Today marks six years since I fled a brutal relationship. Six years since I spent my first homeless night sleeping in the back seat of my car in a Walmart parking lot.
Six years since one life ended and another began. In the first few months after I disclosed my escape, there was a recurring theme to the comments I received.
They were generally some version of, “You must be so glad to be free.” I always nodded my head and said “Yes,” simply because it was expected and it required too much energy to correct such a glaring misconception.
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