I love being with my family and taking a break from work, but for me, heading home at the start of the holiday season often brings a negative vibe from the resonating past that is hard to ignore.

On the biggest bar night of the year -- the Wednesday before Thanksgiving Day -- my childhood friends and I meet up at a local drinking establishment.

Being that I'm from a small town, I inevitably run into many people from my youth, including my high school boyfriend.

Considering my family and friends refer to him as "evil," you're likely to catch me on the opposite end of the bar.

Now, I'm not one to dwell on the past, and I often question people who blame current problems on past predicaments. But no matter how I try to rationalize, there are some events that stick with me that I would rather leave behind.

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When it comes to high school, mixed with all the great experiences and great friends, there is the memory of the first time my first love hit me -- not with sunshine and rainbows, but with his fist.

I was young. He was young and young people make mistakes, allowing unruly hormones to get the "best" of them. But I can't forget the times I thought I wasn't going to be able to fight him off, the times that his dog watched as I cried and struggled, the times that my fear became too much to bear.

I knew that his need to "punish" me because he couldn't control me, because he was insecure and unfeeling, was wrong. But it never became less scary or disturbing and even now remains hard to believe.

For so long, I blamed myself for not getting out sooner, for giving in to his apologies, for being so naïve to think I could help him.

To top it off, no one seemed to notice, making it seem more logical to keep my pain hidden. There were no bruises. And I never wanted to be a victim, never wanted to have a problem.

Gradually I came to accept that I was too young to handle the situation that even adults struggle with. To this day, I find it maddening that others allow it to happen even though I may understand.

Some may say it was too long ago to matter at this point, and maybe that is true. But when someone you love hurts you, physically or emotionally, it is hard to repair the damage so quickly. And when it is the first big relationship, no matter how young or temporary, it can lay a disastrous foundation for future romance.

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In the past I have wanted to protect him, and maybe I am still am now by not using his name. I have heard he has moved on, has plans to marry. But it's not about him anymore.

It's about me, and this is my story. I fell in love when I was young with someone whose bad heart took hold of my good heart for a moment in time. It wasn't all terrible, but it was unnecessarily painful.

All relationships have their hard times, but love isn't supposed to hurt so much.

I am not a victim. Never have been, never will allow myself to be. And I don't want revenge because that's something he would do, not me.

I don't claim to know the best way to deal with abusive relationships, I'll leave that to the professionals. I only know what I did to get over it. More than anything, it took time, talking to caring friends, and finding new and healthy love -- and more time.

It is often hard to find the good in a bad situation, especially this one. But I cannot deny the strength and patience I have developed. I don't hurt anymore. I don't resent anymore. And I would never let anyone abuse me. My story no longer has room for a villain, and I am thankful for that.

So this year, I'm taking back Thanksgiving, casting off the dead weight of pain and resentment and reclaiming my good memories of those days in that small town.

Sometimes the only way to hit back is to move on.

Laura Lewis is an adventurous 20-something who knows how to make the most of being single. Her column appears every other Thursday.