This was the first time we were moving away. I was 12 years old. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone so we would be safe. We moved to a new state. I had to move away from all these people I had known my whole life. I had felt like my whole world had been flipped, all because of one person.

We finally got settled and my mom started working a lot. On weekends I'd be home alone. One day construction workers came to fix the siding on the house. I was unaware of this. I heard banging on the door and the walls. It had a way of echoing into the halls of the two family home. I was standing in the kitchen and suddenly it felt like the room had shrunk around me.

Suddenly I was 11 again and he was breaking into our house again. Memories of him breaking our back door and him and my mom screaming and crying flooded back. This small noise sent me into a spiral. I had never felt like this before. I had felt like everything was put into fast forward and the volume of my life was maximized by a million. I called my grandma in tears. I was so terrified that terrified feels like too small of a word to describe how I felt.

I later found out from my mom when she got home that I had had a panic attack.

Even though we got away that man was still a monster to me, like the ones you made up in your head as a kid. I still remembered moments from our past, like running down the street barefoot searching for someone to help us. I remember banging on doors hoping someone would open.

He got arrested a few months after we moved away and charged with domestic abuse and a few other things. I felt relieved. I also felt guilty in a way my sister wasn't going to see her dad for a long time.

I remember the day we moved again. It felt like we had finally got away. I moved in with my dad. Him and my mom split the week. It was hard at first. I didn't want to make new friends. New things seemed to bring out the worst in me. I'm not a fan of change but I knew it was for the best. We could finally start over. This new place gave me a lot of time to process everything.

As a little kid, I wasn't super close to my mom, but that wasn't her fault. She worked a lot and she had me when she was really young so we kind of grew up together. I was in 7th grade when I started getting closer to her. Now with space, and safety, She seemed happier and so much more full of life. I was finally able to have those important talks with her that I couldn't before-- talks after she would come home from work or when she was relaxing. I had to learn how to try to speak with her more.

I have since found better ways to deal with the anxiety. I learned to breathe and listen to music. I feel safer knowing it's over. It was years of trying to cope with everything that came with the experience. I had to learn how to stay calm even in uncomfortable situations. My mom helped me realize you have to overcome it in order to start to heal. I think my mom has grown a lot and gotten stronger.

Of course I will never forget this experience but I'm learning to forgive, maybe not in a fast way but healing takes time.

© Anayalyce. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.