Children do have a right to a safe place to live. But I did not have that. Not only did I not have a safe place to live, I often had no place to live. If my Mom and I argued, I was expected to leave the house for an undetermined amount of time because I treated her with disrespect and that was on the contract she made me sign to get back in the house every time, that I had to treat her with respect. 

The routine would be; we would argue, I’d say something hurtful she’d tell me I have to leave and she would lock herself in her room. Once she was in her room, she would go completely silent. I would sit at her door and beg her to forgive me and let me stay. When she would not respond, my abandonment trauma would kick in and I’d start to rage again. I get it, she didn’t know what to do. She never tried love, empathy, understanding or co-regulation but I digress. 

So we would sit there sometimes for up to an hour with me begging her to forgive me and let me stay. Once she had enough of it, she would say (and this is the only thing she ever said to me when I was in crisis) “I’m calling 911.” That meant a few things to me. She was calling because she wanted me removed from the house. My understanding was that they would take me to a group home (I saw this as the worst case scenario. I thought I was going to be SA’d, robbed and beat up there). So when she picked up that phone, I finally would give up and leave. 

My mission at that point became evading police so I wouldn’t be caught and taken to the group home. Well one night I was sick of the routine. My Mom had insisted I leave and when I didn’t she said she was calling 911. For the first time ever I said, “go ahead, I’m not leaving.” I was calm at this point and the kicking out was a punishment not a safety plan. So we all waited for the police to show up and they did. The whole family sat talking in the entryway, me included. I was sitting on the steps that led to the front entryway, calm and collected.

The cop eventually looked around and said “so where’s the kid who’s struggling?” And I raise my hand and they all point to me. He looks shocked and confused. He talks to us for a minute but then asks me to have a chat in his car. I don’t know why but I felt reassured that he wasn’t taking me away. He was really worried about me. He was worried about how I was being treated. This was not what I expected. I defended my parents. He didn’t seem to believe me, or maybe he felt bad that I thought it was my fault idk. He asked me if I wanted to leave or stay and I said I wanted to stay. He said “ok I’ll make sure they let you stay.”

He gave me his card and said “if you ever need anything, call me.” Of course I never did. I wasn’t going to call a police officer for help, even though he had been helpful. I wasn’t scared of him, I was scared of the system that had always taught me I was the problem. He brought me back in and told my parents that he did not see a need to take me anywhere and I seem calm so they were to let me stay.

It’s been over 20 years since I experienced this and I still have nightmares every single night. Every night I dream I lost my home and I don’t have anywhere to go. I dream I can’t dial the phone for help, I dream the people closest to me are mad at me and won’t let me explain, I dream my feet feel like lead and I’m trying to run through 2 ft. of mud. Every Night. I’m so tired of running. I just want to rest. 

Are you a parent in who is needing to live in Survival Mode a lot lately? How do you feel about it? It’s ok to use Survival Mode as a tool. There is no shame on it. That’s why I wrote a little book on how to plan for it.