify their abuse.

One day after I fought 3 of my older siblings, my older brother came into the bathroom where I was cleaning and told me to continue to clean. I responded in frustration and said “what you think I’m doing?” I remember having a lollipop in my mouth. The second I said that, my brother charged at me grabbing me by the front and back of my neck with both his hands forcing me to choke on the sucker I was eating. I remember spitting out blood and the sucker and gasping for air, feeling like I was about to die.

These are just some highlights and memories that I have which reflect my abusive childhood. My childhood affected my sense of self worth, my self esteem, and my confidence. ... Every day was a mental, emotional, and physical fight. I was never called beautiful or pretty in my childhood home. I was never told “I love you.” I was always the EXACT opposite.

Around the age of 7, I started to write plays, poems, scripts, and short stories to cope and escape my toxic abusive environment. I would write for hours until my fingers were cramped and swollen. I remember falling asleep with pen, pencils and papers in my bed and waking up to sharp pokes from the pencils. I believe my imagination was so vivid because my imagination was all I had. My reality was too depressing and caused me to be suicidal. So I created my own reality in my writings. ... By the age of 10, I would stare at myself in the mirror and suffer from deep confusion. I desperately tried to see and understand why I was always called ugly, black, and a man. Initially, I saw beauty and love whenever I looked into the mirror. I did not think I was “too black” “ugly”, or “manly” at all, but I heard it so much in my home that I began to believe it. I felt foolish for ever believing I was beautiful in the first place. So, I called myself black, ugly, and manly whenever I saw myself in the mirror. I would agree with people whenever they would insult my appearance and image at school. I began to hate my image as a child. I wanted to be a different race and to come from a different family. I remember constantly saying “I wish I was white and had a white mom.” My self esteem and confidence disappeared, and I wanted to disappear with it. I become so suicidal and depressed. ... One day, I got tired of feeling that way. I began to fight back mentally. And whenever I saw myself in the mirror, I would ask myself “What Does the Mirror Show Me?”

I started to talk positively to myself in the mirror and tell myself everything I wished I heard in my childhood home. I started a relationship with myself. I started to save myself. I started to tell myself when I get older and leave this place, things will be different. This practice is what saved me from my toxic environment and it saved me from ending my life.

And now here I am, child abuse advocate, children’s book author, business owner, CEO, book publisher, public speaker, and youth mentor. Please share this post, follow me, and continue to support me as I vow to BE the change and MAKE A CHANGE.