How did this happen?

I’ve answered the question, “why did you stay” plenty of times. No one ever asks how this happened though. I cannot think of one time when someone asked me how I found myself in that position.

There isn’t a simple answer to that question. It kind of sneaks up on you. You don’t wake up one morning and suddenly decide, “gee, I think I’d like to be in an abusive relationship.” For me, it was a combination of things. I was so insecure, and I was so young, and I just wanted someone to love me more than anything. I wanted someone to love me beyond reason. When we first started dating, he was so very attentive. He couldn’t stand to be away from me for any length of time. It was flattering, it fed into that need I had. That need to be loved, to be wanted.

Really it all goes back to the insecurity though. I was so insecure, even though I didn’t act it, inside I was just a scared kid. Of course, being 18, I could never admit that. I thought that I knew everything, and that if I just worked hard enough, it would work out. I never wanted to be abused, I never wanted to be hurt. I just wanted to be loved. He just didn’t know how to do that.

I could get into why he did it. His reasons, he was abused as a child, his mother was abused by his father and step-father, etc. etc. It doesnt really matter why he did it, it’s all just an excuse. In reality, he wanted someone that he could love in the only way he knew how, to control them. I was an easy target.

I hope someday that I will be able to help other women and girls to not be easy targets. To have enough sense of self and worth that they never wake up one morning with the thought of, “what am I living?”

911 what’s your emergency?

I called 911 once. I was pregnant with B, and D was probably about 8 months old. Once again, an argument had escalated. It ended up with me laying on the bed, D crying in the other room, and him choking me. I remember the feeling, not being able to get any air, thinking that this time he was going to really hurt me, the fear that perhaps I was going to die. I don’t know why he stopped, but he did. I was able to get up, but he grabbed D before I could. I just wanted to leave, and there was no way I was going to leave my baby with him after what he had just done. So I threatened, I said if he didn’t let me have D I was going to call 911. I even dialed it, but I didn’t press talk. He shoved the baby at me, I dropped the phone, grabbed the keys and ran out. I drove around aimlessly trying to figure out what to do for probably an hour. Eventually, I came to the realization, at least in my mind, that I had nowhere else to go. He was probably calmed down, I could go home now, he would be sorry and it would be ok. I was pregnant, with nowhere else to turn, so I thought. So I went back home.

He wasn’t furious anymore, but he wasn’t happy. Apparently in my haste to get out the door, in the process of dropping the phone, somehow I pressed the talk button and it called 911. He hung up, but of course, they sent out a unit anyway. He had told them that it was an accident, and that I would be back soon. They said they would come back by to check with me. When they came back by, I remember how scared I was. I didn’t want hi to get into any trouble, I didn’t want anyone to know what was going on in my house, I was so ashamed. I assured the two officers that I was ok. They stood at the door and talked to me. There was a man and a woman. I wish that they would have taken me outside to talk, where he couldn’t hear. I wonder sometimes if they really knew what happened, if they could see the fading red marks on my neck. There was nothing they could do though, I said he hadn’t hit me. They specifically asked that question, “did he hit you ma’am?” I assured them that he hadn’t and they left. I wonder though sometimes, what would have happened if I said yes, if I had told them exactly what had happened. You can’t go back and change the past, it’s over. Don’t wonder what would have happened, if you are there, don’t wonder, tell someone, before it’s too late…

Million Voices

Check out the National Domestic Violence Hotline’s Million Voices Campagin…

Can you lend your voice?

October

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, here are some statistics from the National Domestic Violence Hotline’s website. Please visit for more information, and to see how you can help, or get help. Please remember, it can happen to anyone…

The Harris Poll 2006

Approximately 8 in 10 (79%) respondents recall “seeing or hearing something” about domestic violence in the past year. Furthermore, 53 percent say that they have heard of the National Domestic Violence Hotline. This percentage increases substantially among those people who admit that they have been victims of domestic violence (71%).

A large majority (85%) agrees that “when a person forces his/her partner to have sex, it is an act of domestic violence.”

An 85% majority also agrees that “a man or woman who abuses his/her partner is more likely to also abuse children.”

Approximately 33 million (1) or 15% of all U.S. adults, admit that they were a victim of domestic violence. Furthermore, 6 in 10 adults claim that they know someone personally who has experienced domestic violence.

Among all adults, 39% say that they have experienced at least one of the following, with 54% saying that they haven’t experienced any:
Called bad names (31%)
Pushing, slapping, choking or hitting (21%)
Public humiliation (19%)
Keeping away from friends or family (13%)
Threatening your family (10%)
Forcing you to have sexual intercourse without consent (9%)

1. Based on July 2005 U.S. Census estimate released January 2006 (223,000,000 total U.S. adults aged 18 or over).

Out Loud

I am a survivor of domestic violence. I was a battered woman. I survived, but more than that, I have thrived, in spite of, and possibly in some ways because of what I went through. Those are such hard things to say out loud, yet I have to. I need to give them voice, to let them out. Let it be known that anyone can fall victim to this epidemic. The first time I said it out loud was the day I left. I still remember that so clearly. I remember being on the phone, I don’t remember what all was being said, but I knew, when I got home and he got home, it was going to be ugly.

It was Father’s Day weekend 2001. My ex had to work, so he was already in a foul mood. I went out of town to take the kids and visit my dad. It was about a 2 hour drive away, so we had stayed Saturday night with my mom. We were going to get up Sunday morning and go see Daddy, then head back to Houston. He wasn’t happy about this. Why should my dad get to see me and the kids when he had to be at work. The whole world revolved around him you see. But we had gone, and Sunday morning about 8:00 he called my mom’s house, demanding to know why we were still there, why hadn’t we gone to my dad’s yet, just really angry at me. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do. I remember crying, and I remember when we hung up I was in the laundry room. My mom was there, and I believe my sister and my brother-in-law were standing there with me. I was crying so hard, and I looked at my mommy and said, “I don’t know what to do”, she replied that whatever I decided, she would help me, and I said, “I want to go back to the first time he hit me and make it all go away!” I cried out with so much pain, all the instances of abuse that I could remember, saying I wanted them to all go away. That was the first time I had ever spoken it aloud. I’ve said it several times now, that I am a survivor of domestic violence, that I was a battered wife, all those things, but I will never forget the feeling of saying it the first time. That fear that no one would believe me, or that they would blame me, and the relief that came when my mother wrapped me in her arms and said, “Oh baby, I love you.”

Forgiveness…

My wonderful cousin has been posting selections from her daily Bible reading as bulletins on myspace. This was her offering today. It really struck a chord in my spirit…

Colossians 3:12-15 (New Living Translation)

12 Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. 13 Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. 14 Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony. 15 And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts. For as members of one body you are called to live in peace. And always be thankful.

If you are one of my good friends, you know how I have been struggling, for quite some time now, with forgiveness. I think it’s something that as humans, we all struggle with. Why should I forgive someone who hurt me? Especially when it was intentional, or malicious. Especially if it’s someone who is supposed to care for me, or especially if it is someone who doesn’t know me at all. These verses though, they sum it all up so simply. We must forgive, because we are forgiven, we must love and live in peace, no matter how they have hurt us. We must also be thankful, even for those hurts, those things and people who crushed us, so bad. Those things are what made us who we are. The things I have gone through, the things that my family will struggle with going forward with B’s disorder, I need to be thankful for it. Even though it seems horrible, and painful. It is making us grow closer and closer to God day by day. I am having to learn to rely on His mercy, healing, love and forgiveness to hold me up. Each morning as I wake up, I need to stop thinking of all the bad things, and focus instead on what is good. Letting go of the past. I cannot change it.

So, that said, I forgive you. You know who you are, and you know what you have done. I forgive you for the pain you brought me. I forgive you for not loving me how God wanted me to be loved. I forgive you for so much. I let go of injustices, whether real or perceived. I am letting go of anger and desire for justice. I give it to God, and will let Him deal with it. I think I am probably going to have to say this daily for a while, but that’s ok too. I am human, and I need to remember that as well. I strive to be like Christ, but I cannot be Him. I will let go daily of my despair and hurt. I will daily give it over to my Lord and let Him take care of it for me.

One last thing, if I have caused you pain, I ask that you forgive me also. Remembering that we are all human, and all make mistakes.

in Him,
Trish

Why…

Why did I stay? I have asked myself that so many times. I’m still learning, still discovering little reasons, still dealing with why and how it all happened. Every person is different, and until you find yourself in that situation, you don’t know how you will react. I would have told you that no man would EVER hit me. I deserved better than that, etc. etc. Then, one day I realized what my life had become.

I think the main reason though, was because for as long as I can remember, I yearned for someone to love me. The unending, fairy tale kind of love. The kind where there is passion and fire. Where you feel like you can’t breathe without that person right there, the “you complete me” kind of love. It was like there was this gaping hole in my heart just searching for someone to fill it.

I was so moved by how he was so present in my life, from the moment he set foot into it. He was always right there. He needed me. He needed to know where I was all the time, because he cared so much. He fit all the requirements in my 18 year old head. He was older (more experienced & not so juvenile as the guys I knew from high school), he had a good job, a good car, an apartment of his own. He told these great stories about his life before, when he lived in LA, he knew this band and that actor. His *uncle* was a very well known and respected person in the state we lived in. I was floored, how could someone like this, fall in love with me? I was just some little girl, and yet, here he was, and he couldn’t imagine being away from me for one minute of the day. What more could I ask for?

The abuse starts out slow. It starts with small things, like, “gosh, how can you be so stupid” and escalates until the next thing you know nothing you do is right, and the world is crashing around you. At that point, there were so many reasons to stay. I was lied to, deceived, made to believe that it was all my fault, and that no one else would want me. I was LUCKY to have him. He was successful, handsome, wonderful, a hard worker, he took care of me. No one else would do that. No one else would put up with me. What would I do, go back to work at an ice cream store? How would I support myself doing that? Then there were the kids, how could I take care of them, I couldn’t even take care of myself. I was just a little girl and I needed to grow up and be a woman. If I would just be a woman and do the right things, he wouldn’t get so mad.

He was always sorry too. That is the thing, they are always sorry. They will never do it again. For a while, after each incident, he would actually even admit that he was wrong. Slowly though, each time, it turned back around to what I did wrong to provoke him. Even now, I still wonder sometimes if there was something I could have done differently to prevent the violence. I know that the violence was not my fault. I know that how he reacted to whatever situation he was in was his choice, not mine. I could not and cannot control his reactions and his choices. That is now though. When you are in that situation, it’s different.

Control, blaming the victim, fear of what would happen if I tried to leave, I had no money. All our accounts were in his name. In fact, when I left, I had $10.00 cash in my pocket. When I applied for food stamps, the clerk at the office made the comment that if her husband tried that she’d send him packing. I smiled and nodded, but inside, I was crying, it was one more thing that pointed to him being right, it was something with me that caused this. Other people wouldn’t have *allowed* it to happen, so it had to be my fault.

I was completely dependent on him. I would work, but when I had problems at work, as most people do, he would encourage me to just quit. He would take care of me. I didn’t need to deal with all that. I was a homemaker. My husband was our provider. That was so romantic to me. It was traditional, it was what I had always wanted. To be cared for, protected, cherished. So when the bad things would happen, I would remind myself that he was under so much stress, because I couldn’t hold a job, so he was the sole provider for our family. I needed to be more understanding, and more concerned with him. After all, I just got to stay home all the time and do nothing…

There were times when he would tell me that I was his savior. He didn’t know what would have happened to him without me in his life. It was up to me to keep him sane, to keep him grounded. He needed me to make him a better man.

Slowly, I was alienated from friends and family. Friends would say something about the way he talked or acted, and of course, they had to go. They didn’t understand, and how dare they judge us. They didn’t know what our life was like, what a good provider he was, how good he took care of me and the kids. They didn’t know what I put him through on a daily basis, how he struggled, how much he wanted to be a good dad and husband. He never *meant* to hurt me. He didn’t try to hurt me. I realized though, love isn’t when you don’t’ try to hurt someone, love is when you try not to hurt someone…

I didn’t want to be a failure either. Everyone in my family had been divorced. I wanted to be the one who wasn’t. I wanted to stick it out. He used that too. There were times when he would say to me, “what, are you going to leave, be a loser & quitter just like the rest of your family?” That stung. It always stung more when he used things I had admitted to him in love to turn around and hurt me. I think I remember those types of things more than the others.

So I stayed, for almost 10 years. I’m still learning why I stayed. Why any woman stays in a relationship like that is a mystery, to everyone, even to her. One thing I can tell you though, is that no woman stays because she wants to be treated like that. It is denial, it is dependence, it is fear of what life is like outside this one, ultimately, it is the fact that they are being controlled on some level or another, emotionally, financially, physically, spiritually, etc. that keeps a person in an abusive relationship.

There is a wonderful poem I found online, written by a survivor named Kath. It is called “Why do we stay?”. You can read it, as well as other poems by Kath and other survivors here…

http://wadv.org/poetry.htm

Their words, our words, are healing, for us, and hopefully for others…

Pepper Spray

I used to have one of those pepper spray key chains. You know, the kind that they sell at survival stores and self defense classes. They don’t protect you, but give you that extra time if you need it to get away. I worked odd hours, sometimes until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning at a casino. I felt safer having that in my hand as I walked through the parking garage to my car. I got it *just in case*, you know, just in case you get attacked, just in case you get mugged, just in case someone tries to carjack you. I never expected to actually use it though.

We got into a fight one night, again, no clue what about. I remember that I was trying to keep it from getting physical though. So I grabbed my keys & purse, and was going to leave. I don’t know where I was going, but I thought if I could just get out. When I got to the door, he shoved me, told me to get the f*** out. When I fell out the door, I turned so I didn’t land on my face, and he then kicked me in the stomach. I swear I thought I was going to die. It knocked the wind out of me. I struggled to get up. He had slammed the door, so I thought it was over. As I slowly got up, the door came open. I had my keys in my hand, and I ran to the car. We lived in an apartment, and our assigned parking spot was right outside our door thankfully. I got to the car and got it open just as he caught me. He grabbed my arm, I panicked. I didn’t know what he would do if he pulled me out of the car, but I knew that it would be bad. I could already feel the bruise on my stomach where he had kicked me. In some moment of clarity, I remembered the pepper spray. I wasn’t sure it would work. After all, the people who sold it said that it might not work on an enraged or deranged person, but I was desperate. Somehow, I managed to get the flap open. He still had a hold of me. Those little pepper sprays have this great safety catch, so that you can’t accidentally set it off in your purse and zap yourself with it. The store where I bought it had instructed me on how to release the safety one handed, so that if you were struggling with an attacker you could still open it. It worked. As I felt the guard slide around and realized that it was open, I pressed, hard. He screamed and let go. I slammed the door, locked it, started the car and backed out. I remember seeing him in the mirror as I drove away, terrified. I knew how angry he would be, and I couldn’t imagine what I should do next.

I ended up at his mother’s house. I didn’t know where else to go. When I told her what had happened, she was furious. They promised not to let him in. He called, they told him to leave me alone. He called again, and again. Eventually, he stopped being angry, and was sorry. He cried, he didn’t know why he did it. He was so wrong to hurt me. He was sorry. He just needed me, he just needed to know when I was coming home, he couldn’t live without me. Why was I doing this to him, hurting him so bad? Eventually, I talked to him on the phone. Then, I went back. I was ashamed of myself. I had humiliated him with his family by going to them. How could I have done that to him? How could I think he would have really hurt me. He loved me, I was his savior, the only one who understood him. The only one who would never leave him. So I went home. About 3 or 4 weeks later the bruising on my stomach finally healed completely.

Mission to Mars

When I left, besides clothes and some toys for the kids, I took two things. I took my Precious Moments collection, because I knew that he would destroy them when he got home and I was gone, and I took my computer. It was my lifeline and I also knew that he would have taken a baseball bat to it as well. He had told me as much.

In 2000 we got our first computer. I had worked at A&M while I was pregnant with A and discovered the internet. Wow, I was enthralled! After she was born, I was back to staying home, and we decided that it would be good to have a computer. So, we bought an HP computer at wal-mart. We put it on lay-a-way and when we picked it up, I was so excited! I’ve always liked computers, and now I had one of my own! From the beginning, it was my computer.

We got online, dial-up, with at&t. I was so excited! I had an e-mail address. Excuse me, WE had an e-mail address. One e-mail, after all he said, why did I need one separate from him, was I hiding something? Of course not, so *we* decided together that one e-mail was all we needed. Anyway, we were living about 100 miles from all my family, he was working as a truck driver gone 3 or so days at a time, and I had this wonderful machine. I discovered usenet! At first, when I opened outlook express the first time and it asked about newsreaders, I thought, “oh, that’s neat, I can get the newspaper in my e-mail, how nifty!” Then I slowly discovered what it was. I found a haven, alt.mothers. It was this group of mothers who posted about all things relating to motherhood and mothering and mothers. I loved it. One day though, this *place* changed. Trolls, nasty little people who post arguments and nasty ugly things trying to get people to fight appeared and invaded our little place. We tried fighting back, but that didn’t work. So, someone suggested we should all just leave. If there was no one to post to, and no one replied, then the trolls would leave. So we did.

Someone, I forget who exactly, and I apologize if it was you, set up a message board somewhere and our happy little group posted there for a while. The joke was that since we had just abandoned the usenet group, we were all going to Mars, and Marsmoms was born. Once things settled back down, several moms left and went back to alt.mothers. There were about 20 or so of us who stayed though. We set up a yahoo group to send our messages. It was this wonderful amazing thing that happened! A few more left, but there was still probably 15 or so of us there. We developed friendships, love for one another, and this amazing thing was happening to me, I was discovering that I had worth, that people did like me, and that I wasn’t just this loser with no education who would never be anything without this hurtful man to take care of me. More people left, some of us had babies. Some of us got degrees, some of us got jobs. We had problems and hurts, and we all cared for each other. It meant so much to me to be able to log onto yahoo messenger at any given time and know I had a friend there to talk to. I learned how to properly say “Crikey” and what it means, I had late night chat sessions with friends in Canada, England, Australia, Hawaii, all over the US. These women cared about me. When I hurt, they listened. One of the Marsmoms was having problems with CPS and another one came to her rescue, she contacted a housekeeping service in the town where she lived, and had them come clean her house.

During this time, he slowly realized that these women were really becoming friends. He tried to alienate me from them. He would read the e-mails and interrogate me, what does this mean, what does that mean? Why are you chatting with that one more than the others, are you having an affair with her? He would tell me that he should just throw out the computer, I was becoming a different person and he should just bash the computer with a bat. Do you really think they would like you if they *knew* the real you? What he didn’t know was that they did know the real me. For some reason, I shared everything with these women from the beginning. I told them things that troubled me, that hurt me, that I was scared about, at first, I expected them to ostracize me. To reject me and say, “we don’t want you here, you are a lousy person.” They didn’t though. They hugged me (virtually of course), they loved me, and all that time, they were slowly helping me to realize that what I was living was not what I deserved. That I was/am a good person, and I deserve happiness and peace.

One night, a Marsmom posted a picture of herself with a black eye. Her husband had punched her in the face. She kicked him out. I was amazed. I never would have thought that one of my friends could possibly be living the same horror I was. She & I talked, and I told her that I truly understood what she was living. Eventually, she let him come home, and after that, she drifted away from Mars. I was sad. I started reading about domestic violence. I learned that most women will leave 7 or 8 times before they make a final break. I still had not told everyone about my biggest secret. The fact that I was living a nightmare. I soaked up the love from these women though. These sisters who loved me for me, because I was and am always honest with them. I never hid myself from them. They are the first *true* friends I have ever had.

After one fight with him, and this was very close to the time I left, I remember posting something to the effect of how do you know when you have had enough and can’t go on? I was referring to my marriage, but I still remember the frantic phone call from one Marsmom asking if I was ok. She read my message and thought I was suicidal. She was terrified that she was to late, that I had done something. Shortly after that, I left. Those wonderful women gave me the courage to do the right thing for myself, and for my children.

When I was living with my family, I didn’t have internet access at home, I went to the public library to post to mars. I got phone calls from them all the time. Cards in the mail. They even took up a collection and sent me gift cards to do something fun with the kids. I don’t know if they will ever know how much their friendship means to me. They TRULY saved my life, because I have no doubt, if they had not come into my life and helped me realize my worth, I would not have left, at least not until I was in a body bag.

Another First

Something a little more positive tonight. The first time I realized I wasn’t alone. After I left, I was seeing a counselor at the local women’s shelter. Fortunately, I did not need to stay there, my family was there for me. Many women don’t have family to turn to though, and women’s shelters provide a place to live for them. For those of us who had a roof, they provide other services though, counseling, support, help with childcare, finding a job, etc.

They helped the kids and I with counseling services. All four of us received individual counseling, as well as a support group that I participated in as well. One night, one of the counselors who was facilitating the group opened up by reading the first part of a book, “I Closed My Eyes: Revelations of a Battered Woman” by Michele Weldon. Before the speaker was finished, I was in tears. This woman, she was telling my story, what she said, what she felt, what her batterer said and did, it was my life. I was stunned. I thought up until that point that I was alone. I believed him when he had told me that it was my fault, that I was to blame. Yet, how could that be, when here was another woman, in the same situation, telling the same story. Who believed the same lies that it was her fault, that somehow, she could hang on and eventually it would get better?

How many others are out there? How many other women are believing those lies? Are lying in bed, nursing a black eye, bruised jaw, crushed spirit, or any of the hundreds of physical injuries? With crushed spirits and empty hearts, just trying to survive, believing that if they can only do just this one thing right, then it will all be better? I am not alone, I have sisters out there, in this *sorority* of sorts, we didn’t choose it, who would? We didn’t ask for it, we didn’t enjoy it, we didn’t do anything to bring it on ourselves, but each day, struggle to make sense of the life we have found ourselves in, and hold onto anything that can bring just one shred of hope. That maybe, just maybe this time it won’t be so bad. It doesn’t get any better. Each instance is worse than the last, it escalates that way. There is a pattern, a cycle of abuse, how does the cycle end, when does the cycle end??? I don’t know, but I do know now that I am not alone, I never was. There are other women out there, just like me. I am NOT alone, and I never was…