My name is Rose. I am 11 years old and my mom is the strongest person I know. She has a condition called Dissociative Identity Disorder. It means her brain made up helpers to protect her when she was younger. We call them her colors because they are apart of her, and they become vibrant when they come out.

Dissociative Identity Disorder is something that happens when a person's mind learns to be strong during extra hard times. My mom has different versions of herself--or colors as we like to call them--that take turns coming out. My mom said she used to have to be a really strong kid when she was my age because her mom and dad were mean to her. She said she would experience things that no child should have. 

Sometimes kids grow up in houses that aren’t safe. Sometimes the grown-ups around them yell a lot or even physically hurt them. 

Sometimes kids don’t have anyone to protect them or talk to.
Sometimes scary things happen again and again, and there’s no place to go.

When that happens, the brain tries to help. Mom says her colors were made to protect her because she went through things no kid ever should.

Now we have all her colors with us to help her out: 

Bluey is a lot like me, she likes to color, play with toys, and dance. She cries very easily, but I don't mind- she feels a lot.

Then there's grandma gray, she's not a grandma but I like to call her that because she likes baking and knitting scarfs for me! Often times I find her in the garden planting her tomatoes with a little hum. 

There's also Forest. He appeared more recently and he's more calm, quiet, and talks sternly. He tends to like to be alone but always makes sure that I am okay. 

Sometimes mom’s colors switch without warning.
One minute she’s Bluey laughing with me, and the next minute she’s Forest, standing tall and serious. It doesn’t scare me anymore. I just know that each self shows up when mom needs them.

There are days when mom tells me she feels like she’s watching herself from far away, like she’s not the one moving her mouth or hands. She says it feels strange. Like she’s there and not there at the same time. Mom also hears voices inside her head sometimes — not like scary ones from movies — but more like her colors talking to each other. Sometimes Bluey cries, or Forest whispers something important. Mom says they’ve always been there, helping her.

The hardest part for mom is her memory.
She forgets things a lot, even things that happened earlier that same day. Sometimes she doesn’t remember taking me to school or what she cooked for dinner last night. Once, she even forgot buying a toy that I found in her bag.

There are times when mom "wakes up" in a different room than she remembers being in. She’ll blink and say, "How did I get here?"
Forest told me that’s called losing time.

Sometimes mom doesn’t recognize a friend right away. Or she’ll ask me to remind her of my teacher’s name again, even though she met her last week. She tries not to get upset about it, but I can tell it worries her.

Mom tells me she’s trying her best and that’s why her colors work together — so she’s never alone inside her mind.