The Ride I Never Asked For

He told me to get in the car.

I did—because when you're a kid and a grown man says that, you go. You don’t ask questions. You don’t expect much. But you definitely don’t expect what came next.

We drove for a while, pulled into some parking lot, and without warning, he turned to me and punched me in the mouth.

No conversation. No buildup. Just a fist and the words, “Stop being a little bitch.”

I don’t remember what came after. Not really. I just remember trying to figure out how to explain my face to the world. I made something up—I don’t even recall what the lie was now. Only that I learned fast how to cover pain. How to tuck it in and keep it moving.

You learn to survive.

But here’s the thing: survival isn’t the same as healing.

That punch didn’t just split my lip—it split something deeper. It told me I wasn’t safe. That I didn’t matter. That the men who were supposed to protect me could just as easily be the ones who hurt me. And for a long time, that scar shaped the way I saw myself, and the way I thought life was supposed to be.

But here’s the other thing: pain can also wake you up.

Not right away. Not when you're just a kid. But later—when you have your own kids, or your own relationships, or when you're standing in the mirror wondering who you want to be and whether the cycle ends with you.

And for me, it does.

Because I made a decision somewhere along the way—not to let his brokenness become mine. Not to pass that pain forward. Not to confuse fear with respect, silence with strength, or control with love.

That ride didn’t define me. But it did light a fire in me to be something different.

If you're reading this and you have your own version of that ride—your own story you’ve never told, your own bruise you had to lie about—please hear me when I say this:

You didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t your fault.

And it doesn’t have to be the last word.

You can choose a new ending.

You can be the one who breaks the cycle.

You can be the safe place you never had.

And that? That’s not weakness.

That’s real, hard-earned, unshakable strength.