The Ranch That Saved Her Life

To protect the peace of this person we have decided to keep the name anonymous.

When asked to share my story, I thought to myself, “Who would want to hear this?” My life leading up to now has been something I’ve locked tightly away in the deep confines of my brain, and honestly been pretty ashamed of. For as long as I can remember, I truly believed I was the problem. I believed I carried such a deep rooted evil that it sprouted from every inch of my being and infected those around me. I carried that weight and guilt for so long. I hope that my story will help those without voices to see that you are not bound to the persona or the life those have tied you to. That your struggles and suffering are not your fault. That there are those out there fighting for you. I hope my story will reach at least one person like me, who truly believed there was something ill to them, and be the voice they need.

Warning, this contains sensitive topics like sexual assault, suicide and abuse.

I grew up in an abusive household. My siblings and I would be locked in our rooms, hit, and not fed right. I developed an eating disorder I still struggle with today. My siblings and I never had any voice, we were silenced by our mother. When I was nine years old, I was sexually assaulted for the first time by my step cousin who was three years older than me. I told only his sister, I was very close to her. But with being children she didn’t understand it either. So when I stopped coming over in fear it’d happen again, she got mad. She threatened to tell my mother if I didn’t sleep over again. When I kept declining, she finally told.

My mother was furious, shaming me at nine years old for something I had no control of nor understood. She told me that “boys will be boys,” and “if it was really a problem you would've said something to me immediately.” It was the first time she called me a whore. At nine years old. After that she forced me to sleep over at my step cousin’s house, where it would start happening again. It continued for five years. I tried to fight back, to defend myself. Every attempt ended in getting punched, thrown, and restrained. I had this recurring nightmare. Even in sleep he haunted me. I never could get away. The nightmare started with him and I on the floor of a room in my grandma’s house. I would be fighting but my movements were slow and fazed through his skin. My mom would open the door and I’d turn to look up at her. Her face was always the same, emotionless. I would scream for her to help me as he pulled me across the carpet. I’d claw at the carpet till my fingernails rubbed off, but when I reached out, She’d stare me dead in the eye and close the door. Then I’d wake up. I had this nightmare almost every night for five years.

Five years I suffered. My mother knew I was being assaulted and said nothing. She said if I ever spoke of it that everyone would see me for what I really was, a whore. I kept this fear, guilt, and shame for so long.

Fast forward to my freshman year of high school, I had enough. My mother looked me dead in the eye and asked me “What are you going to do when you’re left all alone because you’re that unloveable? If I wasn’t your mother I would have nothing to do with you, that's why you struggle so much with keeping friends. Because you are a bad person.” I was completely empty. I had no fight left in me.

My mother continued with “If I were you, I would've already killed myself by now so I wouldn’t have to live with the person I was If I were as bad as you.

“You make people miserable.”

That was all I needed to hear. I had everything planned out for the following weekend. I carried so much guilt, shame, and hate. I wanted nothing more than to end the suffering I caused everyone. That Sunday, I was going to kill myself. Friday rolled around and my mother told me I had to come help her with this horse thing Saturday. I didn’t care. It would all be over soon anyways so I let her drag me there. At the corral she made me feed the horses even though at the time, I couldn’t have cared less about horses.

I was there for about an hour before a large red truck pulled in, Flint Creek Youth Ranch stepped out. They noticed me. Leo hugged me and spoke to me like I was a person. There was a light in the group that I had lost. They asked me to help with a tractor. I told them I didn’t know anything about tractors and apologized. All smiles I was taught with the utmost patience and kindness. Suddenly I had purpose.

Sunday, I woke up that morning, alive. In more ways than one I was alive. I spent the rest of the day with the horses helping out with hay.

I was bad. It took months to figure out posture for riding and how to handle greener horses. Never once did he make me feel stupid though. I was given the opportunity to train a horse. My horse has taught me so much.

Without knowing for a long time, this ranch had saved my life. All it takes is kindness and holding out a hand for those around us. These horses carry great stories and emotions that we can learn from. But it also takes a translator.

I’ve never had a father, mine passed when I was a child. Despite that, Leo took me in as if I were his own daughter, learned about my past and my struggles, and loved me anyway. I’ve learned through him how to really live again, not just survive. My endless gratitude goes out to the ranch, for not only showing endless support and love, but being the support I never had.

It only takes one act of kindness, a voice, a reaching hand, to make a difference that can save someone's life.