Her hand was shaking as Hope gingerly accepted the bus tickets for herself and her daughter, Laura. They walked away from the ticket counter, across the bus station, and stood with their backs to the entrance, positioning themselves behind a large group of travelers so as to blend into the crowd and become invisible. Thirty minutes was all they had to wait until their Greyhound chariot took them away from the gloomy mist of Portland across the country toward the sunshine of Orlando. It wasn’t the sun that was the selling point for Hope, however, but the fact that Orlando was the furthest point away from this town that she could get on such short notice.

There was no time to plan, no time to pack. All Hope had was a backpack full of a few of her and Laura’s favorite outfits, two toothbrushes, a comb, and a wad of cash she’d been collecting over the last two years. Laura clung to her stuffed bunny and her blankie she’s had since she was a baby. She stood with her body pressed up against Hope’s leg, staring off at the nearby phone booth with a somber look that no four-year-old should ever have to wear. Hope reached down to rub Laura’s back in comfort and winced at the pain in her ribs as her body folded to reach her daughter. Underneath the heavy coat and three layers of shirts that Hope had on was a shell that had once been her body, but all that remained was a bruised and broken reminder of the terror she was leaving behind. Thirty minutes felt like an eternity to wait in that bus station, like an elk in an open field during hunting season.

The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience. She said goodbye to her boyfriend, Pete, as he left for work three hours earlier. He was in a sour mood from the night before. Pete was angry about Hope leaving the room to speak to her sister on the phone in private. He was certain Hope was hiding a secret, perhaps it wasn’t her sister on the phone at all, but a lover she didn’t want Pete to find out about. This wasn’t the first time he’d worked himself into a rage over a delusion. Over the course of their five-year relationship, this sort of violent tantrum had become a regular occurance.

As Hope laid in a heap on the floor in the usual bruised and bloody mess, something snapped inside her soul. As the silence of Pete’s exhaustion signaled that he’d fallen asleep, Hope heard her little daughter Laura in her room, whimpering a heart-breaking cry into her pillow. Everyone has a last straw, and Pete had finally broken hers. Tears streamed down Hope’s face as her silent, heaving sobs of guilt and defeat swept over her body. After a moment of total surrender to her sadness, she used all the strength she had left to stand herself up and limp to her daughter’s bedroom. Hope stood at the side of Laura’s bed as Laura turned over to look at her mother. Their crying eyes met and Hope held out her hand to take hold of Laura’s. They both knew better than to speak any words against Pete, but in that unspoken moment, Hope and Laura agreed that it was time to go.

“Schedule 1318 now boarding, Schedule 1318 now boarding,” a woman said over the loudspeaker. Hope glanced up and scanned the crowd before she prepared to move toward her bus.

“You ready, baby?” Hope asked Laura with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, mama. Let’s go,” said Laura. The little girl had just a hint of excitement stirring in her response.

The two got in line and boarded the large gray bus. As they filed down the aisle toward their seats, Hope’s heart once again started to race. It had been many years since she felt in control of anything in her life. They reached their seats halfway through the bus. Laura took the window seat and Hope carefully took the seat next to her. They sat together, eyes cast to the side, attempting to remain unnoticed by the other passengers around them. After a few moments, Laura reached over and took her mother’s hand and squeezed.

“Thank you, mama,” she said, as she gently rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

Hope’s eyes swelled with tears. She took a deep breath and wiped the few that slipped down her cheek away as she choked back any more from escaping. These tears were so different than the many that had fallen from her eyes so many times over the last five years. The turn in her stomach as the bus moved out of the station wasn’t the familiar knot of fear that her core was used to. Right then, she wasn’t hunched in a defeated ball of bruises and bloody wounds. She was sitting straighter, with a confidence in her soul that she didn’t even remember she had. Another deep breath filled her lungs and withdrew from her body. She squeezed back into her daughter’s hand with a reassurance that this bus was going to take them away from the terror they’d known for so long. To a place where they could rebuild their lives. To a place of renewal.

To a place of hope.

My deepest flaw is self-consciousness. It’s this visceral feeling of fear that someone may be judging me, or disagree with what I’m doing. My own self-consciousness has held me back from doing so many things in life. Only now, at the cusp of my 30th year on Earth, am I beginning to accept who I am, and feel like rejection won’t crush me. I am far behind where I am capable of being in life because of the doubt I hold in myself and my abilities. Writing these words, my hands shake in fear of the judgement that may come: is this piece of writing worthy to be seen by writers far better than me? So many times, I’ve discouraged myself into giving up or not trying at all because the outcome won’t be perfect, or someone will find error in my performance.

But, it’ll never be perfect. Not everyone will ever be a fan of anyone. The beauty of humanity is perspective, and our ability to decide our personal preferences. So, while I might throw up after I post this out of my fear that someone, somewhere, thinks this piece is garbage, I’m proud that I’ve done it. I hope that by facing my deepest flaw, I can grow to overcome it and live a life of lesser regrets and richer experiences.

My deepest flaw is self-consciousness. It’s this visceral feeling of fear that someone may be judging me, or disagree with what I’m doing. My own self-consciousness has held me back from doing so many things in life. Only now, at the cusp of my 30th year on Earth, am I beginning to accept who I am, and feel like rejection won’t crush me. I am far behind where I am capable of being in life because of the doubt I hold in myself and my abilities. Writing these words, my hands shake in fear of the judgement that may come: is this piece of writing worthy to be seen by writers far better than me? So many times, I’ve discouraged myself into giving up or not trying at all because the outcome won’t be perfect, or someone will find error in my performance.

But, it’ll never be perfect. Not everyone will ever be a fan of anyone. The beauty of humanity is perspective, and our ability to decide our personal preferences. So, while I might throw up after I post this out of my fear that someone, somewhere, thinks this piece is garbage, I’m proud that I’ve done it. I hope that by facing my deepest flaw, I can grow to overcome it and live a life of lesser regrets and richer experiences.