I Left With Nothing But Faith - And Two Tiny Reasons in the Backseat

I Never Imagined I'd Be Packing My Life Into a Car

I never imagined I’d be packing my entire life into a car with my children—just 1 and 2 years old—strapped in the backseat. But when survival calls, you answer. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew leaving was the only way we’d survive and begin a healthier life.

Leaving Wasn’t Easy-But Staying Was Killing Me

I left behind a house, a relationship, and a version of myself I barely recognized. Anxiety ran through my body. I took only what fit in my car—clothes, diapers, their favorite toys, and what little strength I had left.

It’s hard to say what the final breaking point was. The signs were always there—big ones. But like so many women, I didn’t recognize them as abuse. Truthfully, I should have left before my daughter was born.

The First Time I Called the Police

In one of his drunken rages was the first time he put hands on me—pulling me by the hair, grabbing my neck. I was terrified. I was pregnant, and I had my baby boy in my arms. He wasn’t even a year old. I panicked and called the police. I had never been more grateful to see our men in blue. I felt relief, shame, and disbelief all at once as I tried to process their questions and what had just happened. I remember thinking - How did we get here?

Later, he convinced me it was my fault. That if I wanted to keep our family together, I had to disappear—so the D.A. couldn’t reach me and press domestic violence charges. And so, I stayed. Even though I knew better. Even though I knew everything he was saying and asking me to do was so horribly wrong.

The Isolation, Control, and Fear

He slowly isolated me. Friends and family became distant. He controlled everything—especially the money. I had to ask for anything and everything. It was like he controlled my access to the world. I walked on eggshells. He belittled me, criticized me, chipped away at my worth. I was trapped inside a life I didn’t even recognize.

And still, I stayed.

Because of the kids.
Because of fear.
Because he made me believe I couldn’t do it without him.

And he promised—if I tried—he would make my life miserable. Spoiler Alert: He did.

But I couldn’t unsee what my babies were seeing. The yelling. The drinking. The rage. Even if the violence was mostly directed at me, they were there. Watching. Absorbing.

The Moment Everything Changed

One day, while I was getting ready in our bedroom—my son playing in the bathroom beside me, my daughter in the crib—I said something that set him off. I don’t remember what. But I’ll never forget what happened next. He picked up one of his leather dress shoes with that heavy rubber heel—and threw it at me. It missed me, but it landed right next to my daughter in her crib.

Something snapped inside me.

That was the moment I knew.
I had to leave.
We had to leave.

The abuse wasn’t just hurting me—it was shaping my children. I couldn’t bear the thought of my daughter growing up thinking, This is how men treat women. Or my son believing, This is how men act.

No. Nope. HELL NO. It stops here.

I was enraged—not just at him, but at myself for letting it happen. I swore this would never be my story. I thought I knew what abuse looked like. But guilt, that familiar visitor, reminded me I missed the signs.

I waited. Like before, he apologized. Begged. Promised change. I played along. I had to. But this time, I was different. I loved him—but I loved my children more. If I couldn’t do it for me, I’d do it for them. They deserved better. I deserved better.

I Left-Without a Plan, But With a Purpose

I didn’t have a plan. No dramatic exit. Just the trembling of my hands on the steering wheel, heart pounding, praying he wouldn’t come home as I pulled away.

I had no money. No destination. Just two tiny reasons in the backseat and a mustard seed of faith.

I’d look back a few times. Thinking I should try to make it work. I wanted our family to stay together. But the truth is—it was already broken. I was holding on to a fantasy. Romanticizing something that never really was.

The days that followed weren’t easy. Friends and family gave me a place to stay, a safe space. I cried more than I slept—not from regret, but from exhaustion, fear, and mourning the life I thought we were supposed to have.

Faith was all I could afford to carry. God had been absent in our home before, but little by little, I found my way back. I whispered prayers into silence. And somehow, God made a way every single day. And then….I started to rebuild.

To the Woman Reading This:

Maybe you’re where I was.
Maybe you’re scared.
Maybe someone is telling you it’s your fault.
Maybe you’ve been convinced no one will believe you. Or convinced you could not make it.

Let me tell you what I wish I knew:
You are not crazy.
You are not weak.
You are not alone. And you can do this.

If you’re trying to leave an abusive relationship, know this—you don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t need every step planned. You just need to take the next one. Pack what you can. Pray while you drive. Healing doesn’t come overnight -but I promise you, it will come.

You are not a failure.
You are not broken.
You are becoming.

We didn’t just survive—we’re rebuilding. Every day. One step at a time.

I’m creating something for myself, for my children, for my future. I started this website to share, to give back. I started selling huaraches—not just shoes, but a symbol of my roots and our walk forward.

Every step we take now is on our terms—rooted in strength, healing, and purpose.

-Bela Rose