What happens when childhood ends at nine?
The Child I Left Behind: A Motherâs Journey Toward Healing & Forgiveness by Anjalia McGoldrick is a deeply moving memoir that will captivate readers with its raw honesty, resilience, and ultimate redemption.
This is the extraordinary story of a young girl forced into adulthood far too soon. By age nine, she was navigating responsibilities no child should endure. Pregnant at 13 and a mother struggling for survival at 16, her life was a series of trials that could have easily broken her.
Yet, through sheer determination and an unyielding spirit, she overcame the odds stacked against her. Escaping an abusive relationship, she rebuilt her life and rose from poverty to become a successful entrepreneur, psychotherapist, and metaphysician.
While this is a story of triumph, itâs also an exploration of the emotional scars left by her strugglesâwounds that lingered and shaped her understanding of healing, forgiveness, and spirituality.
McGoldrickâs journey invites readers into the depths of despair and lifts them to the heights of personal growth and transformation.
This isnât just a memoirâitâs a testament to the power of resilience and the human spirit. This book is a must-read.
What happens when childhood ends at nine?
The Child I Left Behind: A Motherâs Journey Toward Healing & Forgiveness by Anjalia McGoldrick is a deeply moving memoir that will captivate readers with its raw honesty, resilience, and ultimate redemption.
This is the extraordinary story of a young girl forced into adulthood far too soon. By age nine, she was navigating responsibilities no child should endure. Pregnant at 13 and a mother struggling for survival at 16, her life was a series of trials that could have easily broken her.
Yet, through sheer determination and an unyielding spirit, she overcame the odds stacked against her. Escaping an abusive relationship, she rebuilt her life and rose from poverty to become a successful entrepreneur, psychotherapist, and metaphysician.
While this is a story of triumph, itâs also an exploration of the emotional scars left by her strugglesâwounds that lingered and shaped her understanding of healing, forgiveness, and spirituality.
McGoldrickâs journey invites readers into the depths of despair and lifts them to the heights of personal growth and transformation.
This isnât just a memoirâitâs a testament to the power of resilience and the human spirit. This book is a must-read.
Charlie grabbed my purse and slung it out of my hands. Then he hit me so hard it knocked me onto the hardwood floor in the dining room, which was vacant except for a small toy box that sat in the corner. He smacked me in the face then grabbed me by my hair and slammed my head against the floor, banging it into the hard surface again and again. I was afraid he was going to break my skull. He was so enraged I was afraid he had lost all control. I was swinging my arms and pushing him back trying to get him off me so I could get away from him.
âPlease stop, Charlie, please!â I cried, but he wouldnât listen. âCharlie! Charlie, stop!â It was as if he was in a trance or out of his mind. He didnât drink or use drugs. He just needed power and control over me, and when he felt he was losing it, he came undone and would go crazy to get control back over me. It made him feel powerful.
I could taste the blood running from my nose and lip. My head was pounding, and I could feel my face beginning to swell.
He was on top of me, yelling, âYou bitch, what are you going to do now?â
The coolness of the hardwood floor where my head rested brought comfort. I wondered what he was thinking, but I could never figure out what was going on inside of his head. I had always wanted so badly for us to be happy and for him to love me without hurting me. As he yelled and called me names, I lay there thinking about how I could ever get out of this mess and be free. The thought of being stuck here in his prison brought panic and anger.
I canât do this anymore. Am I going to be able to escape this time? I have lived in his prison for years, and I just want out. I left and survived once. Why in the hell did I ever come back? Why did I believe his lies that things would be different this time? I wanted to believe him. I wanted things to be better. I wanted the fairy tale I had dreamed about, but this is a nightmare that is never going to change. Because I had left him, he punishes me every chance he can. He will never let me forget the pain I caused him.
I knew if I didnât figure it out soon one of us would end up hurt or maybe even dead. And it scared the shit out of me.
He continued to shout at me and was knocking me around and slapping me across my face, to make sure he had my attention.
I shouted, âPlease, Charlie, stop this!â
I could hear the door to Leaâs room squeak as she opened it and ran from her bedroom, awakening from her nap by the rumble of his voice and screech of the scream that came reactively from my lips. Her blankie was wrapped in her arms and snuggled up to her body for comfort. Her blonde hair lay in curls and bounced as she approached me and began to plead, âPlease, Daddy, donât hit Mommy! Why are you hurting Mommy?â She ran and lay down beside me and gently rubbed her tiny hand across my face to wipe the tears that fell down my cheek. It broke my heart for her to see this. I wanted so badly to jump up and take Lea and run out the door and leave and never look back.
I stopped fighting him as I pulled Lea into my chest. He looked at her and stopped hitting me. He got up and started pacing, rummaging through the house, throwing my stuff everywhere, kicking it across the floor, shouting and calling me names. I didnât get up to try and stop him this time. I didnât care anymore. I was so sick of this. None of these things meant anything to me. I was just empty, numb, and tired of fighting. I just wanted out.
I cringed as he walked closer to my body curled up in a fetal position, lying still on the floor, holding Lea and thinking of how I could get out of here. I could see a spider crawling across the floor, making its way to its well-spun web, oblivious to the fear I felt or the pain I was in. I wanted to flinch, but I kept still. I didnât dare move, in fear of him hitting me again, but just as the thought left me, he kicked me in the back with his boot, and instantly my body coiled up in reaction to the pain. I couldnât control the movement that naturally occurred as my body tried to protect itself.
âGet the fuck up, Angel, and get this fucking house cleaned up.â
I screeched out in pain and pulled Lea closer to my chest.
I have to get out of here. If I donât go now, I may never get out.
I gained enough strength to pull myself up from the floor. I knew if I didnât leave now, he was going to kill me; if not today, someday, someday soon. I began picking my things up and straightening the house back up from his tirade as he demanded. I noticed my purse and keys were lying on the floor near the door where he knocked them out of my hand. Just as he went into the kitchen, and I was several feet away from him, I grabbed Lea and my purse and ran for the door, stumbling down the stairs of our two-story flat, running with Lea in my arms as fast as I could. Immediately he came running after me, grabbing my arm the final few steps at the bottom of the stairs. I pushed him backward as I went out the door and got a few steps ahead of him. I ran and got in the car.
My hands were trembling as I fumbled with the key, rushing, trying to get it into the ignition before he got to me. Lea was crying. âItâs okay, baby. We are going to go for a ride.â Just as I got the car started, he ran to the passenger side and found the door unlocked and jumped inside. My heart sank. He began trying to grab for the key, and I put the car in drive and drove off with him in it. If I can just get somewhere in public, he wonât hurt me in front of other people, or at least they can help me. I didnât know where I was going. I thought quickly, I can take him to his momâs. She only lives a few miles away, and I can drop him off. She can calm him down, and I can leave. She will tell him to stop acting this way.
He slammed his fist into the dashboard and was shoving me while I was driving, trying to get me to pull over. I feared he was going to crash the car, but I was more afraid of stopping.
âCharlie, please stop! You are going to wreck us!â
âYou need to pull over! Right now, Angel!â he shouted.
My foot was shaking so bad, I could barely keep it on the gas pedal. I drove as fast as I could to get to his mother, even hoping I would get pulled over by the police. I finally got to his motherâs house. I jumped out of the car, leaving Lea behind. Blood, snot, and tears were running down my face. I was hysterical. I banged on the door as hard as I could.
Dottie ran out. âWhat in the hell is going on?â
âCharlie has gone crazy, and he wonât calm down. Please help me!â
She shook her head. âNow, I am sick and tired of this fighting going on. You all need to get it together! I donât know about the two of you. Why canât you stop all this foolishness and figure this out for this baby?â Charlie was her baby, and she always sided with him.
Charlie ran upon the porch with Lea in his arms blaming me. âItâs her, Mom. Sheâs trying to leave and take my baby. I am not going to let her do it again.â
He began screaming in my face. Lea was crying and reaching for me. I tried to get her out of his arms. She was scared, and I wanted to comfort her, but he kept pushing and shoving me away. I just wanted to get her out of his arms and leave. I was done with all this. I just wanted out. At some point while we were arguing, Dottie went back into the house.
Then suddenly, Mitch rushed out on the porch with a double-barrel shotgun, the same gun that, weeks before, Charlie had pulled on me. He pointed the gun at me. âGet the hell off of my porch!â he shouted.
I was in shock, and my mind raced. I wanted so bad to grab Lea from Charlieâs arms, but I knew if I did, he would shoot me. I ran off the porch, screaming for my life. Mitch continued to chase me with the gun. I ran as fast as I could and got into my car, trembling. I knew any second, he was going to pull the trigger, and I would be dead. I managed somehow to get the key into the ignition and got the car started as he was staring me down. I pulled away, leaving my baby girl crying for me in Charlieâs arms.
I felt like I was in a nightmare I couldnât wake up from. This couldnât be happening. I thought as I drove as fast as I could to get off their street. I didnât know where to go or what to do. I was a nervous wreck and in shock over everything that had happened this morning. I knew going to the police was a waste of time. I drove in a trance, trying to get my thoughts together and figure out what to do. I donât have anywhere to go.
I sobbed as devastation rose up within me. My poor baby girl. Oh, I should have stayed quiet. I shouldnât have run out of the house. None of this would have happened. I blamed myself, just like Charlie did, adding insult to my injuries. What am I going to do? I have nothing. I donât even have my uniform for work. I have no money, no friends, nowhere to turn. I burned all my bridges.
My mind raced as I drove aimlessly, farther away from Dottie and Mitchâs house, trying to calm myself down, but I just couldnât. I remembered school. Yes! I can go to the Teen Parent Program. They will help me! They will help me for sure! An ounce of hope came through my tears as I drove onto I-75 South toward the school.
Anjalia McGoldrickâs The Child I Left Behind is a no-frills, gut-level memoir that tracks one womanâs long walk from generational poverty and domestic violence to something that finally looks like peace. McGoldrick opens with a beating so vivid you can hear the hardwood crack, and she rarely lets the tension sag afterward. What follows is a hard-to-watch parade of bad men, bad breaks, and worse decisions. Teen pregnancy at fourteen, serial relocations, and the slow erasure of self that happens when survival crowds out everything else.
The strength here is McGoldrickâs willingness to show the mess in real-time rather than soften it for sympathy. She writes in plain, real-life prose: short sentences, blunt admissions, zero euphemisms. That directness allows big themes, such as trauma loops, mother-daughter guilt, and the lure of the familiar, to land without reader whiplash. Her chapter pacing mirrors the chaos she lived through; the early sections are breathless and episodic, while the later ones stretch out as therapy, faith, and community begin to do their steady work.
Midway through the book, the pace slows down to chapters of extended reflection. A few of those pages cover ground the story already nailed. After the move from Detroit, some secondary characters start to blur. Providing more details about these individuals would give each one its unique fingerprint and make their impact more lasting. Tightening those two areas would sharpen the read and let the core message â what it costs to leave your younger self behind and what it takes to bring her back â stand out even more.
For readers who grew up on tidy âtriumph over adversityâ arcs, McGoldrick offers a more accurate picture: resilience as a series of wobbly pivots, not a single cinematic turn. She doesnât pretend forgiveness is a one-and-done decision or that healing means the past stops hurting. That honesty is this bookâs real service. Survivors will recognize themselves, while supporters will get a real-life manual in lived experience.
Bottom line: the memoir isnât pretty, but itâs purposeful. If youâre looking for a raw companion piece to titles like Educated or The Glass Castle, add this one to your stack. Just brace for graphic scenes, and give yourself room to breathe between chapters.