My mom could sense that something was very wrong whenever I came home from my dad's. I came home visibly upset and easily angered. At first, I didn't tell her much, but after several weeks, I finally told my mom everything. She understood, believed, and validated everything I told her. My mom also experienced my stepmom's rage for awhile, but my mom wasn't as little as me, and she didn't see her regularly. My mom told me to not worry about defending my reputation or the family's reputation when my stepmom attempted to tarnish it. My stepmom's insults, no matter how personal, came from a place that had nothing to do with us. She was just upset she didn't get her way, so I should just let her rant and walk away, rather than share in her misery. 

I knew my mom was right. I wasn't obligated to defend my family from words they'd never hear or be affected by. Plus, I couldn't argue with my stepmom. She had a lot more energy to argue than I had, and she had no desire to admit she was wrong. Perhaps, she knew she was wrong. She just wanted to upset me more than anything. Or, maybe she truly believed what she told me. Either way, instead of giving her what she wanted, I just needed to ignore her. 

That was easier said than done. The next time I saw my stepmom, I felt obligated to defend my experiences again. But somewhere in the middle of our argument, my mom's words repeated in my mind and I shut up. After my stepmom finished her rant, she pressured me to respond, but I just stood there, staring past her blankly. To my relief, it worked. And from then on, I just stayed silent during my stepmom's rants, and she eventually gave up on trying to get me to respond. 

Of course, our relationship was still extremely tense, and we got into different, pettier fights over dumb things, such as why I didn't like hip-hop music like my stepmom did. However, I just had to teach myself to be the adult in the room, to just sit down and shut up. I needed to let my stepmom rant and not intervene. My stepmom would eventually run out of steam and leave me alone for awhile. 

Meanwhile, my faith was once again challenged with something I hadn't really encountered before. I didn't understand why God would allow me and my stepmom to be at each other's throats all of the time. I didn't understand why God would allow us to be in each other's lives in the first place. Clearly, me and my stepmom couldn't stand each other, and our fights were affecting more than just us. My relationship with my dad was getting tense too. And my relationship with my mom was also not as great as before, because I'd come home from my dad's and put a lot of my leftover anger on her and my little brother. I didn't mean to be so angry, but it would just come out of me over the littlest things. My bedroom door also started falling apart, and needed to be nailed back together because of how often I slammed it shut. 

I really started to scare myself and everyone else with my random bursts of anger. We all knew where it was coming from, but no one was sure how to channel it out of me. Tae Kwon Do did help with that to an extent, but I never felt less angry after each class. I was just too tired out to express it. 

Thankfully, my mom understood that I needed love and support more than anything. Sure, she did reprimand me whenever I had a fit of rage, but more importantly, she reminded me constantly that I was loved. I wasn't alone or going crazy. I could get the help I desperately needed, and I'd be ok. My mom hesitated to tell me to pray to God for guidance, since she wasn't sure if I considered myself a believer. To be honest, I was on the fence again. But she told me to pray anyway, and that even if prayer wasn't effective in reaching a Higher Power, at least it could serve as a form of meditation for me. My mom also suggested that I wrote down the things that were bothering me the most. Perhaps, then, I could find some sort of release through writing. 

I tried my best to pray about and write down the things that were bothering me. Prayer wasn't as effective for me, but writing was. In fact, that's how I discovered just how much I enjoyed writing, and how good I was at it. It gave me a place to put my pain that could be safely stored away, rather than bottling it up inside myself until it boiled over. So, to keep my sanity and regain a sense of calm, I wrote almost everyday, talking about the things that were hurting me the most. I also started writing about the things that I did enjoy, and began ending all of my essays on a more positive note, no matter how I started them. That way, I left my phone, laptop, and/or iPad with a smile on my face, and could carry on that sense of happiness for the rest of the day. 

Writing allowed me to release the memories without having to worry about forgetting them. I knew it was probably important to document the things I was going through, so if I suffered long-term pain from those memories, I could pinpoint the issue and heal quicker. Also, writing them down prevented bad feelings from festering within me, so I wasn't nearly as easily angered or upset.