Flight or fright ...

The acute stress response is a physiological response that occurs when we experience danger. There are a number of these responses but mine has always been flight. Just as I am now looking for a safe haven to escape to away from him over the upcoming holiday period, I used flight to escape from him when I was young. I would run away from home whenever I sensed a real danger. [As a child, I had a real fear that one day he would kill me by beating me to a pulp.]

That is, when I realised he was in such a terrible mood and his outlet of anger would be me as I was a child and I could not physically fight back. The lessons I learnt running away never overpowered that innate feeling to get away immediately. That was always so powerful.

As background to this...from when I was nine until eleven years old, we lived in a cul-de-sac in a quieter area between two busier parts of the city. One of my dad's workplaces was in one of these busier areas. When I took off running, for some reason I would head for that area. Now I think back on it, that must have been the distance I could run before really needing to stop and have a break and a breather. Once I was in the midst of all this busy-ness of people, noise and traffic, I would start thinking more clearly.

I would realise what I had done and where I was. I had no jersey to keep me warm. I had no money or means to get food or water. But most concerning was I was in the area of his work and it seemed that as he was a 'pillar of the community', everyone knew him and knew I was his daughter so I had placed myself in a different danger zone. People could have phoned him to ask why I was wandering around there alone and if he found out, well the danger to my safety would have trebled straight away. Or even more worryingly, they may have stopped to ask me what I was doing there on my own. I could tell them the truth but who would believe me a mere child?

Whenever I had asked my Mum why we did not leave, why she stayed with him; she would always state that no-one would ever believe us. Firstly, as he was a so-called 'upstanding member of society' and secondly, as he was a man. [We did not live in the U.K at the time, although I am not sure that would have made any difference sadly.] The courts during the 60s and 70s would always favour the man, the breadwinner, in custody battles. My Mum said there was no ways he was ever going to have me stay with him on his own. She would always try and be there to protect me. Sometimes she was successful, at other times she wasn't.

What had I done? My flight response had been drained as the stress hormones had ebbed away by now. The only thought I had was to turn back and head home. I grudgingly edged my way back home. I would sneak around the house to the back garden and sit on the back doorstep with my loyal Prinsie who would find me in a state of utter distress. Prinsie was my first canine therapist. He would sit with me for hours while I would weepingly tell him all my troubles and he always managed to whimper at the right times to reassure me everything would be okay. I am sure my Mum working in the kitchen would hear all this going on outside but she would bide her time and always wait for me to come inside when I was ready and feeling strong enough to face the reality of my home life.