How I Escaped my Kidnapper: The Moment I Chose to Move Despite Fear

In the early morning hours of June 19, 1993, I escaped the man who had kidnapped, assaulted, and terrorized me hours.

The night before, I had made a plan.

If I survived until morning, I would ask for a shirt, ask to use the bathroom, and then run.

It seemed simple enough in my mind, but fear has a way of complicating everything.

When morning came, I asked to use the bathroom. This was my chance.

But when I opened the bathroom door, he was standing right there in front of me.

In that moment, I thought, I’m not going to make it out alive.

I was escorted back into the room where I had been held captive. What followed was another assault and another attempt to control me through violence.

Then he went for my throat.

My neck was already sore from the strangulation I had endured throughout the night. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. I put up what little resistance I had left, and he squeezed harder.

I truly believed that was the end.

Then, for reasons I still cannot fully explain, his grip loosened.

Just enough.

I wiggled free.

Without thinking, I ran toward the bedroom door.

I glanced back once.

He was on the bed, on his knees.

I opened the door and ran.

I ran through the hallway and into the living room. There was a man and a woman there, along with two little girls who were awake. The front door stood open. The screen door was unlocked.

And I ran.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t care that I had no shoes. I didn’t care that I wasn’t fully clothed. I had already decided that if an opportunity came, I was going to take it.

As I ran down the street, I saw a car coming toward me.

I started waving my arms.

I was screaming.

I was crying.

I ran directly in front of the vehicle.

The woman driving stopped.

She didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t drive away.

She didn’t ignore me.

She stopped.

Somehow, through the fear and shock, I was able to tell her where I lived. She let me in, and drove me home to safety.

During the entire time I was gone, I never knew if I would make it home alive.

There were countless moments when I wanted to run, wanted to ask for help, wanted to fight back. But every scenario ended with the same terrifying question:

What if it doesn’t work?

Fear kept me frozen.

Fear kept me silent.

Fear kept me surviving one moment at a time.

But something was different that morning.

I believe it was God.

I believe it was a quiet voice telling me:

Run.

Now is the time.

Looking back, everything seemed to align.

The bedroom door was unlocked.

The front door was open.

The screen door was unlocked.

The people in the house didn’t stop me.

Unfortunately, the neighborhood was quiet.

But at the exact moment I needed help, a single car came up the road.

A woman I had never met stopped and helped save my life.

For years, I have described that morning as divine intervention.

When I looked back before running, it didn’t seem like he was moving at all. In my mind, I imagined angels holding him back, creating just enough space for me to escape.

Whether others see it that way or not, that is how it felt.

Everything lined up.

Everything.

And I ran.

As I reflect on that morning, I also find myself thinking about the women who helped shape my story.

My mother is a survivor of many traumas, more than any one person should ever have to endure. There was a time when she had a gun held to her head. The gunman asked her if she was afraid to die.

Her answer was simple.

“No.”

Years later, she told me the truth.

She was terrified.

She was shaking on the inside.

But she didn’t let it show.

The entire time, she prayed to Jesus over and over again.

Prayer became her lifeline in a moment when she didn’t know if she would survive.

Perhaps that decision saved her life.

That same night, three people she loved were shot and killed. In the middle of unimaginable fear and chaos, she helped children get to safety.

Then there was Donna.

At just 21 years old, she was driving down a quiet street when she saw a young Black girl running toward her car, barefoot, partially clothed, screaming and crying.

She stopped.

What I didn’t learn until 2023 was that I was being chased.

Donna couldn’t have known exactly what was happening, but she made a split-second decision to help me anyway. In doing so, she may have placed herself in danger.

When I think about courage, I don’t think about people who aren’t afraid.

I think about people like my mother.

I think about people like Donna.

And I think about a fourteen-year-old girl who was terrified but ran anyway.

In spite of how much I’ve grown as a person, a leader, and a human being, I am still afraid.

I’ve spent years wishing that wasn’t true.

I wish I could move through the world without second-guessing people. I wish taking risks felt natural. I wish adventure felt exciting instead of dangerous. I wish trust came easier.

But life experiences have a way of shaping us, and trauma leaves fingerprints long after the moment itself has passed.

At this point in my life, I have learned to acknowledge my fear instead of pretending it isn’t there.

I may always carry some level of it.

That doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t frustrate me. It doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different.

It simply means I accept that healing is not always about eliminating fear. Sometimes healing is learning how to keep moving while fear walks beside you.

That is what I did on June 19, 1993.

I was afraid, but I ran.

My mother was afraid, but she stood firm.

Donna may have been afraid, but she stopped.

The common thread isn’t fearlessness.

It’s courage.

It’s faith.

It’s choosing to move when every part of you wants to stay frozen.

Sometimes the safest choice is to wait.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is survive one more day.

And sometimes, when the moment is right, something deep inside tells you it’s time to move.

You’ll know.

Not because the fear disappears.

But because, for one brief moment, your desire for freedom becomes greater than your fear.

When I feel stuck, trapped in my thoughts, or afraid to take the next step, I think about that moment.

The moment I chose to move despite overwhelming fear.

And I continue to pray, just as my mother did, asking God to help me overcome obstacles, strengthen my faith, and quiet the fears that still try to hold me back.

As I close this chapter, I find myself feeling grateful.

Grateful for another chance.

Grateful for the people who helped save my life.

Grateful for the opportunity to keep growing, healing, and sharing my story.

Life has not been easy. It often feels like there is always another obstacle to overcome, another hurdle to navigate, another fear to face. Some days are harder than others.

But I am still here.

And I never take that for granted.

The truth is that not everyone receives a second chance. Not everyone makes it home. Not everyone gets the opportunity to heal, to grow older, to tell their story, or to discover who they were meant to become.

That reality breaks my heart.

In my heart, I pray for everyone’s safety. I pray for those who are struggling, those who are afraid, those who feel trapped, and those who are searching for a way forward.

And to those who never made it back, to those whose lives were stolen too soon, and to those who did not survive their trauma:

We remember you.

We honor you.

We carry your stories with us.

May we never stop working toward a world where more people make it home safely.

And may we never forget the lives that remind us why that work matters.

Because courage is not the absence of fear.

Sometimes courage is simply hearing the call and taking the next step anyway.