Go The Distance

The road began the moment the door slammed behind me.

Taking this road would mean leaving everything I had grown comfortable with, but staying meant enduring the pain for the rest of my life.

I knew the drive wouldn't be easy, but I also knew staying would be harder.

So I turned the key and pressed the gas.

The sun had yet to rise. Morning dew clung to the windshield, much like tears had clung to my pillow every night before.

It was cold, but that didn't stop me from rolling the window down and letting my hand drift in the breeze. My hair danced wildly in the wind like I wished I could've. If I hadn't felt a sense of urgency to get out, I probably would've danced on the side of the road.

I was free, and I had never felt anything like it before.

The road was wide, full of possibility, hope, and something I hadn't felt in a long time: excitement.

I thought about all the times I had imagined leaving, and all the times I never did.

My heart ached for the girl who had been too afraid to take her life back.

I had only been gone twenty minutes, and already I barely recognized her.

The road kept moving beneath my car, pulling me further and further away from the man who would be exceptionally angry when he woke up and realized I was gone.

I smiled at the thought of his anger, because this time there wouldn't be anyone there for him to take it out on.

The sky ahead of me was beginning to lighten, the first pale pink streaks of morning stretching across the horizon. For years I had woken up dreading the day that waited for me. Dreading the idea of having to cover my bruises when all I wanted was to scream for help.

This was the first morning that felt like it belonged to me.

I reached to turn on the radio, but stopped halfway and slowly pulled my hand back.

Memories of my hand being smacked away for trying to turn the music down flashed through my mind like scenes from a horror movie.

I felt the adrenaline surge through me, the phantom sting of a smack burning against my skin. My breathing quickened before I forced myself to exhale slowly.

Then I reached forward and turned the radio on anyway.

The music blared in the car, and for the first time, I got to listen to whatever I wanted.

At first it felt strange. For years the radio had only played what he liked, at the volume he liked, whenever he decided it should be on. I had grown so used to the silence that the sound filling the car almost startled me.

I turned it down a little, then laughed quietly to myself.

No one smacked my hand away.

No one yelled.

No one told me I was doing it wrong.

The realization settled over me slowly, like the warmth of the sun beginning to rise over the horizon.

I was alone.

And for the first time, alone didn’t feel lonely.

The road stretched endlessly ahead of me, the dark pavement glowing faintly under the early morning light. Every mile marker that passed felt like a quiet victory. Each one meant I was farther away from the life I had been trapped in for so long.

Still, my hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

His voice lingered in the back of my mind, stubborn and familiar.

You'll come back, he had said once, during one of the countless arguments that ended with me apologizing for things that had never been my fault.

You always do.

For years, he had been right.

Every time I thought about leaving, fear would creep in and wrap itself around my courage like vines around a tree. Fear of being alone. Fear of starting over. Fear that maybe he was right about all the things he said I couldn't do.

But this morning, those fears felt smaller somehow.

Maybe it was the open road ahead of me.

Maybe it was the sunrise slowly painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold.

Or maybe it was simply the quiet knowledge that I had finally done the thing I thought I never could.

I had left.

A small town passed by on my right, its sleepy houses still wrapped in the quiet of early morning. A diner sign flickered faintly in the distance, the smell of coffee and breakfast drifting faintly through the air as I drove past.

For a moment, I imagined pulling over.

Sitting in a booth by the window.

Drinking a cup of coffee without worrying about saying the wrong thing or taking too long or looking the wrong way.

The thought made me smile.

I didn't stop, though.

Not yet.

Right now, the road felt more important.

The farther I drove, the lighter my chest seemed to feel. The tight knot of anxiety that had lived there for years was loosening, mile by mile.

I knew the road wouldn't always feel this easy.

There would be days when memories came rushing back. Days when doubt would creep in again. Days when the quiet might feel too quiet.

Up ahead, the road curved into a series of narrow, winding turns. I slowed the car slightly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as the pavement bent back and forth through the hills.

Healing, I realized, might look a lot like this road. Some stretches are wide and easy, where the miles pass without effort. Others narrow suddenly, forcing you to slow down and steady yourself before moving forward again.

Healing wasn't something that happened overnight.

It wasn't a destination waiting at the end of the road.

It was the road.

The road to healing doesn’t really end. Somewhere along the way, it just becomes easier to travel.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see headlights racing toward me, to see his car gaining on me the way fear insisted it might.

But the road behind me was empty.

Completely empty.

I turned my eyes forward again.

The sun was finally climbing over the horizon now, spilling warm light across the highway. The dew that had clung to the windshield earlier had begun to disappear, fading away as the morning grew brighter.

Just like the tears I had cried for so many nights before.

The road stretched on and on ahead of me, disappearing into the distance.

Endless.

Once, the idea of an endless road would have terrified me. I would have needed a destination, a place to stop, somewhere safe and certain.

But as I drove into the growing light of morning, I realized something.

The road didn't need an end.

Every mile forward meant I was farther away from the life I had left behind.

And maybe the road to healing would stretch on longer than I could see. Maybe there would be more turns ahead, more narrow places where I would have to slow down and find my balance again.

But that didn't scare me anymore.

Because for the first time in years, the future felt wide open.

The road had begun the moment the door slammed behind me.

And for the first time, I was ready to see where it might take me.