Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes
National Domestic Violence Awareness Month
“October was first declared as National Domestic Violence Awareness Month in 1989. Since then, October has been a time to acknowledge domestic violence survivors and be a voice for its victims. In addition, every year millions of children are exposed to domestic violence.”
Hands trembling, heart racing - I know that this installment is probably one of the most important ones that I will ever write.
Domestic violence is a touchy subject. I’d go out on a limb and say that more than half of the population either has preconceived notions about the “weakness” of the victim or gets hung up on the “monster” abuser. All the while - the actual crisis gets completely ignored and swept under the rug, time and time again.
Prior to experiencing domestic violence myself, I was the girl that could never wrap my brain around why or how a woman could stay with a man who physically assaults her. I would take it a step further and say that I even passed my own judgments on the women who tolerated abuse.
Life has humbled me and yet again I realize: Everything I judge or have judged I either become or am forced to walk through myself.
Let’s take this back to the earliest days of my experience - the very first red flag.
This little beauty right here is the result of a car key to the face. My first encounter with physical abuse was easy to write off:
It was dark in the room, he didn’t mean to hit me in the face.
If I wouldn’t have been so dramatic and started this argument, this never would’ve happened.
He was angry and tossed the keys, he didn’t possibly think it would impale my eye.
And just like that… I had completely dismissed, minimized, and invalidated the severity of my experience.
I lied to my friends, family, hospital staff, and eventually, I believed the lie. I told everyone I tripped and fell, hit the corner of the dresser, and busted my eye.
It wasn’t long before a busted eye turned into a busted lip (by way of “accidentally” hitting me in the face during a freak out)
It wasn’t long before the freak mishaps turned into laying in the fetal position on the floor taking blow after blow while I begged for love, affection, sex, a conversation, anything - literally anything other than the fear of being rejected or abandoned.
The physical aspect of this whole situation I was in, paled in comparison to the mental anguish. The gaslighting, verbal assassination, smear campaigns, all the way down to taking the most intimate parts about me and using them against me - all of it has indefinitely left scars that impact almost every area of my life.
I still find myself giving way to the critical narrative that speaks death over my entire identity. I still question my reality and judgment when it comes to the smallest of situations.
I became a shell of a person - dry bones. I hated everything about myself. I hated the way I reacted to the abuse. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I avoided my family and any friend who tried to get too close, in fear they would see the secret life I was living behind closed doors.
As I watched the video of Gabby Petito, take over national headlines, I felt all kinds of triggered. I saw the way she appeared frazzled, anxious, and almost a little crazy. I watched as Brian seemed calm, cool, collected, and almost likable. I watched as Gabby defended Brian at all costs and blamed her own mental health as the cause of the conflict.
I saw myself.
This is probably the most vulnerable and scariest blog post I’ve ever written, which means it is also going to be one of the most important.
I’m not writing this to shame my abuser or to receive an influx of “I’m so sorry, you’re so strong” responses.
I am writing this for the mother, daughter, sister, friend that is walking through this nightmare - right now - as I type this. I’m writing this for the guy who feels like speaking out about his own experience with domestic violence makes him weak bc “women don’t abuse men”.
I’m writing this for the human who sees no way out.
The one who believes every lie, constructed by fear, within his/her mind. The person who is scared to stay but also scared to leave. This is for the person that cannot even imagine walking through the seemingly insurmountable list of to-dos on their meticulously mapped-out exit strategy.
This is for the person who is afraid to speak up out of fear of being told:
It wasn’t that bad.
That never happened.
You provoked it.
It was just a toxic relationship.
I see you. I hear you. I feel you. I am you.
As we walk in observance through the rest of this month, I challenge all of you to take a step back, identify the areas in which you are playing the judge, put the gavel down, extend some compassion, and listen to the pleas of the men and women in distress.
I promise you, the fear of speaking out against domestic violence is real.
Gabby Petito is 1 out of the 20 people (per minute in the U.S.) who have experienced or are experiencing domestic violence.
You aren’t alone. You are not confined to leave according to the plans mapped out by all of the people in your life who have never walked in your shoes. You are so much more than the identity that has been given to you by your abuser.
There is a way out. You are worth so much more and I promise you, life is so much more beautiful on this side of things.