I don’t mind having my ideas shredded. But criticism rarely stays there. It becomes personal. I usually don’t engage. I just let people fight it out with themselves. But I came across this one comment, on a thoughtful post I’d written, that enraged me. The writer accused me of making ‘motherhood statements’. That statement was like acid. I couldn’t let it go.

When I was six years old my father was killed in a car accident. By then I had witnessed countless incidents of domestic violence. I had seen my father physically and verbally abusing my mother. I had been locked in a room for safety, only to have the door smashed in with a chair. I’ve seen my mother pushed. I’ve seen her punched. I’ve heard her crying and begging. I’ve felt the fear. I’ve heard people whispering about me. I’ve felt the shame.