The day he hit me
didn’t start with anger.
It started like any other day
quiet tension dressed up as normal,
words walking on eggshells,
me shrinking just enough
to keep the peace alive.
I remember the room.
How still it felt
right before everything broke.
And when it happened
it wasn’t just my skin that felt it.
It was my nervous system
learning a new language:
fear… in a place I once called safe.
I told myself it was a moment.
A mistake.
A version of him
that wouldn’t show up again.
But days turned into months,
and somehow
the silence became louder than the hit.
Because the bruises faded.
They always do.
Yellow, then green,
then gone
as if my body was trying
to erase the evidence
faster than my mind could process it.
But his words?
They stayed.
They replayed
in quiet moments,
in loud ones,
in the middle of me trying
to be everything else
a mother, a student,
a woman still standing.
“You’re too much.”
“You’re not enough.”
“You’re the problem.”
And I started to wonder…
Which hurt more?
The hand
that shocked me once
or the voice
that broke me daily?
Because the hand
taught me fear.
But the words…
the words taught me
to doubt myself.
To second-guess my worth.
To question my strength.
To look in the mirror
and not recognize the woman
who used to live there.
Piece by piece,
I watched myself fall
not all at once,
but in fragments.
A little confidence here.
A little peace there.
A little light… gone.
And the scariest part?
No one could see it.
Because I still showed up.
Still smiled.
Still handled everything
like I always do.
But inside
there was only a tiny piece of me left
holding on.
Fragile.
Quiet.
Terrified.
Not of him anymore…
but of disappearing
completely.
Of waking up one day
and realizing
there’s nothing left of me
to come back to.
So I sit here now,
in the aftermath
of everything that didn’t look like damage
but was.
Asking myself
not about him…
but about me.
Does it even matter anymore?
And somewhere deep inside,
beneath the fear,
beneath the doubt,
beneath everything he tried to take
there’s a whisper.
Soft…
but still alive.
“Yes.
You do.”
Ashley Monae 