Member-only story
Trauma | This Happened to Me | Personal
I’m Not Your Mom
Protecting yourself is all you can do sometimes
Trigger Warning: sexual abuse, domestic violence, child abuse
I pulled up to the school and found a parking spot. The sun was shining, but the air was chilly, so I grabbed my coat, beanie, and gloves before exiting the car. I trekked across the schoolyard to the back of the building.
The bell rang. Tiny students poured out from every door, accompanied by protective teachers. Dylan spotted me and started to hop and squirm. He tugged on his teacher’s coat and said something to her. She looked at me and nodded.
Dylan sprinted from her side to mine.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Good,” he said, already distracted by something. “Can we swing?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll race you to the playground.”
We smiled and laughed as our swings oscillated in the brisk autumn breeze.
This is the best. I thought. I love this kid. He’s wonderful. And, I didn’t even have to birth him or change his diapers.
On the way home from school Dylan asked, “Can we stop at 7–11?”
