Even before my grandmother could beat or punish me for one thing or another, before my father could sit me down to lecture me about my defiant disobedience, I was already hemorrhaging internally from dragging myself through my own mental and emotional bloodbath. Years of beatings and lectures and punishments had taught me not only that was I untrustworthy but also that I should not and could not trust my own instincts. I carried those thoughts and feelings--a sense of myself as shameful, guilty, and wrong--well into adulthood. In the process, I gave others way too much space and authority to define me and determine my choices, because what I wanted didn't matter and I could not trust myself to make good choices.