My parents used to make me eat pig slop. You might wonder what pig slop tastes like, but it's not as bad as it sounds. To be honest, I got used to it. But what was worse was when my parents would yell at me. Or they'd hit me. Or they would dip my clothes in pig manure because I wanted to take a school exam. That hurt a lot. Because eating pig slop is nothing really, lots of people eat worse things. What's worse is my parents treated me like a pig - like an animal - for years. Growing up like this, I lost what it means to be normal.  I spent days in isolation. I dropped out of school. I never spoke. I was lonely. I was terrified.

I was desperate.

One day, I ran away. I went to a shelter. I met some people from Hagar. For the first time in years, I spoke. I spoke so softly, I don't know if they could hear me. I remember I almost cried, but I kept my wall up. For months I refused to feel happiness or sadness or anything in-between. I knew if I showed this side of me, I'd be vulnerable. I didn't want that. I didn't think I could trust another person again.

But I was wrong.

Now I have many friends. They are learning to be bakers, like me. We laugh a lot, cry sometimes, and we heal together. It feels good. A few months ago, I won a scholarship for being top of my class in baking. That was the happiest moment in my life. When my friends and teachers all congratulated me, I felt human. I felt hope. I felt like me.

I haven't talked to my parents since I ran away. They haven't tried to contact me either, but that's ok. We'll meet someday when I'm ready for it - when I'm a successful, strong, and independent woman. Someday mom and dad. Someday soon.