“Break Free”
“How I Broke Free: A Real Story of Escaping Physical Abuse”
No one teaches you how to leave.
There’s no class in school on how to escape someone who says they love you but hurts you with their hands, their words, and their silence. No textbook for what to do when you’re scared to go home, but too afraid to leave.
But this is for anyone stuck in that in-between. I’ve been there. And this is how I made it out.
At first, I didn’t even call it abuse.
It started with yelling. With things thrown across the room. With threats that were disguised as “jokes.”
Then it turned into grabbing. Pushing. Slapping.
Each time, followed by tears, apologies, promises. “It’ll never happen again.”
I wanted to believe it.
Because believing him was easier than facing the truth.
I told myself I was overreacting. That maybe I did make him angry. That if I was just more careful, more quiet, more perfect, he wouldn’t hurt me.
But here’s what no one tells you: abuse isn’t about your mistakes—it’s about control.
And the longer you stay, the more you forget what freedom feels like.
I kept a journal.
Not to write poetry, but to keep track of what happened.
Dates. Incidents. What he said. How it made me feel.
Not for anyone else—just to remind myself that it was real. That I wasn’t imagining it.
That journal saved me.
I slowly reached out to people I trusted.
Not a dramatic call for help—just a message here and there.
“I’m not okay.”
“I think something’s wrong.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
Even if they didn’t understand right away, planting that seed made me feel less alone.
Then one night, it got worse than usual.
He left a mark I couldn’t hide. And something in me snapped—not in fear, but in clarity.
This wasn’t love.
And it was never going to get better.
Here’s what I did:
1. I made a plan. Quietly. Carefully.
I found a local domestic violence hotline. Most states or cities have them. They helped me think through what to pack, where I could go, and how to leave safely.
(Tip: If you Google “domestic violence help [your city],” safe resources will come up.)
2. I packed a “go” bag.
A change of clothes, my ID, any important documents, some cash, a charger, and my journal. I kept it hidden where he wouldn’t look.
3. I waited for the right moment.
He left for work. I had a two-hour window.
I left and never went back.
Straight to a shelter. They already had my name. They were ready.
4. I blocked him. Changed my number. Told the truth.
To my family. My closest friends. My job. I said the words out loud:
“I was in an abusive relationship. I’m not going back.”
And they didn’t judge me.
They held me.
Healing wasn’t immediate. I shook for weeks. I cried at random.
But I woke up every day knowing I was no longer living in fear.
I started therapy.
I joined a support group.
And slowly… I felt my spirit return.
If you’re reading this and you’re in it:
You’re not weak.
You’re not stupid.
You’re not too late.
You’re surviving.
But you deserve more than survival.
You deserve peace. Love that doesn’t leave bruises. A home that doesn’t make you shrink.
Here are some real resources:
National Domestic Violence Hotline (U.S.): 800-799-SAFE (7233)
You can also text “START” to 88788https://www.thehotline.org – they have a chat feature, too.
Local shelters and advocacy centers usually have protection planning and emergency housing options.
You don’t have to have all the answers right now.
You don’t even have to leave today.
But you can.
And when you do—there’s a whole world waiting for you.
One where you are safe. Heard. Loved.
One where you are free.
