The Childhood That Made Me Strong
By Brittany Wagner, 18, Ocean Lakes High School
Domestic Abuse is something I have had to witness from the time I was three until the day my
mother finally realized she had to get out. I have seen so many things at such a young age, but I am not the
type of person who likes to focus on the negative. My childhood has given me the strength to fearlessly
face life and its many challenges.
The year was 1989. Only six months after my birth, my biological father decided to leave me and
my eighteen-year-old mother to struggle on our own. Just when the situation seemed like it could not get
any worse, my mother met who she believed was the perfect guy. Unfortunately, this phase of euphoria
was short- lived because after my brother was born, my step dad unleashed a side to him that filled our
house with horror.
He would lose his temper and explode over the tiniest things and soon resorted to physical
violence with my mother. The beatings grew more intense and more frequent as time progressed. The
details of every single occurrence have been imbedded in my mind, and by playing the role of the
bystander in these dreadful scenes, I developed major psychological issues. I would start shaking
uncontrollably, and my breathing would become irregular to the point of hyperventilation. This, I believe,
was due in part because all I could do was sit there and watch, and knowing that one day, he was going to
kill her.
I always wondered why mother kept going back to him. At that time, I simply did not understand
how she could put herself through such a physically and mentally degrading routine. But now that I have
reached a more mature age, I know exactly why. He made her feel so inferior and worthless that she
thought she needed him. My mother didn’t think she could do better, so she settled for what she thought
was the best that she could have. This mentality dragged her through seven years with my step-father, and
the incident that finally ended this relationship involved myself.
It was a typical evening. They started arguing, and my step dad charged towards my mother with
the disposition of a bull at the sight of red. This time I stood in front of him and tried with all my might to hold
him back. Of course with me being only seven years old, I did not pose much of a threat. He picked me up,
flung me across the room, and I banged my head on a dresser. This was the first and last time my step-dad
ever hurt me. Like she was suddenly snapped out of a trance, my mother quickly grabbed me, and we left
with no intention of ever coming back. My mother received custody of me, and my step dad received
custody of my brother.
I am thrilled to say I have a pretty pleasant life right now. After several miserable attempts, my
mom finally found the right guy for her, and he wouldn’t harm a fly. My early days were comprised of many
moments of despair, but I am very thankful that my journey has had a happy ending.
If there is one thing that is hard for me to move on from, it is my brother. I don’t spend every
moment dwelling on my past, but I just wish my mom could have taken him too. Ten years have passed
since I have seen him, and the only way I know he is still alive is by the child support check my mom signs
every month. I pray everyday that he doesn’t turn out like his father; however, I have taught myself that I
can’t worry about matters I can’t change.
Through my experience I have learned things that a book or a teacher could have never taught me.
My childhood has given me the power to persevere through any obstacle that stands in my way. I have
been given a sense of hope and determination that cannot be replaced or taken by anyone. My life reached
such a low level that I was forced to see the good side of things no matter how far I had to stretch. Simply
put, if I had not gone through what I did, I would not be me, and I like me.