Surviving Abuse: Healing the Need to Run
What I learned about my desire to flee
I’ve run a handful of times in my life.
I’m not talking about New Balance and FitBit. I’m referring to fleeing my current life situation. If you have had a similar experience, I hope, like me, you’ve come out the other side.
Long before the word anxiety was everywhere, I believe I had anxiety. Coupled with fear, it was a dynamic duo that had me pondering what it would be like to go mad at the wee age of 10. Not coincidentally, this was when the abuse started.
I didn’t know if I wanted to check into one of those “rubber rooms” my Mom was always griping that us kids would send her to. Or if I wanted to quietly tiptoe away.
I should have been focused on beating a new level of Super Mario Bros and perfecting my cartwheels, not mulling over something so…adult. But the two options continued to be weighed. And then I chose.
During the summer between fourth and fifth grade, I ran. Well, I didn’t run — but I did leave.
This was something my friend Jennifer and I’d spent a great deal of time pondering in a corner of the playground the preceding spring. When the days grew longer, and parental oversight became slim, we found the fortitude to dart. I don’t remember why…
