I collapsed to my knees during an asthma attack, fighting for air while my younger sister held my inhaler just out of reach. She smirked and said, “Gasp, loser.” My parents stood by and did nothing. Today, in court, when the judge said, “Before we begin, let’s watch a family video,” she started shaking—and then screaming.

I used part of the settlement to start the Evelyn Brooks Foundation, a small nonprofit supporting survivors of family-based psychological abuse. Every email we answer, every grant we give, feels like placing a stone on the path I wish someone had built for me.

Sometimes I think back to that moment on the carpet—lungs collapsing, vision blurring—and I realize:

I didn’t survive because they helped me.

I survived because something inside me refused to disappear.

And now, finally, I’m done disappearing.

If my story moved you, share your thoughts—your voice matters more than you know