The Courage of Children: Boston and Beyond XXXI

Arwen Elliot
Sara DeOreo, Teacher
Proctor School, Topsfield, MA
I feel like I can’t escape, like I’m suffocating under a pile of sadness and
loneliness. Have you ever felt this way? Trapped and alone and sorrowful.
I have. I still do.
When I was four, my parents got divorced, separating my life into two. I wasn’t
changed by the divorce then, but I would be soon. It all changed on a trip to
Hawaii, the vacation that changed me forever.
I was having a good time and had no reason to suspect something was amiss.
Then my sibling, two teenagers (soon to be my step siblings), my dad, and
someone my dad knew (who would become my step mom), piled into a fancy
limousine, and drove to where the wedding would take place. I hadn’t known
at the time my dad was getting married, nor did my sibling. He didn’t tell us.
I still have no idea why.
That day scarred me for life, an open wound still trying to heal. And from that
day on, I put up a wall stronger than anything on Earth to protect myself from
being hurt again.
Weekend after weekend, I would hide in my room with my own sadness, a hole
in my stomach. I felt like I couldn’t do anything to make myself happy, so I did
nothing, and no one did anything about it.
I would grab my phone and put on music that I would sing along to, bobbing my
head to the song with my headphones on. For a long time, I didn’t play music or
anything that could be described as loud, even with headphones. My step mom
would come to the room and say, “Door,” and close my white door if I was talking
with too much volume to my friends on a call. It made my blood boil with anger.
I was having a tough time at my dad’s, and I’d had enough. I wanted to go
home, to my mom, to my caring pets, to a place where I could be myself,
where I could let down my shield.
I had been on a call with my mom, me venting to her, when she suggested
I could come home if I wanted to. I was old enough to make the decision, and
I said yes in a heartbeat.
“I will find a way to
be happy, be myself,
anywhere I go.”
after some more chatting my dad went downstairs with an expressionless face.
Then I heard footsteps on the stairs and my step mom’s voice. Soon I was
having the most awkward conversation of my life.
This was all going downhill, and at this point I was wondering if I should drop
the whole thing and try and brave through yet another weekend. But my mom
said that if I wanted to come home, I should be allowed, and after a lot more
persuading and explaining and me trying just to go back to my mom’s, my dad
finally said yes. I almost jumped up and yelled, “FINALLY!” but I held myself
together as I packed up the few things I had brought with me and sat in the
backseat of Dad’s car as we drove to Mom’s house. My feet were bouncing on
the floor of the car, and I had to sit on my hands to keep them from shaking,
but I could barely hide my smile.
I finally did it. I thought to myself, I’m going home.
I got more comfortable with asking to go back to Mom’s, but it still takes a lot
out of me when I do. Sometimes I don’t say anything, even during my hardest
moments. I’ve learned how to survive. I’ve got to keep this all inside me, right?
No, because my last act of courage, my last stand, is writing this very essay. I’ve
never been able to put these words down on paper before, but now I can. I
summoned all the courage inside of me and wrote, word by word. I don’t want
to hide how I feel anymore. I don’t want to be the morose girl I was, letting all
the despair crush me. I will change what happens with my life, even if it’s out
of my control. I will find a way to be happy, be myself, anywhere I go.
First, she tried to text my dad that I wanted to go home. He didn’t answer.
Instead, he came to my room and asked about it, and I said, my voice almost a
whisper, “Ummm… I– just–I need to talk about some girl stuff.” He nodded, and
The Courage of Children: Boston and Beyond
Volume XXXI
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