I’ve Lived My Whole Life Without Ever Hearing Music
I tell the truth in an official setting and it’s terrifying, but also empowering to finally say it all out loud where it matters. My parents sit at a table with their lawyer and don’t look at me the whole time.
The judge listens to everything and then extends the protective order and mandates continued monitoring of my brother’s situation with specific conditions my parents must meet. After the hearing Hattie arranges for me to attend a small community concert as part of exposure therapy for my music anxiety.
The therapist thinks it will help me process my complicated feelings about music in a safe environment. We go on a Saturday afternoon to a park where a local band is playing folk music.
I sit on a blanket with Hattie nearby and the first song makes me start crying immediately. It’s not sad crying exactly, but more like everything I’ve been holding in is pouring out through my eyes.
I spend the whole time crying but also feeling more alive than I have in years. People around us probably think I’m weird, but Hattie just sits there and lets me have whatever reaction I need to have.
Later in therapy I process the complex emotions of grief and joy mixed together. The therapist helps me understand that I can love music and also grieve what my parents’ fear of it cost my family.
At the school I’m struggling with some subjects, especially math where I’m behind on basic concepts. Science is hard too because I never learned proper lab procedures or the scientific method.
But I’m doing better than expected in English and history where reading comprehension helps me catch up faster. I pass my first set of quizzes in three classes and the small victory feels huge.
My English teacher writes “Great work.” on my essay about a book we read and I stare at those words for a long time. I’m starting to believe I can actually catch up and have a normal educational experience even though it’s going to take a lot of work.
A month after I left home Aisha comes by with an update about my parents’ therapy progress. She sits down with me in the counseling room at the shelter and tells me they had their first breakthrough.
Mom admitted that her fear of music stems from her own anxiety disorder, not from any real danger. Dad acknowledged that isolating the family may have caused harm, especially to me and my brothers.
It’s a tiny shift in their thinking, but it’s something. Aisha says the therapist is cautiously optimistic but notes they have a long way to go.
I don’t know how to feel about this because part of me wants them to get better and part of me is still angry about everything they put us through. The therapist says both feelings can be true at the same time.
Two days later I have my first supervised visit with my brothers at a CPS office. We sit in a room with toys and books while a social worker stays in the corner taking notes.
Micah runs up and hugs me as soon as I walk in and tells me he’s sleeping better now. His nightmares are less frequent since he started therapy and since the house is calmer without me and my parents fighting.
Miles sits in a chair and doesn’t say much at first. He looks uncomfortable and keeps glancing at the social worker.
Finally, he admits he’s not sure about everything anymore. I can tell the separation from constant parental messaging is affecting him.
He asks if I’m coming home and I tell him I don’t know. Micah shows me a drawing he made in therapy of our family with everyone smiling, and I have to swallow hard to keep from crying again.
Two weeks later Hattie sits me down in her office at the shelter and tells me they found a host family who wants to meet me. She shows me a file with photos of a small house with a front porch and a couple in their 50s who look normal and kind.
They don’t have other kids and they’ve done foster placements before. Hattie says they understand my situation and want to help.
The meeting happens at a neutral location, a community center with a quiet room, and I’m so nervous I can barely speak at first. The woman’s name is Carol and the man is Robert, and they ask me basic questions about school and what I like to do.
Carol mentions they have a spare bedroom that would be mine. Robert says they keep a quiet house but I’m welcome to listen to music whenever I want.
That sentence makes me start crying again and Carol hands me tissues without making a big deal about it. They tell me there’s no pressure and I can think about it, but something about them feels safe and I nod yes before I can overthink it.
The transition happens over the next week with Hattie helping me move my few belongings to their house. My room has a bed, a desk, a small bookshelf, and a door that locks from the inside, which Carol points out specifically so I know I have privacy and control.
In therapy twice a week I work through accepting that my family situation is messy and might never be fully fixed. The therapist helps me understand that I can grieve what I lost while still moving forward with my own life.
Some days I’m angry at my parents and some days I miss them, and both feelings exist at the same time. I’m committed to finishing school even though catching up is hard, and I’m starting to imagine a future that’s more than just surviving day to day.
Six months after that night in the basement I’m living with Carol and Robert and doing well enough in the school that I might graduate only one year behind. My parents are still in therapy with supervised contact only, and the reports say they’re making slow progress, but it’s going to take years.
My brothers are getting support while staying at home with strict CPS oversight, and Micah’s nightmares have mostly stopped. The Wongs check in on me sometimes through messages, and it means a lot that they noticed and acted when it mattered most.
I still have hard days when the grief hits or when I worry about my brothers, and therapy is ongoing because trauma doesn’t just disappear. But I’m safe and I’m learning and I can listen to music whenever I want.
And that’s a better ending than I ever thought possible back when my only act of rebellion was turning up the volume. Well, that is the big finale.
If you made it to the end I am equally impressed and concerned. You might as well subscribe now because at this point we are both in too deep. Let’s see where it goes next.
