Broken Glass Floors

I hear a scream coming from my mom's bedroom. "Get off me", she screams. I rush down the hall to see my stepfathers hand around her throat, pushing her up against the wall. I grab him by the waist, I'm 16 at the time, I've came to size, plenty big enough to put up a fight. I throw him onto the bed on the right, pin him down, he shuffles his shoulders, screaming "get the fuck off of me" trying to free himself from my grip. I pick him up and fling him into their brand new dresser chipping a corner piece of a drawer. He lands on the floor, the fight is over, but the war has just begun.

Growing up, my father was and still is emotionally immature. It wasn't screams, or physical violence (beyond the occasional paddle usage). It was psychological abuse, the silent treatment, stomping around like a child being a sore loser or not getting their way. No communication, no vulnerability, no being an adult. A child pretending to be an adult while trying to take care of children himself. Us children never really saw my mom and dad fight, behind the scenes though I can now see a women pleading for an ounce of affection or communication from a emotionally unavailable partner. The fear of coming home with the question "are my parents in a good mood today?" consistently being on our minds.

I can't blame my mom for leaving. A relationship with no more passion, a spark dying like a lighter with no fluid. Roommates, that parent, but no longer talk. Eventually anyone in such a relationship after the pleading and begging would grow cold. They'd feen for a kind love, compassionate love, a love that could grow, not wither and die. So eventually that day came. At the young age of 12 I overheard my mom telling another man on the phone she loved him. I felt betrayal, old enough to know what was going on, young enough to now know how to handle it. Two months later, my mom and my father were separated, and we moved in with my now stepfather.

Of course separation doesn't always come easy. Us kids deciding whether to live with mom or dad, custody battles to come. Being that our dad always seemed distant, or emotionally unavailable. Mom seemed like the safest route. The first few months with my stepfather were okay. We went on little road trips, ate good home cooked meals as a family. There was always an unease with us though as it is being in a new home. Living with someone new, and having 3 new step-siblings to welcome. We grew used to it though, and as the heartbreak healed from the now broken family, my stepfather showed his true colors ever so slightly.

My mom went from a psychologically abusive man, to a verbal, and physically abusive man. The screaming matches they had, the amount of times I heard my mom screaming "I hate you", followed by us packing up in the car, or walking down the street with bags packed. Being the oldest trying to comfort my siblings, make them feel safe in a rather turbulent environment, being a rock in a rather rough quarry. Our lives, or well being, almost always in survival mode. Easing each others pain, emotional suffering, while also having weary, observant eyes to our parents emotional well being.

It's no way to live, fearing that each day we might hear our mother getting beat, or the house filled with screams and tears. She left several times, most of which never came to fruition. He'd beg for her to come back, promised to change, and play towards her empathy feeling like he couldn't go on until she walked back through the threshold of that house. It took its toll on us kids moving from house to house, living somewhere new for a couple months until the inevitable happened. The dread of going back to a place with broken glass floors. Sharper than eggshells, worrying not only about breaking the glass more, but also what wound will come next.

I have a profound regret for abandoning my siblings. My mom and stepfather wanting to move out of state, taking us kids with them. Being so young and having to choose whether to stay and protect my siblings or protect my own well-being the decision. I chose to move in with my dad, no more seeing my siblings on the daily, no more watching my siblings grow up. I chose psychological abuse over the violence I had endured for the last years, and felt like I was abandoning my siblings in the process. I chose myself.

Living with dad wasn't easy, getting readjusted to living with someone I barely knew. He didn't have time to see us often working in the coal mines, the occasional weekend visit for a few hours, our relationship severed. I didn't know at the time that my pain would continue on. Two years with my father sending me spiraling into depression, a feeling of worthlessness I've never experienced before. The head shakes, stomps, the hiding in my room from feeling unwanted. Every minute something turning into a problem, and me shaming myself for it. I found safety alone in my room, headphones on playing video games drowning out the eerie silence of this house. Playing games with friends was my safe space. If it weren't for those moments, I'm not sure I'd be here to tell the tale.

I eventually moved out, more so my father kicked me out. What felt like abandonment at the time really helped me be where I'm at today. My siblings moved back, and now live with my father. Making the same decision I did choosing the lesser of two evils. Still being teenagers or young adults playing therapist or appealing to emotionally immature people. Keeping the watchful eye for disdain or agitation, staying away from the wrath of destruction. The sibling relationship has improved, I'm not sure whether it'll ever be the same. So many years of what should've been us being kids, turned into lots of shame.

There's fear within me to this day. Spending most of your life as a boy around violent men only presents one thing. What not to do. Spending my young adult years, with the fear of becoming them. Anxiousness from years of being in survival mode. A deep fear of what happens next, am I safe, and secure? Seeing so many young men like you take the wrong road, continuing this cycle of abuse for its all they know.

I spent a year in therapy figuring out my false ways. Learning to love myself again, learning to be okay. I forgive myself for tough decisions I had to make at a young age. It's took personal growth, and the will to be better to break the cycle. That fear in me being the engine for the car driving down this long road called life. Learned behaviors take a while to unlearn, but it will all be worth it because my son will not walk on broken glass floors.