June: Thirty-three years later, June still speaks to me. Reflections on innocence, betrayal, and resilience.

The entire month of June is a trigger for me.

At the beginning of the month, I reflect on what it felt like to finish up my eighth-grade year and how anxious I was about becoming a ninth grader. I remember being excited about sleeping in and the possibility of hanging out with my friends. The carnival was in town, and I remember going and having a great time. I remember the warmth of that summer night.

I was a shy, socially awkward teenager, a bit of a recluse who struggled with self-esteem issues. I loved reading, writing, sleeping, journaling, and talking on the phone. Looking back, I think about how innocent and unaware I was of what was about to happen.

June 7th stands out in my mind for some reason. I’m not sure if that was the last day of school or the day that my friends and I had gone to the carnival. Carnivals and fairs are a trigger, not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that reminds me of the innocence that existed before my trauma. They remind me of a time when life still felt simple and safe.

I was unaware of the danger that was looming in the days ahead, unaware of the betrayal that would occur by someone my mom and I knew and trusted. That betrayal would almost cost me my life, and it is something that will stay with me forever. It is the reason why I have trust issues and why it takes me a while to bounce back if someone I trust does something to hurt me. When trust is broken, it often feels bigger than the moment itself because it echoes something I experienced long ago.

I used to fear June 18th. As a teen, it was much worse, and unfortunately, I carried this fear into adulthood. My depression and anxiety would worsen around this time of year. I would request the 18th and 19th off from work, stay indoors, refrain from driving or traveling, and have severe catastrophic thoughts about terrible things happening to myself or my loved ones. I had already lost a beloved cousin that morning. Years later, I would discover that another relative had been murdered that day.

I felt protected if I stayed at home or in my room, not realizing how irrational that was because I was in the comfort of our home the night that I was abducted. Trauma has a way of convincing us that we can somehow prevent the past from repeating itself if we are careful enough.

Eventually, I would learn how to cope.

I found ways to ground myself, and eventually these dates began to take on a different meaning. Instead of a day of fear, June 19th would become my Freedom Day because that was the day I escaped. Rather than focusing solely on what happened to me, I began focusing on the fact that I survived.

June 21st would be the day that my mom and I could finally rest, knowing that this person had finally been captured and was in police custody. It is also the day that my story would first debut in the newspaper. I was the “14-year-old girl,” or simply “the girl,” and my mother was the woman who, at 10:48 p.m., reported that her house had been burglarized and that her daughter was missing.

When I think about that now, it is strange how quickly a person can become a headline or a news story. One moment, I was a teenager looking forward to summer vacation. The next, I was the missing girl people were reading about in the newspaper.

June is a reminder that anything can happen, and it can happen when you least expect it. People you think care about you can change in the blink of an eye. The people you think you know, perhaps you really don’t know them at all.

It is a month that changed my life forever.

However, with each passing year, I am able to celebrate the fact that I survived the unthinkable. While June will probably always carry difficult memories, it also carries reminders of resilience, survival, and freedom.

Today, even though I still struggle at times, I decided that I would go ahead and be off from the 18th through the 21st just to allow myself time to feel and decompress. I no longer see that as weakness. I see it as honoring my journey and giving myself the space I need during a significant time of year.

But today, I feel confident enough to say that I have been able to set myself free by sharing my story and helping others do the same. For years, I carried so much of this by myself. Telling my story has helped me reclaim pieces of myself that trauma tried to take away.

My name is LaDonna, and I am a survivor. I was missing and was able to escape on June 19, 1993.

Every year, June reminds me of what happened. But it also reminds me that I am still here.