The Day I Moved Out
1994, Long Island, New York
By Debi Rideout
Life is funny sometimes. You will be following one path, and then boom, you will be thrown on an entirely different path.
I was a brand new 20-year-old college graduate who was still living with mom and dad. Growing up in my house had never been easy. To say that my mom had anger management issues would be an understatement. I would kind of simulate how my childhood was with walking on eggs and praying that they wouldn’t crack. However, as everyone knows, eggs are very fragile and they almost always crack when they are stepped on. It’s no wonder people who knew me as a child always wondered why I was so quiet and kept to myself.
It was a hot summer day when my life changed suddenly. I was sleeping when I heard pounding on my bedroom door. My mom burst through the door screaming at me, “Get up! How lazy are you? Get downstairs right now!” I looked at my clock. It was 7:30 a.m. Apparently, I had not gotten up early enough for my mother.
I quickly got dressed. I rushed downstairs. “Morning mom,” I said. She grunted, and then thrust the vacuum at me. “I want you to vacuum the whole house right now,” she said sternly. This wasn’t unusual for me. I had been doing most of the chores in the house since I was a little girl. My mom was more interested in watching soap operas and her daily reading of the Bible than spending her own valuable time cleaning the house.
I started using the vacuum in our living room. My eyes were still trying to adjust to waking up when … whack!!! My mom had just slapped me across the face, sending my glasses across the room. I looked at her, to afraid to move. I knew it would get worse if I showed her how afraid I was. “You aren’t doing it with a sunny disposition!” she screamed at me.
Something inside of me finally broke. “What do you mean I am not doing it with a sunny disposition?” I yelled back. These were the last words I ever spoke that day in that house. My mother started hitting me and yelling. There was lots of yelling. I believe she called me every name in the book.
Things are a bit hazy for me when I remember that day, but I remember her throwing me to the ground and kicking me as hard as she could, repeatedly. She also dug her large fingernails into my head, making my head bleed profusely. Chunks of my long dark hair fell to the ground. I am not sure how, but somehow she got my body from the living room into the kitchen, where she bounced my body off the refrigerator and onto the hard ceramic floor. Luckily, my car keys were right there on the kitchen counter. I fought my way to them, grabbed them, and struggled my way out of the door. I ran to my car.
My tears were running down my face and mixing with my own blood . The last words I heard that day when I drove out of the driveway of my parent’s house were, “Come back here bitch. We aren’t done yet.” I gunned my gas pedal as I drove down my parent’s block, and thought … never again … never again.
To those people who ever wondered why I was always so quiet as a child and kept to myself, I have only this to say: I wish you had asked me then instead of now. That’s OK though. I have found my voice.
Debi Rideout is a freelance writer. She currently lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. She is happily married with two children, and has written for many publications, both in print and online.
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10 Responses to “The Day I Moved Out”
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February 15th, 2007 at 12:28 pm
Debi, I felt so much anger reading your story—my stomach tightened when your mother hit you–the whack across your face, I could feel—and the last words you hearing– “come back, bitch.”
I thank God you found your voice–finally–finally. So many of us find ourselves through our writing.
Have you sent her (your mother) this story? I hope so.
Keep writing, girl!
Kim R.
February 15th, 2007 at 4:36 pm
You left me wanting to read more. I guess the fact that you now say that you are a happily married with two children says it all. Good for you that you found the strenght to overcome an abusive childhood to become the woman you are.
February 15th, 2007 at 5:27 pm
Debi,
Wow–I can’t even imagine that kind of childhood. I’ve known many people who were abused when they were younger, and they seem to repeat the very thing they hated, or go the other way and end up being great parents later in life.
Reading your bio, it sounds like you’ve walked out of a nightmare youth and ended up a great parent. I’m glad writing gives you a voice–and I’m glad you survived growing up to share your writing.
Christopher
February 15th, 2007 at 5:47 pm
Hi Kim, =)
Thank you for saying that! I really have found my voice as a writer, and just who I am as a person now. As you stated…writing really does help you find yourself. I was able to write this piece because my mom passed away years ago. I have forgiven her to the best of my ability, and I hope that if there is an after life that she now rests in peace. LOL, I promise to keep on writing…;-)
February 15th, 2007 at 5:51 pm
Hi Jean, =)
There’s a part of me that is glad that my writing left you wanting to read more, but there is also a part of me that is sad that I could even have such an event happen in my life to share. I did overcome it though I am happy to say. My family is an amazing one, and I have been truly blessed with the rest of the way my life has turned out…=)
February 15th, 2007 at 6:03 pm
Hi Christopher, =)
You would be right….some continue the path they were shown, and some rebel and find a better way to raise their children. My children always have my heart, and my parenting style is 100% different than my mother\’s. LOL, my children know what time outs are, and they have never seen me raise my hand unless I am tickling them.
Yes, writing is one of my joys, and I am sooooo glad that I finally do have a voice compared to when I was younger. =)
February 18th, 2007 at 7:19 pm
Debi,
I stumbled upon your story tonight
I am so sorry for your suffering
I am also so filled with joy and awe at how you matured and your life has evolved
I come from a catastrophic history, and in many ways, it crippled me
I am not an abusive personality; actually, I am very loving and compassionate
But, I never feel safe on the planet and have not been able to claim my rightful place on life\’s stage
Actually, I feel like an orphan on the planet…very much alone here
I am aging now…close to 60
So, time is clearly beginning to run out
I still hope that I can make a contribution
I still have hope that I can make my life a blessing….
That\’s my greatest wish, Debi…to make my life a blessing
So, that my having lived will mean something of value, and all the suffering will not be in vain…..
I am so very grateful that you found your voice, Debi
May I find mine…..
With love,
Penny
February 19th, 2007 at 2:51 pm
Dear Penny…
***Big Huge Hugs*** Life is not always an easy course for anyone to live, but admitly some do have it harder than others at times. However, those hard times in life also make us stronger. I don’t know your story, but I do know from reading what you wrote that you are a strong person for even writing what you did. I heard your voice just now…and it is a wonderful voice!! =)
Don’t let what happened in the past or even what’s happening to you now…shape your future. It is never to late….ever. I am sure if you just sat down and really thought about it that you have already made your life a blessing and that you have already made a contribution. =) Your suffering is not in vain, and neither was mine. It helped built us up to be who we are now, and as for me, I value life so much more. So go ahead right now…let your voice ring true and loud!!!
Wishing you lots of happiness,
Debi
March 14th, 2007 at 2:43 pm
I can definitely relate to your story. Especially the last part where you said,
\”To those people who ever wondered why I was always so quiet as a child and kept to myself, I have only this to say: I wish you had asked me then instead of now. That’s OK though. I have found my voice.\”
AMEN!
I\’m working on my own story to share. It\’s bitterly painful. My mother and I have healed our relationship, but it still makes me physically ill to recall some memories. I\’ve found recently though that writing about the past evokes a deep emotion and passion in my writing, and I like that.
March 14th, 2007 at 8:32 pm
Dear Hope…
I am sorry that you had a rough childhood too. =( That is wonderful though that you and your mother were able to move beyond it. =) I would love to read your story when it’s published just because of what we have in common. It is amazing how the best writing is from things that have happend to us as individuals whether good or bad. I wish you the best in your writing, and I hope that your own voice is heard too. =)