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.”

I know…

that this is probably getting old for you. I guess I’ve needed to put these things into words for a long time. This is a way for me to do that. Hopefully, someone will read this, and maybe it will help them realize that the situation they are in is not their fault, and that they are not to blame.

It wasn’t always horrible. There were ok times, and there were good times, but most of the time, I was surviving. Especially towards the end. I felt as if I was walking on egg shells most of the time. Never knowing when something I said or did would push him over that edge. I told you about the first time he physically hurt me. Let me tell you about the last.

Once again, I don’t remember what the argument was about. At this point, I was coming to realize that my marriage was abusive, that I was what they called a “battered woman”. I hated that term. I still do in a way. I am more than that, I was more than that. I hadn’t reached out for help yet, but I was close. It was Memorial Day, 2000. My family has a tradition, we all get together and go camping every Memorial Day weekend. He was off that weekend, and so we had gone camping with my family. We had to come home on Sunday though because he had to work Monday night, and he didn’t want to have to come home, unload from the lake, then pack up to go drive for three days. Anyway, Monday morning, something happened, we argued. I remember the kids were in their rooms playing. They were 4, 3 & 1 at the time. When it started to get physical, I was trying to get past him to go to the bedroom. I could get in there and hide in the bathroom. I did that a lot. It was one of the only places where there was a lock. He wouldn’t let me by. He pushed, I pushed back. That was it. I don’t remember all the details. I remember him yelling, saying horrible things. Then he punched me, in the face. I hit the floor. He isn’t a big guy, but he’s strong, and it floored me. I don’t think I lost consciousness, but I don’t know. The next thing I remember was crawling on the floor to get away from him. I could hear the kids crying, and I was telling him to stop. Not to do that in front of the kids. I got to the corner of the dining room behind the table, and I remember looking up at him. He was holding one of the dining room chairs over his head, and then I looked down, and I can remember seeing the kids standing behind him, crying. All three of them. I guess he heard them, I don’t know. I just know that he put the chair down and left.

When he came home, a couple of hours later, the bruise was starting. It wasn’t horrible yet, but it was starting. He had gone to get a haircut, and while he was there, he paid for me to get my hair cut & colored. Wasn’t that nice?