The proverbial mountain. We all have one. I grew up with an alcoholic father. He would drink every weekend and if he could afford it, during the week. He was not a nice drunk. He most definitely was not nice hungover. I remember waking up on Sunday mornings and I would dread getting out of bed in the morning. I knew the storm would come and with it the rain of resentment and fear. My mother got the brunt of his anger and rage. I felt it though. Every name he called her, every slap and shove he gave her, he gave to me. I would shrink into myself and think that maybe if I got small enough I could just disappear and pretend I lived in a world that was sunshine and laughter instead of darkness and fear. For every good memory I have, there’s five bad ones right behind it. I lived my whole childhood with a giant sized knot in my belly called trepidation. That one day he would go too far and take my mom away from me or that he would just get really drunk and kill us all. As I got older a few incidents happened that made him stop drinking but he would always start again eventually. Just a few days here and there. Eventually winding up to a climactic incident after which he would stop again. Just a vicious cycle really that sucked in everyone within a 2 mile radius. He started again yesterday. I’m moving in a few weeks and I won’t be around to protect my mom if things get crazy. That worry, that fear, that’s the mountain that I carry on my back everyday. I chip away at it here and there but I don’t think that it’ll ever go away completely. I’m a joyful person and I’m thankful for each and every experience that has shaped me into the woman that I am today but we all have our worries and we all have our burdens that we carry. We rest up. We rise up. We conquer a little bit everyday. What’s your mountain ?