Authentic Freedom
“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” Anais Nin
Note to reader: the following piece may contain sensitive material for some readers.
The little girl stood between her mother and two older sisters, her body trembling and shaking. The living room was dingy and muted — light barely shone through the curtains.
On the other end of the room stood her father, 6’ tall and imposing, very drunk and angry. He swayed back and forth, his hands on the back of a wooden chair. The little girl didn’t know why he was so angry, but she could feel the rage within him.
“If you move, I’m gonna throw this chair at you all. I’ll kill you,” he yelled.
She could tell by his red face and furious expression that he meant business. After all, she had seen him hit her mother plenty of times. She flashed back to a time she had heard them arguing in the kitchen and had found her father beating her mother’s head into the cabinets. She had made a noise, a horrified squeak, and when he saw her looking, he let her mother go.
She knew what he was capable of.
Her mother and sisters stared straight ahead. No one said anything. No one did anything. She surveyed the room, trying to determine what options they had. The front door was closed, so the only alternatives were to face the monster or retreat toward the hall where he could still corner them. Neither option was appealing.
Her mother straightened her spine, trying to gather all the courage she had in her 5’2” frame. “Ted,” she said, breaking the silence, “Stop now or I will call the police.” Her voice cracked, revealing great fear and lack of confidence.
Her father snarled, then laughed, and with a sarcastic tone in his voice said, “Oh really? Let me see you do it. You don’t have the courage to. You make me sick.”
“Oh yes I will, Ted, if you come any closer! If you hurt us, I will call the police! I promise you I will!”
Maybe her mother had forgotten that the phone was in the kitchen and not anywhere close. There was no way she would be able to get to it before he caught her. The little girl shuddered to think of what he would do if that happened.
Her father took a step toward them, picking up the chair and swinging it in the air back and forth. With each swing, his movements got faster and more intense.
It was at that very moment that the little girl heard a voice. It was such a clear voice that for an instant she thought that everyone else could hear it, too. But nobody moved.
The voice said, “She’s bluffing. She won’t do anything.” She knew her mother lacked the courage to protect them or herself from this monster called her father. She might have only been 4 years old, but she instantly knew what to do. And she did it.
In a split second, she quickly backed away from her sisters and mother and ran toward the front door. Jerking it open, she jumped onto the patio and started running as fast as she could toward the neighbor’s house. The Freemans were nice people; she knew if she could get to their house, they would help.
She ran fast, confident that she could “run faster, jump higher” than anyone else. After all, she was wearing P.F. Flyers.
She traversed the front yard quickly, like lightening. When she crossed the driveway separating the two houses, she focused on which entrance to use — the one by the carport or the front door. She decided on the carport, the one the Freemans came in and out of most frequently. Butch, their bulldog, didn’t budge as she whizzed by. He had a terrible underbite with protruding bottom teeth and looked quite ferocious, but he was a friend (though he had bitten her nose one time when she had peered too closely at him). She didn’t speak; she just kept running.
She was almost at the door…almost reaching the doorbell to alert them…
she suddenly felt a tremendous tug from behind. Her neck wrenched back and her shirt ripped as two people pulled her collar and grabbed her — her two older sisters.
The scene from the house — husband and father violently threatening his family — had now become “Project: Silence the One Who Will Tell the Truth, the One Who Will Sound the Alarm.”
What will the neighbors think? We have to keep the image of a happy family alive.
She tumbled to the ground, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
But the two larger girls overpowered her with such might that she was left to scratch and bite as her muffled screams went unheard.
They dragged the little girl back to the house. Once inside, they pulled her, still fighting with all her might, to the basement — down the steps and into the darkness. They made sure all the doors and windows were locked and shuttered. After all, it was the ’60s, and no one could know what went on behind closed doors. She heard a final click. And then everything was silent.
The little girl frantically ran to each locked window, banging and banging to be let out, to be heard. She ran to the locked doors, trying to find a way out. Any way out. She bloodied her hands trying to pry her way out.
She cried and screamed. She pleaded, “Please, please let me out.”
No one responded.
In the end, she gave up, finally succumbing to the obvious — she was locked up. Silenced. No one heard her cries. No one heard her screams. No one heard her at all. No one would know the truth behind closed doors.
She slid down in a heap and tried to comfort herself. She wondered if her mother was okay. She held herself tightly, rocking back and forth in the corner. She was utterly alone. Still, she knew that she had made the right decision to run for help and would do it all again.
It was at that point in time, a pivotal moment of her life, that the little girl truly understood what freedom was. She understood the importance of being her authentic self — someone who uses her true voice and listens to her own guidance no matter what. Her mother and father didn’t understand. Her sisters surely didn’t. But she knew who she was now, and, next time, no one was going to stop her.
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