When I Left Home for the First Time
I didn’t leave because I wanted to.
I left because I had no choice.
Home is supposed to be a safe place —
but for me, it was where I first learned what fear felt like.
The sound of slamming doors.
The shouting.
The feeling of being unwanted clinging to me like a shadow.
When I left home for the first time, I didn’t carry a suitcase.
Just a courage as thin as breath,
and wounds that hadn’t even started bleeding yet.
I didn’t know where I was going.
I only knew I had to get away.
Away from the hands that hurt me.
Away from the words that accused me before I ever had the chance to speak.
I’m not writing this to reopen the wounds.
I’m writing this to tell the world —
I didn’t leave because I was strong.
I left because I wanted to survive.
And if you’re reading this while holding your breath…
maybe you’ve left too.
Or maybe,
you’re getting ready.
You are not alone.
