Headline:
People say leaving is the hardest part. It’s not. But it is a very terrifying first step. In the middle of the night, I took my three kids and fled to escape the hell that had become our home. This is my experience that night. This is my first step.

I Watch Them Sleep
Inside me roars the sort of storm that brings about terror.
My spirit is shrunken, sunken, cowering, and endangered.
But outside I appear calm, like the quiet, cool night around us.
No visible, telling signs of distress, aside from my trembling hands.

My respiration was shallow; so tensely forced and controlled
Intentionally labored to stop my chest from heaving
Total silence, despite the loud heartbeat pulsating in my ears
I must remain stoic; they can’t know I’m terrified of leaving.

The three pairs of little feet in a row lined up right behind me
Are bouncing atop boxes and bags chaotically piled on the floorboard
I can’t let them know the truth; that they are in a nightmare wide-awake
I already fear any sense of safety will not be granted to them anymore.

Holding my breath, statue stiff, I need to get out of the driveway.
And brief relief does brush past me, when pulling into the street.
A freedom short-lived, as my mind hastily races in a circular motion
Where are we going? What am I doing? The plan stopped at, we leave

Under the protection of the dark, secretly we move with no destination
Trusting, innocent, defenseless littles fully dependent on my sanity
The weight of that is not lost on me. Its reality is hopelessly crushing.
But this perilous escape is for them and could not be done politely.

The soft chatter continues, as I pull into a big, empty parking lot.
I must get myself together and pull out at least one useful thought.
They will be restless soon, and I need to make this appear normal.
Think! What is the next right thing? I must move. It is too late to stop.

No chance for an answer, as I am heaved back in the moment by a voice.
A soft, small voice behind me finally asks, “Mommy are you ok?”.
And just like, I remember who I am to them. Head up, shoulders back
Reaching back to try to provide uncertain reassurance and to myself pray

Unlike other times, I feel many little fingers grab back, so tightly.
Turning around, I see all our hands are a messy constellation of love.
My heart starts to glow. It’s now burning; strength quickly returning
My bruised-up hands no longer shake; I place them on the wheel.

I put on a song. Try to sing along and get us to a safe place for tonight.
Pushing a cumbersome cart heavy with piles of stuff; a toddler on top.
I look like a drunken clown as the exhaustion is almost incapacitating
Hitting anything stationary; picking up loose items as even more drop

Finally, ungracefully we pass through the threshold of our temporary home
There is this glaring oddity. The littles seem so carefree after so much pain.
I realize then, that the absence of fear allows the once joyful child to return.
They lay down without resistance, unlike other nights, another change

I dig through the mess for a book to read before bed, as was our routine.
In what seems like minutes, all three heads are down and sleeping deeply.
The first easy breath comes; though I know the worst is yet to come
I am no longer powerless. Finally, at peace, I sit; I sit and watch them sleep.