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Story
From a survivor
🇺🇸

Breaking Free: Escaping a Narcissist's Grip

Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
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    #830

    My life should have been a life of happiness and peace, but oooh how the tables turned. I was an easy going, fun loving, creative, individual who has talents beyond my time. For the most part my life was lived as a typical middle class, every day average Jane. Who had dreams that were all reachable. It started at the age 25, where I met a handsome man that in my eyes was every woman's dream. But ooh my, my I didn't know this was the beginning of a very harsh reality check and the beginning of major changes in my life. We had a quick and fast romance story, fell in love, out of love an in love again. He was my rock and I was his motivating force, until he changed totally on me and became a habitual cheater. His cheating lasted for many years and he eventually met a faith that he too thought, he was untouchable. But being who he was and how care-free he was in his cheating activities, this faith wouldn't have passed him. The sudden faith that landed him to contact a std, to which no one ever wants. But I on the other hand was living my dream of having a husband and kids, with taking care of all their needs an leaving myself undone. Yes you may have an idea so far where this story is going, but I didn't know I would become a victim to my husband. He had the most perfect plan with the cruelest intention. Lets go back a little, yes I was acting like a wife but I was just living in a common- law situation. To which his plans was perfectly executed, he knew, I had little knowledge about his "outside activities " and my greatest desire at the time was to be his wife. And that was his perfect plan to get me, he would avoid being in d same home, or country with me. Often repeatedly saying he's coming on our wedding day, in which I would smile and think nothing of it. I took us roughly 1 week to organize everything, too have a quick and fast wedding. Me not knowing that in my tries of joy there would be sadness on d corner. I got married..had a beautiful harmonious day, fun after fun. Till one day I began feel strange and had to be taken to the doctor, in which multiple test was done. Everything came out ok, but this one result hit me on my chest hard, as if I was out in the rain being hit on my chest repeatedly. I sat in that room alone to my right nothing or no one and to the left nothing or no one, the doctor that stood in front of me became invisible. But my husband was gone again, back to keep away from home and the country of which we stayed. Every little piece of his actions from the most biggest to the smallest came flooding in my head as one slide to the next and it all became clear. I ran out of the room in tears to hide and called him, as he heard me he began to cry and repeatedly say sorry, sorry, sorry. But this man wasn't totally sorry he told me he's going to book a flight an he would be on his way. He came, he hold me, I asked questions he answered, but my biggest shock was when I heard these words, "I didn't want to lose you". His logic for making me his victim was justified with not losing me, my life was weighted on not losing me. The deed was done and I became the walk over troll, I felt as a prisoner in head, life, body and to him. The cheating continued, I tried to protect others,but he would make me seem to be bitter and a liar. I had became a victim to multi forms of abuse, he made a baby outside of the marriage an my kids became as nothing to him as I was. I got verbally abused by his newly baby mother and often called a liar when I tried to warn her, but in all I served.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Healing to me is not hiding away what happened to me.

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  • You are surviving and that is enough.

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Prisoner of War- Cat's Story

    The day I ran from my abuser, I felt an intense urge to turn the car around. My sister’s voice kept replaying through my head. “Catherine, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look at your phone. Don’t stop.” For five years, I had been raped, beaten, brainwashed, stripped of my identity and isolated from my family and friends. I knew if I turned that car around, I wouldn’t survive. At first, I couldn’t do anything for myself. My sister had to remind me to brush my teeth, bathe and eat. My abuser had controlled everything, and I mean everything. From what and how much I ate to what I wore, how I spoke, and who I spoke to. I didn’t know how to live outside of him and his needs. For years, I had been operating in survival mode. Everything had centered around him, what he expected from me and what would set him off. I was constantly walking on eggshells. The day I escaped, he told me I was pregnant. The only birth control allowed was the pull-out method. Rape is a hard word for me, because I think of it as being physically held down. But he had psychological control over me. I had no agency or choice. I was to abide by his rules or there would be repercussions. Although pregnancy may have been physically impossible because my weight was around 90 pounds, I was still terrified. I was in the South. If I were pregnant, there would be little to no abortion access. Luckily, I was able to get the Plan B pill within 72 hours. In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with HPV. My abuser had prohibited me from getting health insurance and health care. The domestic violence hotline gave me resources for health care in my sister’s area, a small town in Georgia. None of these resources would take me because I didn’t have health insurance. The only one who agreed to see me was the health department; they only tested for certain STDs and did not perform gynecological exams. Like many women who have been in my situation, I felt lost. I knew I would be going back home to New Orleans for the holidays. Fortunately, I was able to schedule an exam with Planned Parenthood. They were sensitive to my situation and provided me with information and options. Most importantly, the staff treated me like a person. Since I left, my life has gotten much better, but I’m still on edge. Daily, I have traumatic flashbacks and second-guess and dissect most things.. With holistic therapeutic modalities, I’m healing. The only time the police were called was for me to escape. I had told my abuser I was leaving. He held me hostage in a hotel room for a couple of hours to keep me from leaving. I was able to get out once the police arrived. A year and half after my escape, I called to look into pressing charges. The police had never written a report. There was only documentation of the phone call and the time they arrived and left. They told me to file my own report, which at the time of the incident I didn't know about. So, I filed my report. When I spoke to an investigator, he questioned me on why I was looking at filing charges over a year later. I told him that I had dealt with intense trauma where I couldn't even eat and bathe without being told to do so. He said that it was too late, I. didn't have enough evidence, and it would go no where. And when I called back to at least get the report I filed, the woman was dismissive. And they had NO REPORT. Why would I go through a system that enables, ridicules, and disempowers victims? I am still healing and getting back on my feet, and because of this treatment from the very department that is suppose to have my back, I have decided to put it to bed. For now, my focus is on speaking up and helping other survivors.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Name, The loser

    My Domestic Violence Abuse began when I was five years old and continued until this last May. In my first Foster Home, I would be locked in my room at night with a lock on the outside of the door. I would have to drink my own urine if thirsty out of a chitterling bucket. I had my meals in the basement and made to lean against the oven if disobedient. Being hit in the eye with a belt buckle for trying on her makeup was just the tip of the iceberg. The second Foster Home was just as bad. I begged the Social Worker not to send me there because even at the age of eight, I knew that the Father was a creep. But, of course, I was forced to live there anyway and by the age of ten, he raped me. Fast forward to 2012 when I met Name of Serial Killer. After dating him for two weeks, I told him that unfortunately, I didn’t think a Relationship would work because he idolized Name (another Serial Killer). He walked over to his drawer, pulled out a 357’ magnum, and asked me if I were ready to die. Fortunately, my Faith in God saved my life because instead of being terrified, I was angry and asked him if he had lost his mind and demanded that he get that gun out of my damn face!! The next time I saw him was on the News in handcuffs after Authorities found the bodies of the victims he murdered. This past May, I finally found the courage to leave my abuser after 8 years. He pulled out a gun on me and my two Autistic Adult Children. I was ugly, fat, deserved to not have Parents or a Family. My children were demons and retards. Although my children and I are finally in a Home after living in a Roach infested Hotel for four months, we’re suffering financially. Sleeping on deflated air mattresses and an old couch. I find myself wanting to contact my Abuser because at least when we were with him, we had nice clothes, furniture, and an abundance of food. I’m extremely depressed and confused right now.

    Dear reader, the following story contains explicit use of homophobic, racist, sexist, or other derogatory language that may be distressing and offensive.

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  • “It can be really difficult to ask for help when you are struggling. Healing is a huge weight to bear, but you do not need to bear it on your own.”

    “You are not broken; you are not disgusting or unworthy; you are not unlovable; you are wonderful, strong, and worthy.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    a light in the dark

    I've been on this road to healing for a very long time. I was with a man that at first was my friend, we were together for 4.5 years. In the beginning things seemed okay. We shared our dreams and I started college. I expressly told him I was there on a scholarship and would only be focusing on school and would come back down on the weekends. Once I started my first semester I should've paid more attention to all the red flags. He would text me and call me at all hours. He'd Skype me any time I had 5 minutes of a break. Mind you I was a naval cadet at my school so I didn't get many breaks especially with classes that were 4 hours long. I eventually started having panic attacks from his constant berating and checking that I wasn't doing anything I wasn't supposed to be doing like cheating. Eventually I had to drop out of being a cadet to being a commuter student which meant being home with him after classes and waking up extra early just to get to class on time. It was even more difficult for me because of his obsessive gaming habit of playing video games until 3 am which is the time I had to be up to get ready for my first morning classes. Eventually I started losing sleep and my grades started slipping. I had to drop out of college for a while to make things easier on myself. I ended up giving up on my dream of being a marine biologist and naval cadet to be with this man. A man that had no job no GED no future. But he would constantly promise that things would get better. At this point I had two jobs just to keep us afloat, and feeding his habits. But little did I know he was selling my stuff on top of everything and the little money I was saving for myself he stole and started using for his habit as well. I switched majors two more times after that and finally stuck to psychology without telling him my final major, just that I wanted to finish school. But it was difficult juggling school and two jobs but I had to because I wasn't allowed to go back to my family ( I had a difficult relationship with them at the time). Because of all the long hours and night courses I was taking, the man I was with started to suspect me of cheating and would constantly fight me at all hours and would start ripping apart my bags and looking through my phone and laptop just to see if he could find any evidence. He'd berate me to his friends and anyone that would listen. I started getting back into my drug habit, which I had previously given up, due to his increasing behavior. he would always put me down calling me a whore a slut a bitch that didn't know how to do anything. Mind you I was the one with the job, but id have to come home to cook to clean to take care of his mess when he was the one home 24/7. When I would try to help him get set up with GED courses or a job he would say things like "I don't need a GED I'm smarter than anyone with a degree" or "why do I need your help when I can do any and everything myself and better". By the time I started working at the Y, I couldn't speak to or see my family or friends. At the same time my beloved grandfather, the man who raised me, was diagnosed with stage 2 pancreatic cancer. I was extremely close to him and when I expressed my fears to my partner's family his sisters and his mother were always so kind to me and always supported me. But he immediately would say I deserved all the pain and suffering and that I shouldn't cry because only good people deserve to feel sad. He'd say I was the scum of the earth and didn't deserve happiness. I'd start sneaking out after work just to see and tend to my grandfather. Id go on days when classes were canceled or when I didn't have work and accompany him to chemo sessions. I would move my schedules around just to spend time with him. But my ex had a friend that worked at the same Y I did, and she started telling him what I was doing thinking she was helping me. Instead he took this as continued disrespect and started beating me daily. I started wearing longer sleeves and thicker clothes and makeup just to cover the bruises up. (Because of this I started developing a love for movie makeup which helped my later investment in my Dad's film company.) I started making friends again and they noticed the clothes especially in the summers and I would just say that it would be inappropriate to subject the children to the tattoos that I have. But eventually they started catching on and one day I slipped because I came in after taking my grandfather to chemo and didn't have time to fix the makeup on my neck. I was able to fix it before my site director or any of the parents noticed. My partner started to force himself on me sexually after I showed little interest and started keeping to myself or spending more time with his sisters. Id wake up to him on top of me and he'd beat me if I fought him. I became pregnant and the beating continued with him believing the child wasn't his. But he beat me so bad one day that I miscarried and he blamed me for killing our child. He beat me so bad that day that he cracked a disc in my spine pinching my sciatic nerve causing me partial paralysis and dropfoot in my right leg. he started drinking heavily after I lost our child. he terminated my phone contract which we entered into only a few months prior, causing me to end up in debt, then he stole the rest of the money from my savings to fund his gaming. This ended up causing me to fall behind on payments for the new furniture I had purchased, which I eventually had to give to his mother. I started talking to someone I had previously dated (we ended things amicable and saw each other as really close friends) for advice and solace. while I understand that this would be technically emotional cheating, I was starting to no longer have feelings for my partner and lost myself. My grandfather, who was with us for 3 more years after his diagnosis, eventually got severely sick and ended up in an induced coma for 3 months. I became severely depressed and disconnected from everything and everyone. I became so numb to the beatings and rapes that I would be terrified to close my eyes. I started staying up at night afraid to lay down or even cover myself with any blankets. I would curl up in a corner by the window and that would be the only time he would leave me alone. My grandfather died in December 2019 and the day he passed my partner broke up with me stating that I deserved all the pain and heartbreak I was suffering and that I would never find happiness. He walked away and laughed at my pain saying my grandfather was just an old man who meant nothing. He had forbidden me from undergoing the surgery that would fix my spine, but without him knowing I agreed to the surgery. I moved back in with my grandmother a few months later in February of 2020 by packing up what I could including important documents and sneaking out at 4am to go to the hospital for my surgery. My father picked me up from the hospital and took me to my grandmother's home. In the safety of my family I confirmed with my ex that I would never again be with him. I told him I no longer wanted anything to do with him no contact either physically or electronically. A few days later he came by with more of my stuff and told me that he would only take me back if I never slept with anyone else after him. I told him he no longer had that control over me so he had no right to ask that of me. I asked him to leave. During the healing period of my spinal surgery he harassed me continuously even going so far as to say he would kill himself if I didn't take him back. This lasted for months and I didn't know what to do. I forced myself into therapy and tried to ignore him as long as possible. With the help of my therapist I was slowly able to block him and start healing. I started working in mental health and social work a few months later. I eventually met my now fiancee who has been my number one supporter. He has even come to therapy sessions with me and has made sure that I always put myself first. I currently work in DV and GBV helping others that have or are going through wheat I went through. I plan on becoming a therapist eventually once I finish my MBA. I also put my makeup skills to use by helping my father on his films with makeup and special effects makeup. My fiancee and I are getting married this year and it's been such a long journey but there are times I still have random memories or ptsd symptoms, but with the help of my friends and family I am able to work through it all. I hope my story gives someone the courage they need to leave before it's too late.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Smiling again with love in my heart for myself and the world.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇨🇦

    #1122

    I grew up with an alcoholic, violent father and a mother who, to this day, can’t even remember most of the things he did. Eventually, my brother turned into an even worse version and was also abusive towards me, he even beat my ex boyfriend and was extremely jealous and overprotective of me when it came to guys who would try to approach me, I started feeling that having a boyfriend and falling in love was a “bad thing”. Eventually I started a relationship with a guy who lived in a different country, he seemed perfect but my mom was for some reason concerned. I ended up moving to his country and we got married, after we got married his behavior changed completely. I felt like I was basically living under his roof and like he was living like a single guy. He was doing drugs behind my back, he was cheating a verbally abusive. I would try to confront him about the things he was doing and he made me feel like I was the crazy person, he would also call my parents and sister to tell them I was very immature. He knew I would never tell them everything he was doing to me, and I felt like I didnt have anybody to talk to about what was really happening. One day he forced me on the floor, I can literally still fell the texture of the carpet against my chin. He would travel a lot, so one day I just packed my bags and left him. He eventually filed for divorce and I was served on valentine’s day at work in front of my team. It took me a week to read the papers, for some reason I just couldn’t. The papers stated I made him marry me because I wanted the residency and he was also trying to take my dog from me, my dog is my biggest support and he obviously knew that. It took years for the divorce to finalize. Everything started back in 2018, I still struggle. I haven’t been able to start a new relationship and I am sabotaging myself with everything, including my professional life and that was the one thing I was really great at. For the first time I realize that I need to find my support system, that there is hope. I don’t when I’m going to stop blaming myself and punishing myself for my decisions, but I am eager to do the work to get there. To start putting myself first. I have Justin Baldoni to thank for. Thank you for spreading awareness. Thank you for being brave enough to share your stories. We are all worthy of a healthy love.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Name's Story

    At 19 years old and away from home for the first time…I thought I was in love. I married someone I barely knew. I met him at Military Training, and we got stationed in the same city. I wanted a wedding, but he did not so we ended up at the Justice of the Peace. This was one of the first of many things I did to compromise. Shortly after we were married, his true colors started showing. Slowly, I was isolated, moved away from all my friends and family. I could not do anything right. Everything was my fault. No matter how hard I tried it was never good enough. He forced me to watch pornography and forced me to do things sexually that I had not consented to. Yes, a spouse can rape their spouse. I was called all sorts of names, mocked, belittled, insulted, and worse. It was mostly behind closed doors; however, some was done in public. We would only hang out with my friends and family when he wanted to put on a show. At one point he moved his “friend” in with us because she had nowhere to go. After being diagnosed with an STD, I learned she was one of many women that he cheated on me with. She was his mistress in every sense of the word. At some point I lost who I was and began to think I was exactly who he said I was…worthless, ugly, and nothing. I was living in a fog. I could not make sense of my feelings or thoughts. I had no idea what to do to make him happy because no matter how much I tried to do what I thought he said he wanted it was never right. I attempted suicide which surprised my family, friends, and co-workers because I had never said a word. I had been able to put on a smile and always help others during the workday. No one knew the verbal, emotional or sexual abuse I endured at home. After my suicide attempt my family, and the few friends that still stood by me tried to get me to leave. I refused to leave. I was insistent that could make my marriage work. If I only tried harder. If I were only the person, he wanted me to be. Then, out of the blue, he was arrested, court-martialed, and sent to military prison (on matters unrelated to the marriage). I still tried to make things work. I would go visit him in jail, take care of our home, pay the bills, and try to be a “good wife”. One day he called asking for things he wanted. When I told him that I had not bought the requested items because I was looking for a part-time job to pay the bills (we had mounds of debt thanks to him), he called me “undependable”. It was in that moment I finally realized I deserved more. I yelled into the phone “You’re right; I’m undependable!” and hung up the phone. I then took off my engagement and wedding rings and proceeded to throw them across the living room into the kitchen where they came to rest under the washer and dryer. The next day I contacted a lawyer and within a few weeks we were divorced. We had been married for one year and four months and had known each other for one year and nine months. In less than two years this man had broken me to the point that I no longer knew who I was and kept me from making new friends at my duty assignment. The only friends I had at this point were some old friends from high school that I did not see often but they refused to be pushed away. His actions caused me to spiral into a pit of depression so severe that I thought the only answer (or way out) was to take my own life. Throughout my first marriage, I had a friend who told my first ex-husband to back off and that he was going to stay my friend no matter what. He kept his word and continued to always be there for me during my marriage. When I told him, I was getting divorced, he took leave and came to stay with me for a week so he could be in the courtroom with me during the divorce hearing. 2 years and 7 months later this friend and I were married. Like my first husband, I also met him at military training. Our whole relationship had been long distance except for the few months at military training and that one week during my divorce. We spent the first year of marriage apart waiting for the military to station us together. We got pregnant the first weekend we were finally living together. Once we were living together, his true personality quickly emerged. He was always on the computer due to video games and/or pornography. He could not be bothered to help if he was on the computer. He would yell when he was not happy. I called to say I was in premature labor with our child and he did not come to the hospital. Once the baby arrived, I would ask for help, but he could not be bothered because he was busy. As time went on, the yelling, silent treatment, name calling, not helping around the house, and just ignoring me only seemed to get worse. Then he got deployed. I discovered he was having at minimum one online affair and saying all sorts of hateful and nasty things about me. I confronted him, and he acted like it was not a big deal. I felt differently. It was a big deal to me, so I left. I filed for a divorce. He spent months sweet talking me until I foolishly took him back. At this point we were now both out of the military. We bought a house, and he went to school. I worked full-time, tried to go school, and took care of the house and our child. He still seldom helped with anything. I had to pay for childcare because our child bothered him while he was doing his schoolwork. The name calling, silent treatments and ignoring only got worse. I noticed he was punishing our child in ways that were not appropriate for a toddler and expecting things beyond a toddler’s capability. I started having panic attacks when I pulled into the garage after work because I did not know which personality I was going to meet when I walked in the house: Mr. Happy or Mr. Angry. His behavior after we moved in together did not match the behavior of the friend who was there for me during my first marriage; he had changed – or had he? He stopped telling me how much he loved me and how much he needed me and proceeded to tear me down or not talk to me at all. I had reached that all too familiar point where I was again in a fog and not sure what to do because everything, I did was wrong…unless he wanted something. I felt like I was walking on eggshells at home all the time. I remember he said something to me at a store one day and a woman made eye contact with me…her look said, “Honey, just say the word and I will help you escape”. I just quickly looked away. The final straw was coming home from work one day and finding my usually very active child sitting very still on the couch. When I asked what was wrong, my child said, “Daddy slapped across both cheeks for playing in some mud with the dog.” I confronted him and told him he had three choices: get help, leave or I was calling the police. He chose to leave and blame me for making him “poor and homeless”. Seven months after we separated, we were divorced. We had been married for eight years and ten months. We had known each other for ten years and seven months. He had gone from being one of my best friends to a total stranger who left me feeling even more empty and broken than my first husband had. It is hard to put into words the slow way both individuals managed to tear me down to nothing, to the point that I felt like I had nothing left to live for. Unlike my first marriage, the second time it was not just me. I had to protect my child. Both used verbal and emotional abuse to slowly control me and make me feel like nothing, make me question my sanity, and make me believe I was a complete idiot and loser. One of them used sex as a weapon for his pleasure and another withheld touch of any kind knowing that it is one of my Love Languages. Both could be kind when it suited them to make them look good or to get what they wanted. Thanks to both of these individuals I now know gaslighting, love bombing, flying monkeys, triangulation, projection, threats (both threatened to kill me), trauma-bonding and more are all part of a Narcissist’s play book. It was not me who was crazy or not worthy. They used these tools to get what they wanted and then tossed me to the side when I was no longer needed. Now that I know what these actions and terms mean I have been able to educate myself on how to recognize the signs, heal from the trauma and reach a point where I am able to share my story of survival. I had no idea who I was, what I liked, how to live a happy life or how to be strong. I could put on a good show for the outside world, or so I thought. I have since learned that my family and close friends could tell things were wrong. They were praying for me and standing close for when I finally reached out for help. When I look back over both marriages, I see God’s hand in them, and I know that it is because of Him that I am still here to tell my story. My first ex-husband walked in on me with the pills in hand and a razor blade at my wrist. For all the bad he did God used him to save my life by having him walk-in at that exact moment. He reported me to the military thinking it would get me in trouble but instead it saved my career and my life. His going to jail allowed me to get away. During my second marriage I can honestly say that the only reason I was able to get away is truly a miracle. I believe the prayers of my loved ones were answered by giving me a strength that came only from God, allowing me to stand up to him and give him those three choices after he slapped our child. How did I escape and repair my spirit? How did I find me again and become happy, strong, out-going, courageous, stand my ground, and know my own worth? I did it through the mercy, forgiveness, and love of God. I have spent hours in prayer and bible study. I have gone to Christian based counseling. I have shared my story with others. It has been a long road to recovery, but I know now I am a child of God and I am worth more than what those two individuals did to me. I will never settle again. Never settle for less than you are worth. You are worth more than all the rubies and diamonds in the world. You are His child. You are loved. You are beautiful. You are strong. You can. You will Survive.

    Dear reader, this story contains language of self-harm that some may find triggering or discomforting.

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  • “I have learned to abound in the joy of the small things...and God, the kindness of people. Strangers, teachers, friends. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but there is good in the world, and this gives me hope too.”

    Story
    From a survivor
    🇺🇸

    Windy road to healing

    For years I questioned what I was doing wrong and how someone who loved me could be so comfortable hurting me. But they didn’t hit me so I never looked at it as DV or myself as a victim. Through different type of relationships, it was a revolving door, but they didn’t hit me so I wasn’t a victim. Until my last relationship. In 3 1/2 years, he put his hands on me once, but if I had just let him leave, he wouldn’t have done it. For the longest time, he was planting it into my head that I was the issue. The good times were really good so I overlooked the bad cause I loved him more than I loved myself in that moment. The way he loved my kids (who were not his) also kept me around for a lot longer than I should have. I planned a life with him in my head cause he was helping raise kids that weren’t his so he must be an amazing man to step up, until he started lacking. Then I realizing me being unhappy with him, was hurting my kids more than I knew. He made me believe that I was so “mentally unstable” no one would ever love me & that being 6ft down in a grave was the only way I was going to be able to get away from him. Then I left & I was so proud of myself. I started doing intensive therapy & working on myself & then the thoughts he planted in my head came back. “No one could ever love you the way I do because I was there for you in your lowest” & I broke the no contact & let him back in. Things were good at first, and then he would shove the past in my face & tell me how much he hated me & the verbal & mental abuse cycle began again. But this time, I knew better. I found out about mental & physical abuse, I did research, I was in groups & I was learning to love myself again. I had boundaries for the first time in a long time. And then I found out about the cheating a year prior while he was living at my house & the summer of the downward spiral had begun. I blocked him again & was so depressed, I began drowning it with alcohol. I felt my heart just break as this man had spent so much time accusing me of cheating while I was working to support my kids, just for him to turn around & do it to me. I almost lost everything & it took me losing 1 of my jobs to finally get back on track. I stopped drinking for a while, I found a better job, I spent more time with my kids & began re-evaluating what made me happy in life. I re-discovered my healthy boundaries, I was working more, I was laughing again & generally meaning it. I started talking to my friends about my feelings & where I was in life. For a year, things were going better (there’s always going to be the ups & downs but it was better). And then the 1 year of me blocking had come up & I caved & unblocked him on his birthday. At first it was to be petty, and then I found out he was seeing someone. I played it like I didn’t know anything, we hung out a few times & then the old him came out again but this time, I was in a better place & I knew what to accept & what to correct. I finally seen him being in my life was not good for me mentally & as much as I miss the him he pretended to be when we first met, I am learning to mourn the person who never existed. I don’t want to call him for every little thing anymore (good or bad). He doesn’t get access to me or my kids life anymore & I love the strong, independent female I am becoming. I’m so proud of the scars I’m healing & acknowledging that I’m human & I am going to have weak days that I might want to message him & I’m taking it 1 day at a time. Going from planning a future & a life with someone you thought was them to mourning someone who never actually existed is something most people will never understand (& I hope they never have too). Some days are easier than others & it’s ok to get lost as long as you find your way back to the track. I am strong because I have no other choice but I’m learning it’s ok to have weak days & I don’t always have to be so strong. Cry, scream, punching a pillow is healthy ways to let all of that out. I’m not perfect & I don’t have to be but I will be there for others going through this & let them know they’re not alone, it’s not their fault & they are very so much loved

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  • Story
    From a survivor
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    Name

    I grew up with an immense fear of men, of which I never understood why... Until I reached my midlife and developed a serious physical ailment, only then was my horrific secret unveiled! During my childhood, I was often left in the care of my caretaker as my family member was busy nurturing my younger, sickly brother hence I became independent from a young age. Nature and my pets were my solstice. Growing up I was shy and introverted, and always felt like I never belonged. Deliberately I would avoid contact and conversation with all men, including family members. Constantly I bit my nails, until they bled sometimes. As a teenager, my caretaker would belt me until I was bruised for my insolence apparently?! My family obviously heard, yet chose to be silent due to their fear of him. An inner rage developed towards him and eventually I completely despised him. One day in my mid-forties I awoke with a serious frozen neck. As a Holistic Practitioner, I knew that this was an underlying emotion which was manifesting as a physical ailment so I decided to seek psychological aid. After a few months of regular sessions, the deepest dark secret was revealed... I had been sexually abused by my caretaker since childhood. YES that was a heavy pill to swallow, and of course more therapy was required to heal my painful, inner child wounds. The horrific shock caused various emotional reactions from depression, anger, shame, guilt and even suicidal thoughts. However, a power deep within me gave me the strength to slowly and gently work through it on a daily basis, thanks to the love and support of many wonderful people including close friends. Yoga, meditation, journaling, breathwork, energy therapy and different holistic modalities assisted my transformational, healing journey. I also believe that my continued faith guided me as well, to find inner peace and forgiveness towards my abuser. A year later I approached my family member about my abuse, and as shocked as she was she could still not support me emotionally. My dysfunctional childhood could never be erased, however I chose to make the rest of my life the Best of my life from that day onwards! After some time. the day eventually came when I had the courage to face my abuser. I looked him in the face with absolute compassion, that's when I realised that I was completely healed. My path hereon would be creating the life I dreamed of. His choice of denial was his issue! On Date, I appeared for the first time publicly on stage as a Speaker to share my story of Name of Presentation' at the Location of event. It was utterly life-changing. Standing at the podium, my legs were trembling and hands were shaking, yet I felt this Divine presence supporting me and giving me the courage. I was not alone. I chose to speak my truth and be the voice for the voiceless! The audience were fortunately patient and understanding as I opened my heart. Since then I was inspired to create my personal brand 'Brand Name', which offers support, healing and guidance to those who've been sexually abused and endured domestic violence. I'm also a Organization NameAmbassador for the prevention of Children's sexual abuse, which is unfortunately ripe in today's society. My passion is to continue to share my triumphant, transformational story on webinars and podcasts worldwide. The time is now for victims to come out of the closet and be the change they wish to see in the world, so they too can live the life of freedom and peace that they truly deserve. My mission is to encourage other victims to no longer be silent. Speaking my truth was my path to emancipation. Recently I co-authored a book, Book Title - The voices of survivors' which will be published on Date. Writing it was another beautiful, healing experience for me. I gained even deeper, inner peace. Even though my trauma was horrifying and I was scarred both physically and emotionally, I was determined to transform my pain to purpose and my wounds to wisdom so I'm no longer the victim but rather the Victor in my life! I am living proof it can be done and proud to say I've never needed to be on medication; Holistic therapies greatly aided my metamorphosis. Nowadays I am more confident, brave and compassionate, appreciating every day of my new-found existence! " OUR TRUTH DESERVES TO BE REVEALED; OUR PRESENCE WARRANTS TO BE ACKNOWLEDGED; OUR VOICES NEED TO BE HEARD AND EXPRESSED." - Name

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  • “I really hope sharing my story will help others in one way or another and I can certainly say that it will help me be more open with my story.”

    Story
    From a survivor
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    #870

    I survived. I got out. You can too. Insidious and devious are the words I think of when I've wondered how I got trapped. My ex-spouse was so charming, everybody thought he was a great person and I did too. So much so that I decided to ignore the fact he raped me and chalked it up to us drinking. Then gradually as we dated and then married he tried to spin a web of control around me by being angry and violent when I would spend time with friends or go to the gym or go to the library to study. Telling me I was not allowed to go to the gym because there were men there. Being told I couldn't go to work events. Calling my work when I was working late and accusing me of having affairs, then being verbally and physically abusive. He was so successful at manipulating others even my dad, initially, didn't believe me when I told him about the monster and the horrible things I had endured. I finally told my dad what had been going on when he threatened to kill me and chased me with a baseball bat. I was able to get in my car and get away and called my dad crying and screaming. He thought I had lost my mind. Some of my friends also thought I had lost it, and told me oh he is so nice and scoffed when I said I was filing for divorce and a protective order. After the first two calls to the sheriff they believed me and were so kind, frequently driving by my house and making sure I was safe. There is power in being believed. There is strength in knowing that others have made it out both alive and eventually became whole. I still experience occasional flashbacks and certain situations will trigger my anxiety, but I am able to trust people again and no longer fear "being in trouble" if I spend time with friends. Even more, I have allowed myself to become emotionally vulnerable with other people again after all these years. That was a huge leap for me. And I genuinely feel like a good person again.

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  • Story
    From a survivor
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    #1210

    I met my ex at a time in my life when I was incredibly vulnerable. I was processing a lot emotionally and I had uprooted my life and moved home. I wasn't making much money, living with my parents and really trying to figure out my next steps but faltering. Reeling from a significant romantic rejection, I was dating in a desperate way. I just wanted to find my person, have companionship, enjoy all the benefits of having a partner. And so when I met my ex, I projected all my desires for stability on to our relationship extremely quickly. We were talking about getting engaged (in a year) after only knowing each other one month. We moved in together after six months of dating. In a normal healthy relationship this wouldn't necessarily be an issue. But I had ignored a lot of red flags up to that point. He baselessly accused me of cheating on him, once when I was sexually assaulted in a bar he asked me what I did to make the person touch me, he made derogatory comments about what I wore, he ingratiated himself with my family. I had told him on our first date that I didn't want children, something that I do out of respect for people's desires and time. Months into our relationship he brought up (while drunk and angrily) that he wanted children but was giving that up to be with me. Shortly after we moved in together I had a slew of weddings for family and friends, all of which he attended. At the first I was the maid of honor. He got overly drunk at the rehearsal dinner and picked a fight with me after. He stormed out of a room full of people because I had walked away from him (to avoid standing near the door and blocking traffic) and it set him off. He yelled at me for thirty minutes about how inconsiderate I am and all the other reasons we weren't compatible. The next weekend was my sister's wedding. I couldn't go with him to pick up a suit before the rehearsal dinner and this set him off again. He drank too much and berated me later. This time for not having been as physically affectionate in the week between the weddings. I told him it was because I was scared of him, which he then yelled at me about further. I cuddled with him to fall asleep so he would calm down, it felt like diffusing a bomb. The final wedding was the worst. Same formula. Something small set him off, he drank too much and then broke up with me and tried to leave the wedding but couldn't get an Uber. When I tried to hold him accountable the next day he said we were both drunk so it wasn't anyone's fault. For the months that followed I dealt with endless scrutiny. I went into an office for work and he worked remotely. He would smell my clothes when I came home, ask why I was wearing lipgloss, or backhandedly tell me I looked nice. He was heavy handed about money. Times when I would ask him not to pay for something or say that I had it covered he would intervene behind my back. He spent hundreds of dollars on a birthday gift for my dad that my whole family had wanted to purchase even after I asked him not to. Money was a source of control and self-worth for him and even when I could contribute it wasn't enough or if I said I planned to buy something (our meals for my parents anniversary dinner) he would find a way to try and undermine me and pay for it himself. I was both somehow financially insufficient and then in the rare times I could pay for something for us, too financially independent for his liking. We got a dog only a few months into living together. He had put his dog down the previous year and was itching for another one. She is a sweetheart and I enjoyed raising her for the few months I did. The first time we trimmed her nails we accidentally cut one too short and she started bleeding so she was understandably hesitant of nail trimmings going forward. One night we decided to get her nails trimmed. I held her and my ex was trimming her nails and cut one too short. She started wriggling as he attempted to trim the rest but couldn't because she was so impatient. He became irate and threw the nail trimmer across the room. He stood up and while I was still holding her on the ground, wound up and hit her. I was completely frozen. I used to think that I should've moved in his way so that he hit me instead. I thought it would make him realize how bad his temper was but I know now I probably would've just sped up his timeline. A couple of weeks before we broke up we were having another bout of a recurring fight which centered around him finding it laborious and monotonous to be physically intimate with me. As I tried to express to him that it was hurtful for him to tell that it would start "getting old" to be intimate with me, he just became more angry. He had also drank a decent amount that night. He packed a bag and said he needed to stay at his parents' for the night. His exact words were "When I'm angry I do things I regret and I don't want to do something I'll regret". It took me a while to accept that from the throwing of things, the time I came home to a whole in the wall, the slamming of doors so hard that pictures came off the wall, and hitting the dog that when he said this he meant hitting me. Even for the first little bit after we broke up I maintained that he never would have hurt me and I was just a victim of emotional abuse. With more time and therapy I now know that I got out with very little time left to spare. My emotional and psychological safety were long gone and my physical safety was hanging by a thread. I'm now over a year out from our break-up. The first therapy session I had after our breakup I said to my therapist that I didn't want to put myself in a situation like that ever again. My therapist responded "you didn't put yourself in that situation, he did all of that to you and you survived it". I think because I wasn't showing up well at that point in my life it makes me feel like if I was stronger--emotionally, financially, personally--I wouldn't have been susceptible to this. I hold a lot of guilt and shame for being in such a vulnerable place in life that all of that happened to me. If I hadn't moved home, if I'd been making more money, if I hadn't moved in with him at six months, if I had left the million different times he showed a red flag maybe I wouldn't have the mental scars and trauma. And though that thought process is hard to shake I know at the end of the day, I didn't deserve any of the abuse I dealt with. What makes me the most angry about all of it is the innocence I lost. I never would have considered in my mid-late twenties I'd consider myself innocent. But the unburdened and carefree way I was able to think about dating before this is something I miss. There's a level of optimism I'll never get back. I used to think the worst thing that could happen to me while dating was someone being apathetic or incompatible, not intentionally violent. With a lot of therapy and time I am starting to regain my light and open heart. But the vivid memories will always be there, though hopefully they will fade. Although I'm indelibly changed, I won't let this rob me of my ability to see the good in people. I'm still deserving and capable of finding love, I have hope for that.

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  • Healing is not linear. It is different for everyone. It is important that we stay patient with ourselves when setbacks occur in our process. Forgive yourself for everything that may go wrong along the way.

    Story
    From a survivor
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    #752

    We found each other through Match.com. The first time I hugged her, it was electric. Her body fit against mine perfectly. Being in an area where there aren’t tons of Christians, we were excited that our values and beliefs aligned really well. I liked that she wasn’t materialistic. Both of us were pretty inexperienced with relationships for being in our late 20s - she especially so. Her job involved high-level philanthropic work in the developing world, and I found that impressive and exciting, having previously taught English in a developing country myself. I imagined a life with her would be peaceful and would likely involve adventures together in Africa and Asia. She and I got engaged after eight months of dating, and we were married six months later. The first signs of physical abuse started less than a year after we married. We were having an argument in bed, and she used her feet to shove me out of the bed. Later came her first assault on me, when an argument culminated in her attacking me with her fists. Fits of punching me occurred three more times over the next 18 months. One of the times when she attacked me, she was driving a car and I was in the front passenger seat. We were going 40mph on a 4-lane road around a bend. It was very unsafe. Her violating my physical boundaries also included pinching my testicles and zits on my back after I told her it was painful, and it wasn’t ok. I wanted to share some examples of other abusive situations I endured as well. Once during an argument, she held a ladle over her head in a threatening way like she was going to hit me with it. Twice she banged on the bedroom door over and over after I had locked myself inside to put space between us when it was clear an argument was going badly. One of those times I called an emergency helpline. They stayed on the phone with me as I exited the room and left the house. Once she told me if we didn’t have a child by the time, she was a certain age, and then later we had a child born with disabilities or birth defects, she would blame me for that. She also tried guilting me for using condoms at a time when it was clear to me our relationship needed serious help before it’d be suitable to have a child together. I think these things count as reproductive abuse. Were there red flags? Looking back, I can say yes. One was her angry texts on occasions when I was running late to meet her. Another was that her mom, dad, and brother all said she was a handful as a child, particularly with her tantrums. I assumed that she had outgrown all of that by the time I met her. The final time she assaulted me was in an Airbnb while on vacation in Japan. By this point I had decided that if she got violent with me, I would basically not defend myself at all and would just let it happen. Part of her manhandling me in that Airbnb involved her trying to take my phone away from me. Had she succeeded at that, I would have been in serious trouble if I’d tried to flee. Soon after this happened, I made up my mind we needed to separate. She decided to get domestic violence treatment. I held out hope that if we lived apart for a while and she took her treatment seriously, we could resume our marriage. The second tipping point was when she violated the clearly laid-out terms of our separation by being aggressive toward me again when we got together at a public place (Chipotle) for dinner. That instance, combined with a phone call with a counselor named Name who is knowledgeable about dynamics of women abusing men, convinced me I needed to divorce her. She and I had been attending a Christian small group through our church. I had been a regular attender, and she had attended occasionally. When I initiated separating from her, she insisted on continuing to attend those small group meetings. We couldn’t both continue attending, so I let her have her way, and I stopped attending. This disconnected me from people I had gotten close to. Not one of those people reached out to me at any point after that. That was disappointing. There was a short period when I had made up my mind that I was going to divorce her, but I hadn’t yet figured out how I was going to tell her. I was seeing a counselor individually at that time (in addition to our couples counseling). He offered the idea I could tell her I was filing for divorce during a couples counseling session. For some reason that hadn’t occurred to me, but it was really helpful guidance. Considering her past violence, I was relieved to have the opportunity to break the news to her in a safe environment like a counseling session. (I informed the counselor in advance that I would be doing so.) The people closest to me were supportive of me taking our relationship problems very seriously, but they were also quite cautious about fully endorsing the idea of divorcing – even with knowing about the repeated violence. Reflecting back on this, I attribute their cautiousness about me divorcing both to gender-based double standards and to their Christian beliefs, which I shared. I don’t fault them for trying to help me make very, very, very sure that divorce was the right choice. However, considering that we didn’t have children, and considering how troubling her patterns of behavior were and her half-hearted demonstrations of taking responsibility for her actions, divorce was very obviously the right choice. I think that a personality disorder played a role in what I was experiencing from my ex, but at the time neither I nor the people closest to me offering advice recognized that. Speaking specifically about male DV victims, given that we can perceive men experiencing violence from their female partners as less serious than the other way around, I would say that men should be counseled to take even a single incidence of violence from their partner very, very seriously. Once an adult demonstrates they’re capable of totally losing their cool to the extent of physically lashing out, that is a bad sign about their capability of being a partner to you in a healthy relationship.An exception might apply if the person quickly takes responsibility (and remains consistent that their violence was wrong and not someone else’s fault), and then diligently implements measures to ensure they never do it again. The victim of violence should be educated that if there is any backsliding – with their partner shifting blame or not sticking to their treatment – they should end the relationship for good.

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  • Message of Hope
    From a survivor
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    If I could get out leave and make it so can you!

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  • If you are reading this, you have survived 100% of your worst days. You’re doing great.

    Story
    From a survivor
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    A SURVIVING VICTIM’S STORY - Name

    A SURVIVING VICTIM’S STORY - Name I was four years old when upon hearing my parents’ raised voices, I peered around our living room corner, a silent spectator to my dad’s hand connecting with my mom’s face, propelling her into the air and onto our Danish Modern coffee table. Upon impact, the table and my petite mother broke into pieces. That night, my fix-it father repaired the table. I didn’t know it then, but my mother was forever broken. Although my older brother didn’t witness this one-sided match-up, he certainly heard them arguing, followed by the hit, my mom’s screams and the crash. My dad left her atop the tabletop bits, crying, as black mascara streamed down her face. Not knowing what to do and afraid to say a word, I ran to my room. Minutes later, she appeared in my doorway, her watery, reddened eyes framed by expertly reapplied Maybelline lashes and her mouth gleamed in my dad’s favorite color, the deep red of Fire and Ice lipstick. As I reached for my teddy bear for comfort, she said, “Your dad’s a good man and he loves you very much. I’ll go make supper now.” That night, as always, the four of us ate at our kitchen table, the usual banter going around our Formica table as if nothing had happened which left me further confused about my mom and especially, my dad. Although I never saw my dad hit her again, when I noticed bruises dotting her pale arms, I felt compelled to ask, “What’s that?” “Nothing,” she’d say while pulling her sleeves down to cover the black and blue marks, “Your father is a good man and he loves you very much.” My dad ruled our roost, a charcoal gray, Cape Cod style suburban house while my mom stayed home, cooking, cleaning and raising us while he worked fulltime. At the reins of our home and finances, my dad had everything he forbid my mom to have- a job, credit cards, a car, access to bank accounts and friends. The world was his and his was ours. He brought home the groceries, my mom cooked whatever he chose and we ate it. Having graduated from high school, I left home to attend college, happy to leave behind what I’d once witnessed that Sunday afternoon and my high school classmates bullying taunts of “Ugly Dog!” Despite starting my life anew, my insecurities about my looks followed me halfway across the country. As one of 25,000 students, I embraced my classes, and the firsts of a part-time job and bank account as well as a tall, blonde, muscular, blue-eyed student I’d met in my freshman year. Although he said I was pretty, I didn’t believe him since I’d discovered my high school classmates’ derogatory taunts about my looks had accompanied me to university, echoing in my head. We began dating and I felt fortunately honored that someone so handsome would deign to be with someone unattractive but apparently, opposites do attract. And there was a bonus- this brawny farm boy was the physical light to the dark features of my dad and, my dad liked him. Our dates were filled with flirting, making out and his physicality which I first felt in a campus town bar. During happy hour, accompanied by my brother and my roommate who sat across from us, we listened to music, laughed and chatted about nothing in particular. Suddenly, I felt his outstretched hand on my face. The intensity of his powerful palm sent me off my barstool and onto the sticky, beer-soaked floor. Pulling myself by the bar edge, I wobbled to the ladies’ room and wiped away my tear-soaked, dripping makeup before returning to him and our silent witnesses, an undaunted trio deep in collegiate chitchat. Although I continue feeling the force of his hand on my face long after graduation, I had long since begun to believe that my golden-haired boy loved me, just as he said. I’d been in love with him since first sight so I accepted his marriage proposal. My dad, still his biggest fan, was our happiest wedding guest who, despite his frugality had footed the bill for it all, including the white taffeta, crinoline princess wedding dress I’d always dreamed of. Returning home from our City honeymoon, his unpredictable physical outbursts continued. In time, he added something new, sexual assault, ignoring my begging and screaming to stop. Although his physical actions always occurred randomly, he began giving me a warning- the cracking of his knuckles. I was unprepared the first time but I was ready for the next time when I heard the snap. Although I braced myself for the hit, he caught me off guard by wrapping his hands around my neck, choking me before lifting me up with ease, slamming my head into the wall or whatever structure was nearest before releasing his grip, my body sliding down until I landed on the floor. As with his slaps to my face, his hands around my throat left no visible bruises and so, I kept quiet, returning to the reliable comforts of cooking dinner, watching television, playing board games, dog walking and sex. Each Sunday afternoon, I placed a call to my parents. My dad always answered the phone first, ready to update me with the latest goings on before the hand-off to my mom. Our chats were brief, mostly about a buffet they went to or how my job was going yet each one included an unprompted passage from her well-worn script, with one tweak, “Your husband’s a good man and he loves you very much.” On a weekday off from work, I was cleaning our apartment as a daytime tv talk show played in the background. When I heard domestic violence survivors detailing their experiences which echoed mine, I put my dust rag down and approached the screen. Tears rolled down their faces as these victims of abuse admitted fearing for their lives and those of their children. For the first time, I saw before me, myself and my mom. When the show’s end credits froze on a DV hotline number, I grabbed a pencil, scribbled the number on a notepad, tore out that page and stuffed it down deep into my datebook. While I’d felt compelled to write it down, I also wanted to keep it out of my own view, which I did. But, I could not unsee the images of those frightened women, one of whom was my mom’s doppelgänger. Transported back to that memorable Sunday afternoon of my childhood, I heard my mom’s screams, followed by the table breaking apart. Many months after that show aired, during a quiet evening at home, I heard the cracking of knuckles, followed by my husband’s hands around my throat. But this time, he held it tighter than ever before. When he finally let go, I fell to the floor, choking and sputtering as I grasped for air. He stood over me shouting, “Go ahead, call the police, they won’t do anything to me! They’ll know as I do that, you’re crazy and haul your lying ass out of here! Go ahead, do it!” He threw the phone at me; it bounced off my shoulder and onto the floor where it and I remained until he turned and headed to bed. At work the next day, I reached into my handbag, pulled out my datebook, unfolded the scrap of paper. Squinting to read the now faded and barely legible phone number, I dialed. I didn’t know it then but those ten digits would save my life. The hotline referred me to a local battered women’s shelter where I could obtain help. As soon as I sat down in the counselor’s office, the floodgates opened. I detailed my husband’s hobby while simultaneously defending his actions since unlike my dad’s maneuvers, my husband’s handiwork left no telltale signs, save for two occasions, one when he hit me in the face with a wooden hanger and another when he pushed me down onto the floor and my face connected with the rug, leaving burn marks. “And,” I proudly added, “He’s definitely not like my dad. My husband is not controlling, jealous or possessive and, I’m nothing like my mom. I’m independent, I have my own car, college degree, career and, I come and go as I please. Plus, I handle all of our finances.” Upon hearing my words, I heard my truth. Within a few sessions, I understood that abuse is never permissible. Whether it leaves visible bruises, broken bones, or furniture, it’s abuse. Similarly, even if you’re married, sexual assault is a violent, abusive act. I also learned that domestic violence does not always follow a formula. It doesn’t have to be preceded by a tension building phase nor followed by an apology be it flowers, candy or my husband’s blame-filled, singular expression of regret after viciously pulling hair from my head, “I’m sorry you made me do that.” With each counseling session, as I grew confident, I also became guilt-ridden as I was better off than the shelter residents with children who didn’t have the resources afforded me. My husband wasn’t jealous or controlling so I had freedom, finances and more. I felt I was stealing help that others needed much more than I. It was then my therapist reminded me of the many abuses I’d endured, the very ones which led to me calling the hotline. She explained that not all abusers look and act alike, nor do their victims. In domestic violence and sexual assault, one size does not fit all. The only thing it has in common is that it’s wrong. With my counselor’s encouragement, I confided my truth to a kind coworker who responded with acceptance, a comforting hug and the words I’d longed for, “I’m here for you.” As I thanked him between sobs, he added, “You need to leave him. What are you waiting for?” With a slight smile, I replied, “I’m waiting for the flowers and candy.” At work the next day, he handed me a chocolate rose. “Here’s your goddamn flowers and candy. Now leave the bastard! Go far away from him, from here. You’ll start over, you’ll be fine, you’ll be so much better.” With his support, I heeded his advice and applied for jobs 1,000 miles away. After scheduling and attending interviews, I accepted an offer for a fabulous opportunity in the state of my childhood, which I half-jokingly referred to as ‘the scene of the original crime.’ Although my husband expressed his unhappiness with my decision to leave, during a fleeting moment of truth, he said that while I was trying out my wings, he would attend counseling so that we could start anew, peacefully. He was so accommodating, even offering to split the long drive with me and not yet one-hundred percent confident I could go it alone, I accepted. Our trip was surprisingly calm until he set down the first box in my attic apartment and gave me a verbal housewarming gift, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me for this dump.” That night, I breathed a sigh of relief when I dropped him at the airport. Starting over in a house of strangers was difficult so, I returned, partially, to the familiar, speaking with my husband each night. In almost every call, he slammed me, “You might as well come back now, we all know you will and you know I love you.” The more he said that, the more he reinforced that I’d made the right decision. With my job going well, I decided to celebrate my thirtieth birthday in Country with a college friend. Upon my return, a gift awaited me, divorce papers, sans gift receipt, wrapping paper, ribbon or sufficient postage. Accepting my fate, I paid forty-one cents for the package. The return on my investment was indeed enriching as I reveled in knowing that I would be forever free from his abuse. With the finalization of our divorce, I returned to school, landed a position as a designer, purchased a condo and volunteered at a local battered women’s shelter. I was safe and happy but something was missing. To find that puzzle piece, I signed up for online dating which led me to a charming, talented man who, like me, was creative, wore his heart on his sleeve and had witnessed violence in his childhood home. He too was divorced and tearfully told of his marriage ending in infidelity, a vow-breaking act we agreed we’d never engage in. The cherry on top was his empathetic response to my past for prior to our meeting, he’d served on the board of directors for his local battered women’s shelter. For the first time, I had a mutually supportive, loving relationship. On a long City 2weekend, he proposed and joyfully, I said yes! Returning to City 3, we renovated a condo and began planning our wedding. Combining our two households, we didn’t need wedding gifts so, instead, we included donation slips to the National Domestic Violence Hotline with each invite. With only four months until our New Year’s Eve wedding and knee-deep in preparations, I noticed my vision decreasing. I booked an appointment with my ophthalmologist who did some tests, followed by a few whispers to his assistant who then handed me orders for tests. Two days later, with my fiancé by my side, I was diagnosed with a massive, facially disfiguring brain tumor which had already robbed me of the vision in one eye. So busy with renovations and planning our future, we hadn’t noticed the tumor pushing my eye forward. I underwent eleven hours of life-saving, emergency brain and reconstructive facial surgery. My fiancé stayed with me throughout my ten-day hospital stay and accompanied me to all post-op appointments and tests. Since the tumor had compromised my sight, I was had severe balance impairment but, I had my future husband’s physical support, helping me each step of the way as, for the first time, I was reliant upon a cane. We had survived a tumor and its surgery which could’ve left me totally blind, paralyzed or dead. Gratefully optimistic, we continued with our wedding plans. The light at the end of our tunnel darkened again when a routine medical appointment for his type 1 diabetes resulted in a leukemia diagnosis. Fortunately, he didn’t yet require treatment so once more, we maintained our scheduled plans. Our wedding was a joyous celebration of love and survival. As I was still recovering from surgery, we chose a quiet, beach honeymoon in Country 2after which we returned to our newly renovated City 4 loft. We enjoyed our creative, professional endeavors, free time together roaming the city, surprising each other with gifts of trips and jewelry while still making time for visiting friends and families. Additionally, we continued volunteering, with him serving on the board of directors for a children’s charity while I had the honor of speaking on behalf of the NDVH. Soon after, I underwent extensive training and earned my advocacy certificate which enabled me to volunteer in twoState hospital ED’s, providing support and resources to female victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. Ours was a mutually gratifying and rewarding marriage, one which our friends routinely admitted envying. We had everything anyone could wish for as well as something no one wanted. A routine MRI revealed residual brain tumor growth. After weeks of radiation, I suffered from relentless side effects of memory loss, fatigue and insomnia, all of which negatively affected my ability to work and volunteer. Instinctively, my husband knew that as a self-supporting individual, my new reality was difficult to accept but he also knew what needed to be said. “You work two days and you’re dead for five. It’s not healthy. You need to quit.” Cushioning the blow, he added, “We’ll be fine, you’ll be better, healthier and, we have more than enough money. As I always say, ‘worry is waste,’ so please, no worries. Most importantly, we have each other.” Reluctantly, I admitted that he was right and together we admitted that I was, unfortunately, permanently disabled. After leaving my job, I stayed home, writing personal essays and working out when able. I detested admitting that I was disabled but I did suggest I file for benefits. He responded by hugging me and saying once more, “No need, we have more than enough money.” The next day, on his way to work, he phoned. “Jot this realtor’s number down. It’s a gorgeous house in East Hampton!” That weekend, we drove to City 5 and began house-hunting. Within six months, we purchased a gleaming glass ranch with pool and tennis. We alternated our time between City 4 and City 5. With that property purchase and my not having lived in my condo for more than two years, we sold it and used the profits for the downpayment on, as he suggested we buy a home for my parents, as he’d done for his former mother-in-law during his first marriage. My mom and dad adored their new, State 2 townhouse. While planning a romantic anniversary trip, my personal essay chronicling my journey from brain tumor diagnosis to idyllic wedding was published. We flew to the Island as planned, where we lazed in the sun and splashed in the sea. But our return home was not what we’d planned as he began experiencing rapid onset fatigue. While he’d already scheduled a party to celebrate my writing achievement, given his declining health, I requested he cancel the event but he refused. The celebration was wonderful and guests called the next day with thanks, followed by questions about his health. We had yet to tell anyone about his leukemia since we didn’t want family and friends to worry as they’d already done so during my surgery and radiation. And, perhaps we didn’t want to worry ourselves either. When a visit to his hematologist revealed our latest reality, we scheduled chemotherapy. As we’d done with my tumor and its regrowth, we handled his treatments with mutual optimism, support and encouragement until, the unexpected occurred. Overnight, he morphed into someone I didn’t recognize. He began making rash, unilateral decisions which included selling our loft, recently purchased house and, him having placed an offer on a coop in City 4 toniest neighborhood. Despite his inconsistency, what remained the same were his morning love notes. However, his afternoon phone calls just to hear my voice became vitriol-filled rants about nothing in particular. Each night he’d return home from work, greeting me as he’d always done, with a kiss and a hug. But each time I brought up his ever-changing behavior, he refused to talk about it, claiming that everything was fine. Seeing me suffer emotionally, he booked a marriage counseling session. Making progress in therapy, we returned to our walks in Park, movies, travel, board games and lovemaking. We marked the end of his treatments with a celebratory trip to City 6where he surprised me with a Tiffany necklace. Our nights were spent enjoying romantic dinners, playful flirting at clubs as we listened live music and making passionate love. We spent our days sightseeing, shopping and taking long beach walks. Although we were close, we were simultaneously miles apart, even when in the same hotel room. As we’d both agreed to follow our marriage counselor’s advice to address such situations immediately, I brought up that he seemed to be distancing himself from me but I was cut off with, “I promised to never do that again and I won’t.” The remainder of our getaway was hot and cold as he launched into angry outbursts followed by declarations of love for me. Confused and unsteady, physically and emotionally, I thought he was gaslighting me but the man who stood by me before, during and after my brain tumor diagnosis, disfigurement, surgery and radiation, who intimately knew the depths of my memory loss, who had long advocated for DV victims, would never engage in such cruelty. While packing for our return flight, I flashed back to my ex-husband’s singular apology. Maybe I was making ‘him’ do this. Our flight home was pleasantly uneventful until his severe emotional turbulence resulted in a bumpy landing which continued long after we deplaned. He abruptly quit the job he loved, formed a new corporation and sent a scathing rage-filled, accusatory letter to his amicably divorced ex-wife, assassinating her character with worded weapons of war. He proudly requested I read the letter only to ignore my opinion about its contents and advising he not mail it. At our next counseling session, I planned to discuss his most recent, hasty decisions but he took the lead, pointing at me while yelling, “You’re a fucking evil bitch!” His face was contorted with hate as he stood up and stormed out of the room. Before I could apologize to our therapist, he returned for an encore, reprising his offensive script and slamming the door on his way out. As I slunk down in my seat embarrassed, our therapist said, “Did you see my hand on the phone?” “No. I was so humiliated that I didn’t notice anything other than his stomps of shame out your door, although it’s doubtful he feels shame or anything anymore. I’m just so embarrassed.” She responded, “You did nothing wrong. He did. In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was going to call 911.” I trembled throughout the taxi ride home, alone. He met me at the door, apologizing and begging for my forgiveness. Wanting to keep at least a semblance of peace, I forgave him. The next day, I awoke to a love note followed by his loving phone calls throughout the day. Later that afternoon, he emailed me my boarding pass for his upcoming business trip which we’d excitedly planned. Moments later, he messaged that I will not be accompanying him to City 6. He needed time alone and requested that we have no calls, texts or emails during his absence. I was crushed. Since our first date, we’d never gone a day without contact. Not wanting the remaining apples to spill out of what was left in our marital cart, I acquiesced. The day after his departure, I phoned JetBlue to obtain the credit for my unused ticket and the agent was most accommodating. He told me that since my ticket had been reassigned to someone else, he couldn’t provide a credit. Next, he voluntarily provided the name of my husband’s seatmate, unwanted information which led to me reviewing our credit card statements and phone bills. Before me were pages upon pages of his activities- hotel charges, phone calls and texts, many of which occurred before, during and after our City 5 getaway. Facebook confirmed their friendship. She was married, with children. Per his wishes, I didn’t contact him during his trip but I did phone when, long after his flight landed, he hadn’t returned home. “Where are you?” “I’m at the office, catching up on what I missed while away. I’ll stay here tonight and get it all done.” Desperate to talk with him and hopefully discuss my inadvertent discoveries in person, I pressed him to have dinner with me at a local restaurant. Eventually, he agreed. Over dessert, I casually said her name. He rapidly responded, “I have no idea who she is.” It was then that I pulled out my confidence-building handbag of truth and set the proof on the table. With a reddened face, he said, “I don’t know her; I’ve never spoken with her. It’s all a mistake. JetBlue, The Hudson Hotel, AmEx, AT&T and Facebook are wrong. I’ll call them all tomorrow and straighten it all out.” I wished it was so but there was no denying what I knew to be true. The man who declared his unconditional love for me daily, my first-ever advocate I’d trusted with the life and death decisions of brain tumors, the man who in turn, trusted me with his cancer, both of us living in sickness and in health before marriage, and him, a longtime supporter of battered women and the NDVH, was lying. I was woozy on the short walk back home together. Once inside our apartment he shouted, “I’m not staying here with you. I’ll be in touch.” As he opened the door to leave, he saw my cane in the corner and said, “Sure, try to get sympathy with that thing. It won’t work.” After my tumor treatments, I worked hard at walking without assistance but sometimes, such as after coming home from an intense workout, he would see me wobble a bit and remind me to use my cane. When JetBlue derailed me with reality, I lost trust as well as my appetite and within days, I’d lost so much weight that I again relied on my cane for support. While I stood at the door sobbing, he again shouted his unfounded defense, “They’re all wrong! They’re wrong! I’ll fix it all! They’re wrong!” Thirty minutes after he slammed our door, I received an email, “I had a nice time at dinner.” Fifteen minutes later, another, “If I were going to fuck around 1) I’d be exceptionally discreet and 2) I wouldn’t. I am not permanently pissed, but this is a black mark for me, let’s see what we can do with it…” Then, another email in which he declared his forever love and deep regret. Anxious to see him the next afternoon at counseling to discuss this recent development, at least recent to me, I arrived early for our appointment. In the waiting room, I stared at the door for his arrival which didn’t come. Our therapist called my name, I went into her office and sat down without a word. While staring at the floor, she said, “He called. He’s not returning to therapy.” With this abrupt decision and his unusual choice of messenger, as soon as I was home, I called him to request a medical release form so that I could meet with his hematologist and discuss that perhaps his transformation might have resulted from his cancer or chemotherapy. He immediately faxed the signed form to his doctor, called me with an appointment date and a promise that he’d meet me there. That same week, I sat in another waiting room, staring at the door. Again, he didn’t show up. I walked back to the doctor’s office and after polite hello’s, I explained what had been going on. “Whatever it is, it’s temporary. You’re the happiest couple I know. Deeply in love, so supportive of each other, always together. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.” I was further conflicted and yet comforted. I returned home to another email. “The money is safe. I am not taking it anywhere. Out of the country no. Hiding it away no. Please do not pressure me to do what will be done.” As I’d not mentioned money, I didn’t know what he was referring to. Logging into our joint bank account, I noted that for the first time since we were wed, he had not deposited his paycheck. He was gone and yet, not as he continually requested that I meet him at area restaurants, with his mail. Our get-togethers were cold but ever optimistic, I continued seeing him. He followed each meeting with emails such as, “I love you baby, xoxo me,” and, “You looked beautiful last night, as always.” I’d longed for those words which had been commonplace but were now rare and typically, followed by insults. And yet, each message gave me hope that he was right and what I knew to be true was wrong. After days of such ‘I love you’ emails, he began calling, wanting to discuss a formal separation agreement, informing me that we’re no longer married, that this is a business deal, that it took all his strength to walk out of our apartment and, he’d been unhappy since the day we met. His next email threatened that if I didn’t go along with what he termed, a mutual, determined separation agreement, it would negatively affect my future well-being and he’d file a summons for cruel and inhumane treatment. My days and nights were filled with more of his appetite suppressant messages. Nearly emaciated, I was too weak to exercise and stopped attending the dance classes I’d loved, the ones that he often enjoyed with me. Unable to hide my protruding bones with clothing, I was at a routine physical, when my doctor said, “You’ve lost all of your muscle! You have to start working out again.” I returned to the dance classes I’d loved. Within minutes, I was surrounded by my teacher and students who were greeting me with hugs and smiles before informing me that my husband began attending class with a woman he’d introduced as his girlfriend. The, they began showing up several times a week at what had been my regularly scheduled classes. My decision to attend other classes led to his increased calls and threats, followed by his notifying me that he moved uptown to get away from me. He had and yet he hadn’t for although he was in a different neighborhood, he continued parking across the street from our condo. After two months of uncomfortably bumping into him outside our building, I retained counsel. My husband, a board member for a battered women’s shelter long before we met, didn’t hide his detest for my ex having physically abused me. He also believed that my brain tumors resulted from my ex grabbing me by the throat, lifting me up and slamming my head into walls and his truck. And yet, he took a page from ex’s gift-giving registry although his package was delivered with no postage at all. I was running errands on my birthday when I heard a man calling my name. As I looked to see him, he glanced down at a stack of papers, the first of which I could see was a photo of me taken in happier times. Shoving bound papers at me, he said, “You’ve been served.” I wasn’t about to reach out and accept them so he dropped them on the ground. Laying before me on bustling Street sidewalk in the November wind lay twenty-three charges of cruel and inhumane treatment, lies which my husband later admitted to having invented. As we were childless, there would be no custody battle so I knew ours would be a quick divorce. About to leave for the first court date, my lawyer called to say that court was rescheduled since my husband was out of town. He was lazing in the Island 2 sun again but unlike our honeymoon, he had an entourage- his girlfriend, her two children, their grandmother and our money. His delay tactics became as routine as his continual, vindictive violations of the judge’s temporary support orders. Friends and colleagues who’d envied our marriage were shocked about the way he’d been treating me and his divorce filing since he’d always told them how much he loved me and how happy he was. And, reassuring me, his ex-wife said that what I’d witnessed for years was indeed true, he had dutifully paid her court ordered support without interruption or complaint so she knew he’d do the same with me when our divorce was finalized. Even his closest friends said as he had, he’d always take care of me. Post-trial, while awaiting the judge’s decision, I attended medical appointments and underwent routine tests, the last of which revealed another brain tumor, this one threatening my remaining vision. After another emergency brain surgery, I awoke in Neuro ICU but this time, temporarily blind, disfigured and alone. Not only had he long since abandoned me, the friends and family who’d been present and supportive after my first brain surgery followed his lead when I needed them most. I attempted to recover in peace but my valiant efforts were interrupted and delayed by realtors showing prospective buyers our apartment. This was the only court order he followed, the listing of our City 7 condo and City 5 house. The issue of our State 2 property was settled when I received my parents’ birthday package. Addressed in my dad’s controlled, cursive handwriting, I excitedly opened the box to find a unique gift, the garage door opener without card, wrap or ribbons. As with my friends who abandoned me when my husband had, my parents did the same while also abandoning the Florida townhouse. One phone call to the realtor who sold us the property revealed that they walked out the door, leaving it empty and me, hollow. With my husband aware of my recent brain surgery, his get-well gift came in the form of violating temporary court orders for my medical expenses. Struggling to see, undergoing two more surgeries to correct disfigurement, and rife with emotional and physical pain, my doctors wrote critically necessary prescriptions for physical therapy, a host of medications and home healthcare aides. But without receiving his court ordered support, I couldn’t afford all of my requisite care which led to my incurring further physical damage. Based on the voluminous medical evidence provided to the court, the judge accepted the fact of my disability. Immediately, I followed her order and applied for SSDI. Recognizing that I could not survive with SSDI benefits as my sole source of income, in her final judgment, my ex-husband was court ordered to pay spousal support, healthcare overage and maintain me as the sole beneficiary of his pension and life insurance policies. I began anew again but my second beginning started and stopped simultaneously with his continued court order violations. Necessarily, I returned to court with a lawyer and a contempt motion. Back in our trial judge’s courtroom, this hearing took only thirty minutes during which time she reviewed my evidence of accrued spousal support arrears and his cancellation of my health insurance. Again, the judge instructed him to follow all court orders and again, he said he would and again, he didn’t. Retaining another attorney, I filed a second contempt motion which was assigned to a different judge. At our first hearing, the judge informed him that continued violations could result in jail time. I didn’t want him locked up but as our original trial judge found, I couldn’t survive without him following all court orders. Rather than believe the judge’s not-so-veiled threat, his violations continued but with a new twist, of the pen. On the subject lines of his shorted and late support checks, he began writing emotionally abusive messages such as, ‘Blood Money,’ and his most-oft used favorite, ‘Fucking Evil Bitch.’ Then, he crumpled the checks into trash-like balls which he stuffed into envelopes. His heinous, illegal acts continued for four more years, enough time that the judge forgot the court order enforcement actions afforded her. With my finances rapidly dwindling, I could no longer afford legal representation and so, I became a fool, representing myself. This would be a bad choice for anyone, but especially for someone whose only legal education to that point had been the prior years in divorce court. Adding in my permanent neurological impairments which had long ago rendered me unable to work and support myself. Among them, brain inflammation, memory loss and nerve pain, all of which intensified. While struggling to file motions, organize legal documents and attend court, I endured cataclysmic catastrophes resulting in damage as massive as his intentionally cruel court order violations and those of a judge who repeatedly admitted not reviewing the case before her. A massive flood resulted in the loss of my belongings and my apartment, I received multiple diagnoses including- a third brain tumor, glaucoma, a chronic retina bleed in my only usable eye, cataracts requiring immediate surgery, an ovarian cyst and prior surgical scar tissue resulting in intractable pain, all while I struggled to continue representing myself in court. Meanwhile, in order to pay for critical medical treatment, tests, medications, surgeries and the necessity of shelter, I accrued credit card debt for the first time in my life. Although my renter’s insurance policy paid flood reimbursement monies, they were quickly dissipated on survival necessities of food, shelter, transportation to and from court, health insurance and more. When I thought I’d reached rock bottom, I began receiving harassing and often profane messages from inventive email addresses, including one from Email Address informing me that the happy couple had wed and were raising her children in what had been our City 8home. That message was followed with my next birthday gift, a dead plant with a florist’s gift tag on which he wrote, “I love you.” I consistently reported his damaging, harassing and abusive actions to the judge who responded while looking at him, “Stop doing that.” He responded to her affirmatively but instead, increased his vicious email attacks while also adding childish crank phone calls. Throughout our five years before this judge, she chose to ignore my factually, documented evidence of his non-stop court order violations which included a running total of his accumulated spousal support arrears just as she disregarded her long-ago promise of holding him accountable for his violations. Despite his courtroom confession with evidentiary backup that he violated the original court order by replacing me with his girlfriend as the beneficiary of his pension and life insurance policies, the judge turned a blind eye, tantamount to approving of this violation. Finally, the judge rendered her decision, one which disregarded my years of factual evidence proving his years ten years of continually violating court orders and substantiating that he was, far from his baseless claims of being flat out broke but rather, flush with more than enough to pay the full amount of support arrears which surpassed one quarter of a million dollars. Explaining her rationale for ignoring the rule of law, she said, “Given the Plaintiff’s comorbidities, she has less time left than he, so she won’t be needing the accumulated spousal support monies or any other benefits stipulated in the previously entered judgment of divorce. I sat there shocked that a State State Supreme Court judge had based a legal decision on her non-medical prediction of my imminent death. I walked away from the legal system, further battered and bruised with scars as invisible as those caused by my first husband’s sexual, emotional, physical and verbal abuse. Those painful wounds remain as unseen as my irreparable vision loss, ongoing brain tumor growths, radiation treatments, the abandonment of friends and family and those left behind by my second husband- financial and psychological abuse which combined, equal physical abuse for they left me further impaired as I’ve been unable to obtain and maintain shelter, medical treatment, medications and other survival necessities. Alone, in pain and in need, I embarrassingly became dependent upon the kindness of strangers, one who generously provided me with temporary shelter and food, keeping me alive when someone else died- my ex-husband. Apparently, our judge’s crystal ball was as cracked as the rule of law she chose to break. One year and five months after she rendered her decision and amended the original divorce judgment, he was gone. But I wasn’t. My health has steadily declined since I made my Love Connection with my second husband, after which he treated me to The Dating Game followed by The Newlywed Game. I believed I’d won the prize of his undying love, affection and support. But when he began playing his favorite boardgame, Malevolent Monopoly, I lost and continued losing since he declared himself the banker and real estate mogul, owning all of the properties and utilities. Throughout his illegal, unending game, he never went to jail directly or indirectly and I never collected $200.00 for passing go or the $250,000.00+ in accumulated spousal support. Left with not much more than questions as to the how and why this all happened, I played a game of my own- connect the dots. A single line connected each dot, forming a family tree with rotted roots and ancestrally infected branches. As a child, my mother witnessed her mom be physically, financially and emotionally abused by her husband which led to her marrying my dad for the safety and security she’d always desired, only to relive what her mother had and likewise, my mom did her best to ignore and hide her husband’s abuse. My brother chose to ignore the truth of my mom’s screams on that long-ago Sunday afternoon. Similarly, he chose to ignore the physical abuse he saw me endure at that campus town bar and my increasing impairments and substantial losses resulting from my second husband’s financial and psychological abuse. My dad was a good man and also, not. He loved me, my brother and my mom very much but ultimately, he loved her to death. As for my in-laws, after I paid forty-one cents to accept their son’s postage due divorce-papers, I learned that my first husband’s father had physically abused his mother, leading to her suffering two nervous breakdowns. When I told her how her son physically and emotionally abused me, she advised that I should’ve done as she had with husband and stop doing what bothered him. Upon meeting the man who would be my second husband, he volunteered his truth of being betrayed by his spouse during their marriage. A year later, he detailed the domestic violence perpetrated by his mother. During his childhood, his mom prepared his brother a sandwich with a unique condiment, broken glass. Additionally, she often engaged in psychologically abusing him and her husband with her favorite weapon, gaslighting, which only ended when she was institutionalized. I am living proof that as with disability and destitution, domestic violence doesn’t have to be visible to exist yet few believe my truth of living those traumas. Rather than hear an empathetic word, most often I’m told, “You don’t look disabled, abused, or homeless.” Over time, I’ve learned that there exists a pervasive, preconceived image of what a disabled, impoverished victim turned survivor of domestic violence looks like and unfortunately, that image is typically wrong. Not all tragedies are visible. Not all living below poverty level live on the streets, not all disabled are nonsensical and mangled and, not all victims of domestic violence have broken bones, black eyes or bruises. Anyone can experience what I have as well as additional challenges, be they rich, middle class or poor. Domestic violence can happen anywhere, on a Midwest farm, a State 2 beach, a bustling city or the peaceful quiet of the City 8, just as it did with me. Likewise, abusers, victims and survivors of domestic violence come from everywhere and anywhere, as in my case, the East Coast, New England and the Midwest. Abusers look like everyone, in packages of various sizes and shapes, in gift bags or boxes, decorated in ribbons and bows or with no finery whatsoever. Specifically, seen or unseen, happening to anyone, anywhere and at any time, domestic violence is always wrong and all too often, it’s dead wrong. However, what is right remains the same- victims of domestic violence and sexual assault need to be heard, supported and believed rather than silenced, ignored and doubted. Being believed provides life-saving healing, validation, encouragement, comfort and hope. Rather than continuing to prove who I am to those disbelieving my truth, I am content in knowing who I am and with that, I validate, encourage, support and comfort myself as well as others for judging a book by its cover leads only to tattered pages, broken bindings and torn, broken people. Fortunately, I have found permanent glue and hope but tragically, too many do not.

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    Keep hope alive.

    This is not easy and I am now sure more than ever that others felt the same way. While you can feel you are in it alone there are so many many many stories that are the same. I was at such a tender age. Innocent and blameless. I never knew that i was being taken for granted by the very person who said they love me. They were my family member. Little did I know i would continue to move forward in my life in a manner that only God could heal. Now I sit hear as a full grown adult after going through emotional, physical, psychological abuse by so many that claims to love me. I continued to protect them all because I never told my side of the story. It all ends today. No one else gets to take advantage of my weakness. I was in a long time relationship that started as your typical relationship just beautiful. All of the nice things occurred flowers, candy, gifts. As time went on and things were more settled the take over begun. The insecurities continued to grow and grow. Around year 2 is when the physical abuse started. He had me right where he wanted me. My family tried to intervene but I thought I was in LOVE. Yea I said that 4 letter word that can cause so much pain. Yes I stayed and that was the end to most of my relationships with my family. The relationship with he and I would span another 10 years before the END was the END. I tell you it was not easy at all. One thing I did learn is that most people that should be for you will call you all kind of names stupid, dumb, etc. so much so until you start to believe it. Never give up on yourself.

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  • “These moments in time, my brokenness, has been transformed into a mission. My voice used to help others. My experiences making an impact. I now choose to see power, strength, and even beauty in my story.”

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    From a survivor
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    Breaking Free: Escaping a Narcissist's Grip

    Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

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  • Message of Healing
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    Healing to me is not hiding away what happened to me.

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    Name, The loser

    My Domestic Violence Abuse began when I was five years old and continued until this last May. In my first Foster Home, I would be locked in my room at night with a lock on the outside of the door. I would have to drink my own urine if thirsty out of a chitterling bucket. I had my meals in the basement and made to lean against the oven if disobedient. Being hit in the eye with a belt buckle for trying on her makeup was just the tip of the iceberg. The second Foster Home was just as bad. I begged the Social Worker not to send me there because even at the age of eight, I knew that the Father was a creep. But, of course, I was forced to live there anyway and by the age of ten, he raped me. Fast forward to 2012 when I met Name of Serial Killer. After dating him for two weeks, I told him that unfortunately, I didn’t think a Relationship would work because he idolized Name (another Serial Killer). He walked over to his drawer, pulled out a 357’ magnum, and asked me if I were ready to die. Fortunately, my Faith in God saved my life because instead of being terrified, I was angry and asked him if he had lost his mind and demanded that he get that gun out of my damn face!! The next time I saw him was on the News in handcuffs after Authorities found the bodies of the victims he murdered. This past May, I finally found the courage to leave my abuser after 8 years. He pulled out a gun on me and my two Autistic Adult Children. I was ugly, fat, deserved to not have Parents or a Family. My children were demons and retards. Although my children and I are finally in a Home after living in a Roach infested Hotel for four months, we’re suffering financially. Sleeping on deflated air mattresses and an old couch. I find myself wanting to contact my Abuser because at least when we were with him, we had nice clothes, furniture, and an abundance of food. I’m extremely depressed and confused right now.

    Dear reader, the following story contains explicit use of homophobic, racist, sexist, or other derogatory language that may be distressing and offensive.

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  • Message of Healing
    From a survivor
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    Smiling again with love in my heart for myself and the world.

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    Name's Story

    At 19 years old and away from home for the first time…I thought I was in love. I married someone I barely knew. I met him at Military Training, and we got stationed in the same city. I wanted a wedding, but he did not so we ended up at the Justice of the Peace. This was one of the first of many things I did to compromise. Shortly after we were married, his true colors started showing. Slowly, I was isolated, moved away from all my friends and family. I could not do anything right. Everything was my fault. No matter how hard I tried it was never good enough. He forced me to watch pornography and forced me to do things sexually that I had not consented to. Yes, a spouse can rape their spouse. I was called all sorts of names, mocked, belittled, insulted, and worse. It was mostly behind closed doors; however, some was done in public. We would only hang out with my friends and family when he wanted to put on a show. At one point he moved his “friend” in with us because she had nowhere to go. After being diagnosed with an STD, I learned she was one of many women that he cheated on me with. She was his mistress in every sense of the word. At some point I lost who I was and began to think I was exactly who he said I was…worthless, ugly, and nothing. I was living in a fog. I could not make sense of my feelings or thoughts. I had no idea what to do to make him happy because no matter how much I tried to do what I thought he said he wanted it was never right. I attempted suicide which surprised my family, friends, and co-workers because I had never said a word. I had been able to put on a smile and always help others during the workday. No one knew the verbal, emotional or sexual abuse I endured at home. After my suicide attempt my family, and the few friends that still stood by me tried to get me to leave. I refused to leave. I was insistent that could make my marriage work. If I only tried harder. If I were only the person, he wanted me to be. Then, out of the blue, he was arrested, court-martialed, and sent to military prison (on matters unrelated to the marriage). I still tried to make things work. I would go visit him in jail, take care of our home, pay the bills, and try to be a “good wife”. One day he called asking for things he wanted. When I told him that I had not bought the requested items because I was looking for a part-time job to pay the bills (we had mounds of debt thanks to him), he called me “undependable”. It was in that moment I finally realized I deserved more. I yelled into the phone “You’re right; I’m undependable!” and hung up the phone. I then took off my engagement and wedding rings and proceeded to throw them across the living room into the kitchen where they came to rest under the washer and dryer. The next day I contacted a lawyer and within a few weeks we were divorced. We had been married for one year and four months and had known each other for one year and nine months. In less than two years this man had broken me to the point that I no longer knew who I was and kept me from making new friends at my duty assignment. The only friends I had at this point were some old friends from high school that I did not see often but they refused to be pushed away. His actions caused me to spiral into a pit of depression so severe that I thought the only answer (or way out) was to take my own life. Throughout my first marriage, I had a friend who told my first ex-husband to back off and that he was going to stay my friend no matter what. He kept his word and continued to always be there for me during my marriage. When I told him, I was getting divorced, he took leave and came to stay with me for a week so he could be in the courtroom with me during the divorce hearing. 2 years and 7 months later this friend and I were married. Like my first husband, I also met him at military training. Our whole relationship had been long distance except for the few months at military training and that one week during my divorce. We spent the first year of marriage apart waiting for the military to station us together. We got pregnant the first weekend we were finally living together. Once we were living together, his true personality quickly emerged. He was always on the computer due to video games and/or pornography. He could not be bothered to help if he was on the computer. He would yell when he was not happy. I called to say I was in premature labor with our child and he did not come to the hospital. Once the baby arrived, I would ask for help, but he could not be bothered because he was busy. As time went on, the yelling, silent treatment, name calling, not helping around the house, and just ignoring me only seemed to get worse. Then he got deployed. I discovered he was having at minimum one online affair and saying all sorts of hateful and nasty things about me. I confronted him, and he acted like it was not a big deal. I felt differently. It was a big deal to me, so I left. I filed for a divorce. He spent months sweet talking me until I foolishly took him back. At this point we were now both out of the military. We bought a house, and he went to school. I worked full-time, tried to go school, and took care of the house and our child. He still seldom helped with anything. I had to pay for childcare because our child bothered him while he was doing his schoolwork. The name calling, silent treatments and ignoring only got worse. I noticed he was punishing our child in ways that were not appropriate for a toddler and expecting things beyond a toddler’s capability. I started having panic attacks when I pulled into the garage after work because I did not know which personality I was going to meet when I walked in the house: Mr. Happy or Mr. Angry. His behavior after we moved in together did not match the behavior of the friend who was there for me during my first marriage; he had changed – or had he? He stopped telling me how much he loved me and how much he needed me and proceeded to tear me down or not talk to me at all. I had reached that all too familiar point where I was again in a fog and not sure what to do because everything, I did was wrong…unless he wanted something. I felt like I was walking on eggshells at home all the time. I remember he said something to me at a store one day and a woman made eye contact with me…her look said, “Honey, just say the word and I will help you escape”. I just quickly looked away. The final straw was coming home from work one day and finding my usually very active child sitting very still on the couch. When I asked what was wrong, my child said, “Daddy slapped across both cheeks for playing in some mud with the dog.” I confronted him and told him he had three choices: get help, leave or I was calling the police. He chose to leave and blame me for making him “poor and homeless”. Seven months after we separated, we were divorced. We had been married for eight years and ten months. We had known each other for ten years and seven months. He had gone from being one of my best friends to a total stranger who left me feeling even more empty and broken than my first husband had. It is hard to put into words the slow way both individuals managed to tear me down to nothing, to the point that I felt like I had nothing left to live for. Unlike my first marriage, the second time it was not just me. I had to protect my child. Both used verbal and emotional abuse to slowly control me and make me feel like nothing, make me question my sanity, and make me believe I was a complete idiot and loser. One of them used sex as a weapon for his pleasure and another withheld touch of any kind knowing that it is one of my Love Languages. Both could be kind when it suited them to make them look good or to get what they wanted. Thanks to both of these individuals I now know gaslighting, love bombing, flying monkeys, triangulation, projection, threats (both threatened to kill me), trauma-bonding and more are all part of a Narcissist’s play book. It was not me who was crazy or not worthy. They used these tools to get what they wanted and then tossed me to the side when I was no longer needed. Now that I know what these actions and terms mean I have been able to educate myself on how to recognize the signs, heal from the trauma and reach a point where I am able to share my story of survival. I had no idea who I was, what I liked, how to live a happy life or how to be strong. I could put on a good show for the outside world, or so I thought. I have since learned that my family and close friends could tell things were wrong. They were praying for me and standing close for when I finally reached out for help. When I look back over both marriages, I see God’s hand in them, and I know that it is because of Him that I am still here to tell my story. My first ex-husband walked in on me with the pills in hand and a razor blade at my wrist. For all the bad he did God used him to save my life by having him walk-in at that exact moment. He reported me to the military thinking it would get me in trouble but instead it saved my career and my life. His going to jail allowed me to get away. During my second marriage I can honestly say that the only reason I was able to get away is truly a miracle. I believe the prayers of my loved ones were answered by giving me a strength that came only from God, allowing me to stand up to him and give him those three choices after he slapped our child. How did I escape and repair my spirit? How did I find me again and become happy, strong, out-going, courageous, stand my ground, and know my own worth? I did it through the mercy, forgiveness, and love of God. I have spent hours in prayer and bible study. I have gone to Christian based counseling. I have shared my story with others. It has been a long road to recovery, but I know now I am a child of God and I am worth more than what those two individuals did to me. I will never settle again. Never settle for less than you are worth. You are worth more than all the rubies and diamonds in the world. You are His child. You are loved. You are beautiful. You are strong. You can. You will Survive.

    Dear reader, this story contains language of self-harm that some may find triggering or discomforting.

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    Windy road to healing

    For years I questioned what I was doing wrong and how someone who loved me could be so comfortable hurting me. But they didn’t hit me so I never looked at it as DV or myself as a victim. Through different type of relationships, it was a revolving door, but they didn’t hit me so I wasn’t a victim. Until my last relationship. In 3 1/2 years, he put his hands on me once, but if I had just let him leave, he wouldn’t have done it. For the longest time, he was planting it into my head that I was the issue. The good times were really good so I overlooked the bad cause I loved him more than I loved myself in that moment. The way he loved my kids (who were not his) also kept me around for a lot longer than I should have. I planned a life with him in my head cause he was helping raise kids that weren’t his so he must be an amazing man to step up, until he started lacking. Then I realizing me being unhappy with him, was hurting my kids more than I knew. He made me believe that I was so “mentally unstable” no one would ever love me & that being 6ft down in a grave was the only way I was going to be able to get away from him. Then I left & I was so proud of myself. I started doing intensive therapy & working on myself & then the thoughts he planted in my head came back. “No one could ever love you the way I do because I was there for you in your lowest” & I broke the no contact & let him back in. Things were good at first, and then he would shove the past in my face & tell me how much he hated me & the verbal & mental abuse cycle began again. But this time, I knew better. I found out about mental & physical abuse, I did research, I was in groups & I was learning to love myself again. I had boundaries for the first time in a long time. And then I found out about the cheating a year prior while he was living at my house & the summer of the downward spiral had begun. I blocked him again & was so depressed, I began drowning it with alcohol. I felt my heart just break as this man had spent so much time accusing me of cheating while I was working to support my kids, just for him to turn around & do it to me. I almost lost everything & it took me losing 1 of my jobs to finally get back on track. I stopped drinking for a while, I found a better job, I spent more time with my kids & began re-evaluating what made me happy in life. I re-discovered my healthy boundaries, I was working more, I was laughing again & generally meaning it. I started talking to my friends about my feelings & where I was in life. For a year, things were going better (there’s always going to be the ups & downs but it was better). And then the 1 year of me blocking had come up & I caved & unblocked him on his birthday. At first it was to be petty, and then I found out he was seeing someone. I played it like I didn’t know anything, we hung out a few times & then the old him came out again but this time, I was in a better place & I knew what to accept & what to correct. I finally seen him being in my life was not good for me mentally & as much as I miss the him he pretended to be when we first met, I am learning to mourn the person who never existed. I don’t want to call him for every little thing anymore (good or bad). He doesn’t get access to me or my kids life anymore & I love the strong, independent female I am becoming. I’m so proud of the scars I’m healing & acknowledging that I’m human & I am going to have weak days that I might want to message him & I’m taking it 1 day at a time. Going from planning a future & a life with someone you thought was them to mourning someone who never actually existed is something most people will never understand (& I hope they never have too). Some days are easier than others & it’s ok to get lost as long as you find your way back to the track. I am strong because I have no other choice but I’m learning it’s ok to have weak days & I don’t always have to be so strong. Cry, scream, punching a pillow is healthy ways to let all of that out. I’m not perfect & I don’t have to be but I will be there for others going through this & let them know they’re not alone, it’s not their fault & they are very so much loved

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    #752

    We found each other through Match.com. The first time I hugged her, it was electric. Her body fit against mine perfectly. Being in an area where there aren’t tons of Christians, we were excited that our values and beliefs aligned really well. I liked that she wasn’t materialistic. Both of us were pretty inexperienced with relationships for being in our late 20s - she especially so. Her job involved high-level philanthropic work in the developing world, and I found that impressive and exciting, having previously taught English in a developing country myself. I imagined a life with her would be peaceful and would likely involve adventures together in Africa and Asia. She and I got engaged after eight months of dating, and we were married six months later. The first signs of physical abuse started less than a year after we married. We were having an argument in bed, and she used her feet to shove me out of the bed. Later came her first assault on me, when an argument culminated in her attacking me with her fists. Fits of punching me occurred three more times over the next 18 months. One of the times when she attacked me, she was driving a car and I was in the front passenger seat. We were going 40mph on a 4-lane road around a bend. It was very unsafe. Her violating my physical boundaries also included pinching my testicles and zits on my back after I told her it was painful, and it wasn’t ok. I wanted to share some examples of other abusive situations I endured as well. Once during an argument, she held a ladle over her head in a threatening way like she was going to hit me with it. Twice she banged on the bedroom door over and over after I had locked myself inside to put space between us when it was clear an argument was going badly. One of those times I called an emergency helpline. They stayed on the phone with me as I exited the room and left the house. Once she told me if we didn’t have a child by the time, she was a certain age, and then later we had a child born with disabilities or birth defects, she would blame me for that. She also tried guilting me for using condoms at a time when it was clear to me our relationship needed serious help before it’d be suitable to have a child together. I think these things count as reproductive abuse. Were there red flags? Looking back, I can say yes. One was her angry texts on occasions when I was running late to meet her. Another was that her mom, dad, and brother all said she was a handful as a child, particularly with her tantrums. I assumed that she had outgrown all of that by the time I met her. The final time she assaulted me was in an Airbnb while on vacation in Japan. By this point I had decided that if she got violent with me, I would basically not defend myself at all and would just let it happen. Part of her manhandling me in that Airbnb involved her trying to take my phone away from me. Had she succeeded at that, I would have been in serious trouble if I’d tried to flee. Soon after this happened, I made up my mind we needed to separate. She decided to get domestic violence treatment. I held out hope that if we lived apart for a while and she took her treatment seriously, we could resume our marriage. The second tipping point was when she violated the clearly laid-out terms of our separation by being aggressive toward me again when we got together at a public place (Chipotle) for dinner. That instance, combined with a phone call with a counselor named Name who is knowledgeable about dynamics of women abusing men, convinced me I needed to divorce her. She and I had been attending a Christian small group through our church. I had been a regular attender, and she had attended occasionally. When I initiated separating from her, she insisted on continuing to attend those small group meetings. We couldn’t both continue attending, so I let her have her way, and I stopped attending. This disconnected me from people I had gotten close to. Not one of those people reached out to me at any point after that. That was disappointing. There was a short period when I had made up my mind that I was going to divorce her, but I hadn’t yet figured out how I was going to tell her. I was seeing a counselor individually at that time (in addition to our couples counseling). He offered the idea I could tell her I was filing for divorce during a couples counseling session. For some reason that hadn’t occurred to me, but it was really helpful guidance. Considering her past violence, I was relieved to have the opportunity to break the news to her in a safe environment like a counseling session. (I informed the counselor in advance that I would be doing so.) The people closest to me were supportive of me taking our relationship problems very seriously, but they were also quite cautious about fully endorsing the idea of divorcing – even with knowing about the repeated violence. Reflecting back on this, I attribute their cautiousness about me divorcing both to gender-based double standards and to their Christian beliefs, which I shared. I don’t fault them for trying to help me make very, very, very sure that divorce was the right choice. However, considering that we didn’t have children, and considering how troubling her patterns of behavior were and her half-hearted demonstrations of taking responsibility for her actions, divorce was very obviously the right choice. I think that a personality disorder played a role in what I was experiencing from my ex, but at the time neither I nor the people closest to me offering advice recognized that. Speaking specifically about male DV victims, given that we can perceive men experiencing violence from their female partners as less serious than the other way around, I would say that men should be counseled to take even a single incidence of violence from their partner very, very seriously. Once an adult demonstrates they’re capable of totally losing their cool to the extent of physically lashing out, that is a bad sign about their capability of being a partner to you in a healthy relationship.An exception might apply if the person quickly takes responsibility (and remains consistent that their violence was wrong and not someone else’s fault), and then diligently implements measures to ensure they never do it again. The victim of violence should be educated that if there is any backsliding – with their partner shifting blame or not sticking to their treatment – they should end the relationship for good.

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  • Message of Hope
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    If I could get out leave and make it so can you!

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    Keep hope alive.

    This is not easy and I am now sure more than ever that others felt the same way. While you can feel you are in it alone there are so many many many stories that are the same. I was at such a tender age. Innocent and blameless. I never knew that i was being taken for granted by the very person who said they love me. They were my family member. Little did I know i would continue to move forward in my life in a manner that only God could heal. Now I sit hear as a full grown adult after going through emotional, physical, psychological abuse by so many that claims to love me. I continued to protect them all because I never told my side of the story. It all ends today. No one else gets to take advantage of my weakness. I was in a long time relationship that started as your typical relationship just beautiful. All of the nice things occurred flowers, candy, gifts. As time went on and things were more settled the take over begun. The insecurities continued to grow and grow. Around year 2 is when the physical abuse started. He had me right where he wanted me. My family tried to intervene but I thought I was in LOVE. Yea I said that 4 letter word that can cause so much pain. Yes I stayed and that was the end to most of my relationships with my family. The relationship with he and I would span another 10 years before the END was the END. I tell you it was not easy at all. One thing I did learn is that most people that should be for you will call you all kind of names stupid, dumb, etc. so much so until you start to believe it. Never give up on yourself.

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  • You are surviving and that is enough.

    “It can be really difficult to ask for help when you are struggling. Healing is a huge weight to bear, but you do not need to bear it on your own.”

    “You are not broken; you are not disgusting or unworthy; you are not unlovable; you are wonderful, strong, and worthy.”

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    #1122

    I grew up with an alcoholic, violent father and a mother who, to this day, can’t even remember most of the things he did. Eventually, my brother turned into an even worse version and was also abusive towards me, he even beat my ex boyfriend and was extremely jealous and overprotective of me when it came to guys who would try to approach me, I started feeling that having a boyfriend and falling in love was a “bad thing”. Eventually I started a relationship with a guy who lived in a different country, he seemed perfect but my mom was for some reason concerned. I ended up moving to his country and we got married, after we got married his behavior changed completely. I felt like I was basically living under his roof and like he was living like a single guy. He was doing drugs behind my back, he was cheating a verbally abusive. I would try to confront him about the things he was doing and he made me feel like I was the crazy person, he would also call my parents and sister to tell them I was very immature. He knew I would never tell them everything he was doing to me, and I felt like I didnt have anybody to talk to about what was really happening. One day he forced me on the floor, I can literally still fell the texture of the carpet against my chin. He would travel a lot, so one day I just packed my bags and left him. He eventually filed for divorce and I was served on valentine’s day at work in front of my team. It took me a week to read the papers, for some reason I just couldn’t. The papers stated I made him marry me because I wanted the residency and he was also trying to take my dog from me, my dog is my biggest support and he obviously knew that. It took years for the divorce to finalize. Everything started back in 2018, I still struggle. I haven’t been able to start a new relationship and I am sabotaging myself with everything, including my professional life and that was the one thing I was really great at. For the first time I realize that I need to find my support system, that there is hope. I don’t when I’m going to stop blaming myself and punishing myself for my decisions, but I am eager to do the work to get there. To start putting myself first. I have Justin Baldoni to thank for. Thank you for spreading awareness. Thank you for being brave enough to share your stories. We are all worthy of a healthy love.

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  • “I have learned to abound in the joy of the small things...and God, the kindness of people. Strangers, teachers, friends. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but there is good in the world, and this gives me hope too.”

    “I really hope sharing my story will help others in one way or another and I can certainly say that it will help me be more open with my story.”

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    #1210

    I met my ex at a time in my life when I was incredibly vulnerable. I was processing a lot emotionally and I had uprooted my life and moved home. I wasn't making much money, living with my parents and really trying to figure out my next steps but faltering. Reeling from a significant romantic rejection, I was dating in a desperate way. I just wanted to find my person, have companionship, enjoy all the benefits of having a partner. And so when I met my ex, I projected all my desires for stability on to our relationship extremely quickly. We were talking about getting engaged (in a year) after only knowing each other one month. We moved in together after six months of dating. In a normal healthy relationship this wouldn't necessarily be an issue. But I had ignored a lot of red flags up to that point. He baselessly accused me of cheating on him, once when I was sexually assaulted in a bar he asked me what I did to make the person touch me, he made derogatory comments about what I wore, he ingratiated himself with my family. I had told him on our first date that I didn't want children, something that I do out of respect for people's desires and time. Months into our relationship he brought up (while drunk and angrily) that he wanted children but was giving that up to be with me. Shortly after we moved in together I had a slew of weddings for family and friends, all of which he attended. At the first I was the maid of honor. He got overly drunk at the rehearsal dinner and picked a fight with me after. He stormed out of a room full of people because I had walked away from him (to avoid standing near the door and blocking traffic) and it set him off. He yelled at me for thirty minutes about how inconsiderate I am and all the other reasons we weren't compatible. The next weekend was my sister's wedding. I couldn't go with him to pick up a suit before the rehearsal dinner and this set him off again. He drank too much and berated me later. This time for not having been as physically affectionate in the week between the weddings. I told him it was because I was scared of him, which he then yelled at me about further. I cuddled with him to fall asleep so he would calm down, it felt like diffusing a bomb. The final wedding was the worst. Same formula. Something small set him off, he drank too much and then broke up with me and tried to leave the wedding but couldn't get an Uber. When I tried to hold him accountable the next day he said we were both drunk so it wasn't anyone's fault. For the months that followed I dealt with endless scrutiny. I went into an office for work and he worked remotely. He would smell my clothes when I came home, ask why I was wearing lipgloss, or backhandedly tell me I looked nice. He was heavy handed about money. Times when I would ask him not to pay for something or say that I had it covered he would intervene behind my back. He spent hundreds of dollars on a birthday gift for my dad that my whole family had wanted to purchase even after I asked him not to. Money was a source of control and self-worth for him and even when I could contribute it wasn't enough or if I said I planned to buy something (our meals for my parents anniversary dinner) he would find a way to try and undermine me and pay for it himself. I was both somehow financially insufficient and then in the rare times I could pay for something for us, too financially independent for his liking. We got a dog only a few months into living together. He had put his dog down the previous year and was itching for another one. She is a sweetheart and I enjoyed raising her for the few months I did. The first time we trimmed her nails we accidentally cut one too short and she started bleeding so she was understandably hesitant of nail trimmings going forward. One night we decided to get her nails trimmed. I held her and my ex was trimming her nails and cut one too short. She started wriggling as he attempted to trim the rest but couldn't because she was so impatient. He became irate and threw the nail trimmer across the room. He stood up and while I was still holding her on the ground, wound up and hit her. I was completely frozen. I used to think that I should've moved in his way so that he hit me instead. I thought it would make him realize how bad his temper was but I know now I probably would've just sped up his timeline. A couple of weeks before we broke up we were having another bout of a recurring fight which centered around him finding it laborious and monotonous to be physically intimate with me. As I tried to express to him that it was hurtful for him to tell that it would start "getting old" to be intimate with me, he just became more angry. He had also drank a decent amount that night. He packed a bag and said he needed to stay at his parents' for the night. His exact words were "When I'm angry I do things I regret and I don't want to do something I'll regret". It took me a while to accept that from the throwing of things, the time I came home to a whole in the wall, the slamming of doors so hard that pictures came off the wall, and hitting the dog that when he said this he meant hitting me. Even for the first little bit after we broke up I maintained that he never would have hurt me and I was just a victim of emotional abuse. With more time and therapy I now know that I got out with very little time left to spare. My emotional and psychological safety were long gone and my physical safety was hanging by a thread. I'm now over a year out from our break-up. The first therapy session I had after our breakup I said to my therapist that I didn't want to put myself in a situation like that ever again. My therapist responded "you didn't put yourself in that situation, he did all of that to you and you survived it". I think because I wasn't showing up well at that point in my life it makes me feel like if I was stronger--emotionally, financially, personally--I wouldn't have been susceptible to this. I hold a lot of guilt and shame for being in such a vulnerable place in life that all of that happened to me. If I hadn't moved home, if I'd been making more money, if I hadn't moved in with him at six months, if I had left the million different times he showed a red flag maybe I wouldn't have the mental scars and trauma. And though that thought process is hard to shake I know at the end of the day, I didn't deserve any of the abuse I dealt with. What makes me the most angry about all of it is the innocence I lost. I never would have considered in my mid-late twenties I'd consider myself innocent. But the unburdened and carefree way I was able to think about dating before this is something I miss. There's a level of optimism I'll never get back. I used to think the worst thing that could happen to me while dating was someone being apathetic or incompatible, not intentionally violent. With a lot of therapy and time I am starting to regain my light and open heart. But the vivid memories will always be there, though hopefully they will fade. Although I'm indelibly changed, I won't let this rob me of my ability to see the good in people. I'm still deserving and capable of finding love, I have hope for that.

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  • Healing is not linear. It is different for everyone. It is important that we stay patient with ourselves when setbacks occur in our process. Forgive yourself for everything that may go wrong along the way.

    If you are reading this, you have survived 100% of your worst days. You’re doing great.

    “These moments in time, my brokenness, has been transformed into a mission. My voice used to help others. My experiences making an impact. I now choose to see power, strength, and even beauty in my story.”

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    #830

    My life should have been a life of happiness and peace, but oooh how the tables turned. I was an easy going, fun loving, creative, individual who has talents beyond my time. For the most part my life was lived as a typical middle class, every day average Jane. Who had dreams that were all reachable. It started at the age 25, where I met a handsome man that in my eyes was every woman's dream. But ooh my, my I didn't know this was the beginning of a very harsh reality check and the beginning of major changes in my life. We had a quick and fast romance story, fell in love, out of love an in love again. He was my rock and I was his motivating force, until he changed totally on me and became a habitual cheater. His cheating lasted for many years and he eventually met a faith that he too thought, he was untouchable. But being who he was and how care-free he was in his cheating activities, this faith wouldn't have passed him. The sudden faith that landed him to contact a std, to which no one ever wants. But I on the other hand was living my dream of having a husband and kids, with taking care of all their needs an leaving myself undone. Yes you may have an idea so far where this story is going, but I didn't know I would become a victim to my husband. He had the most perfect plan with the cruelest intention. Lets go back a little, yes I was acting like a wife but I was just living in a common- law situation. To which his plans was perfectly executed, he knew, I had little knowledge about his "outside activities " and my greatest desire at the time was to be his wife. And that was his perfect plan to get me, he would avoid being in d same home, or country with me. Often repeatedly saying he's coming on our wedding day, in which I would smile and think nothing of it. I took us roughly 1 week to organize everything, too have a quick and fast wedding. Me not knowing that in my tries of joy there would be sadness on d corner. I got married..had a beautiful harmonious day, fun after fun. Till one day I began feel strange and had to be taken to the doctor, in which multiple test was done. Everything came out ok, but this one result hit me on my chest hard, as if I was out in the rain being hit on my chest repeatedly. I sat in that room alone to my right nothing or no one and to the left nothing or no one, the doctor that stood in front of me became invisible. But my husband was gone again, back to keep away from home and the country of which we stayed. Every little piece of his actions from the most biggest to the smallest came flooding in my head as one slide to the next and it all became clear. I ran out of the room in tears to hide and called him, as he heard me he began to cry and repeatedly say sorry, sorry, sorry. But this man wasn't totally sorry he told me he's going to book a flight an he would be on his way. He came, he hold me, I asked questions he answered, but my biggest shock was when I heard these words, "I didn't want to lose you". His logic for making me his victim was justified with not losing me, my life was weighted on not losing me. The deed was done and I became the walk over troll, I felt as a prisoner in head, life, body and to him. The cheating continued, I tried to protect others,but he would make me seem to be bitter and a liar. I had became a victim to multi forms of abuse, he made a baby outside of the marriage an my kids became as nothing to him as I was. I got verbally abused by his newly baby mother and often called a liar when I tried to warn her, but in all I served.

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    Prisoner of War- Cat's Story

    The day I ran from my abuser, I felt an intense urge to turn the car around. My sister’s voice kept replaying through my head. “Catherine, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look at your phone. Don’t stop.” For five years, I had been raped, beaten, brainwashed, stripped of my identity and isolated from my family and friends. I knew if I turned that car around, I wouldn’t survive. At first, I couldn’t do anything for myself. My sister had to remind me to brush my teeth, bathe and eat. My abuser had controlled everything, and I mean everything. From what and how much I ate to what I wore, how I spoke, and who I spoke to. I didn’t know how to live outside of him and his needs. For years, I had been operating in survival mode. Everything had centered around him, what he expected from me and what would set him off. I was constantly walking on eggshells. The day I escaped, he told me I was pregnant. The only birth control allowed was the pull-out method. Rape is a hard word for me, because I think of it as being physically held down. But he had psychological control over me. I had no agency or choice. I was to abide by his rules or there would be repercussions. Although pregnancy may have been physically impossible because my weight was around 90 pounds, I was still terrified. I was in the South. If I were pregnant, there would be little to no abortion access. Luckily, I was able to get the Plan B pill within 72 hours. In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with HPV. My abuser had prohibited me from getting health insurance and health care. The domestic violence hotline gave me resources for health care in my sister’s area, a small town in Georgia. None of these resources would take me because I didn’t have health insurance. The only one who agreed to see me was the health department; they only tested for certain STDs and did not perform gynecological exams. Like many women who have been in my situation, I felt lost. I knew I would be going back home to New Orleans for the holidays. Fortunately, I was able to schedule an exam with Planned Parenthood. They were sensitive to my situation and provided me with information and options. Most importantly, the staff treated me like a person. Since I left, my life has gotten much better, but I’m still on edge. Daily, I have traumatic flashbacks and second-guess and dissect most things.. With holistic therapeutic modalities, I’m healing. The only time the police were called was for me to escape. I had told my abuser I was leaving. He held me hostage in a hotel room for a couple of hours to keep me from leaving. I was able to get out once the police arrived. A year and half after my escape, I called to look into pressing charges. The police had never written a report. There was only documentation of the phone call and the time they arrived and left. They told me to file my own report, which at the time of the incident I didn't know about. So, I filed my report. When I spoke to an investigator, he questioned me on why I was looking at filing charges over a year later. I told him that I had dealt with intense trauma where I couldn't even eat and bathe without being told to do so. He said that it was too late, I. didn't have enough evidence, and it would go no where. And when I called back to at least get the report I filed, the woman was dismissive. And they had NO REPORT. Why would I go through a system that enables, ridicules, and disempowers victims? I am still healing and getting back on my feet, and because of this treatment from the very department that is suppose to have my back, I have decided to put it to bed. For now, my focus is on speaking up and helping other survivors.

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    a light in the dark

    I've been on this road to healing for a very long time. I was with a man that at first was my friend, we were together for 4.5 years. In the beginning things seemed okay. We shared our dreams and I started college. I expressly told him I was there on a scholarship and would only be focusing on school and would come back down on the weekends. Once I started my first semester I should've paid more attention to all the red flags. He would text me and call me at all hours. He'd Skype me any time I had 5 minutes of a break. Mind you I was a naval cadet at my school so I didn't get many breaks especially with classes that were 4 hours long. I eventually started having panic attacks from his constant berating and checking that I wasn't doing anything I wasn't supposed to be doing like cheating. Eventually I had to drop out of being a cadet to being a commuter student which meant being home with him after classes and waking up extra early just to get to class on time. It was even more difficult for me because of his obsessive gaming habit of playing video games until 3 am which is the time I had to be up to get ready for my first morning classes. Eventually I started losing sleep and my grades started slipping. I had to drop out of college for a while to make things easier on myself. I ended up giving up on my dream of being a marine biologist and naval cadet to be with this man. A man that had no job no GED no future. But he would constantly promise that things would get better. At this point I had two jobs just to keep us afloat, and feeding his habits. But little did I know he was selling my stuff on top of everything and the little money I was saving for myself he stole and started using for his habit as well. I switched majors two more times after that and finally stuck to psychology without telling him my final major, just that I wanted to finish school. But it was difficult juggling school and two jobs but I had to because I wasn't allowed to go back to my family ( I had a difficult relationship with them at the time). Because of all the long hours and night courses I was taking, the man I was with started to suspect me of cheating and would constantly fight me at all hours and would start ripping apart my bags and looking through my phone and laptop just to see if he could find any evidence. He'd berate me to his friends and anyone that would listen. I started getting back into my drug habit, which I had previously given up, due to his increasing behavior. he would always put me down calling me a whore a slut a bitch that didn't know how to do anything. Mind you I was the one with the job, but id have to come home to cook to clean to take care of his mess when he was the one home 24/7. When I would try to help him get set up with GED courses or a job he would say things like "I don't need a GED I'm smarter than anyone with a degree" or "why do I need your help when I can do any and everything myself and better". By the time I started working at the Y, I couldn't speak to or see my family or friends. At the same time my beloved grandfather, the man who raised me, was diagnosed with stage 2 pancreatic cancer. I was extremely close to him and when I expressed my fears to my partner's family his sisters and his mother were always so kind to me and always supported me. But he immediately would say I deserved all the pain and suffering and that I shouldn't cry because only good people deserve to feel sad. He'd say I was the scum of the earth and didn't deserve happiness. I'd start sneaking out after work just to see and tend to my grandfather. Id go on days when classes were canceled or when I didn't have work and accompany him to chemo sessions. I would move my schedules around just to spend time with him. But my ex had a friend that worked at the same Y I did, and she started telling him what I was doing thinking she was helping me. Instead he took this as continued disrespect and started beating me daily. I started wearing longer sleeves and thicker clothes and makeup just to cover the bruises up. (Because of this I started developing a love for movie makeup which helped my later investment in my Dad's film company.) I started making friends again and they noticed the clothes especially in the summers and I would just say that it would be inappropriate to subject the children to the tattoos that I have. But eventually they started catching on and one day I slipped because I came in after taking my grandfather to chemo and didn't have time to fix the makeup on my neck. I was able to fix it before my site director or any of the parents noticed. My partner started to force himself on me sexually after I showed little interest and started keeping to myself or spending more time with his sisters. Id wake up to him on top of me and he'd beat me if I fought him. I became pregnant and the beating continued with him believing the child wasn't his. But he beat me so bad one day that I miscarried and he blamed me for killing our child. He beat me so bad that day that he cracked a disc in my spine pinching my sciatic nerve causing me partial paralysis and dropfoot in my right leg. he started drinking heavily after I lost our child. he terminated my phone contract which we entered into only a few months prior, causing me to end up in debt, then he stole the rest of the money from my savings to fund his gaming. This ended up causing me to fall behind on payments for the new furniture I had purchased, which I eventually had to give to his mother. I started talking to someone I had previously dated (we ended things amicable and saw each other as really close friends) for advice and solace. while I understand that this would be technically emotional cheating, I was starting to no longer have feelings for my partner and lost myself. My grandfather, who was with us for 3 more years after his diagnosis, eventually got severely sick and ended up in an induced coma for 3 months. I became severely depressed and disconnected from everything and everyone. I became so numb to the beatings and rapes that I would be terrified to close my eyes. I started staying up at night afraid to lay down or even cover myself with any blankets. I would curl up in a corner by the window and that would be the only time he would leave me alone. My grandfather died in December 2019 and the day he passed my partner broke up with me stating that I deserved all the pain and heartbreak I was suffering and that I would never find happiness. He walked away and laughed at my pain saying my grandfather was just an old man who meant nothing. He had forbidden me from undergoing the surgery that would fix my spine, but without him knowing I agreed to the surgery. I moved back in with my grandmother a few months later in February of 2020 by packing up what I could including important documents and sneaking out at 4am to go to the hospital for my surgery. My father picked me up from the hospital and took me to my grandmother's home. In the safety of my family I confirmed with my ex that I would never again be with him. I told him I no longer wanted anything to do with him no contact either physically or electronically. A few days later he came by with more of my stuff and told me that he would only take me back if I never slept with anyone else after him. I told him he no longer had that control over me so he had no right to ask that of me. I asked him to leave. During the healing period of my spinal surgery he harassed me continuously even going so far as to say he would kill himself if I didn't take him back. This lasted for months and I didn't know what to do. I forced myself into therapy and tried to ignore him as long as possible. With the help of my therapist I was slowly able to block him and start healing. I started working in mental health and social work a few months later. I eventually met my now fiancee who has been my number one supporter. He has even come to therapy sessions with me and has made sure that I always put myself first. I currently work in DV and GBV helping others that have or are going through wheat I went through. I plan on becoming a therapist eventually once I finish my MBA. I also put my makeup skills to use by helping my father on his films with makeup and special effects makeup. My fiancee and I are getting married this year and it's been such a long journey but there are times I still have random memories or ptsd symptoms, but with the help of my friends and family I am able to work through it all. I hope my story gives someone the courage they need to leave before it's too late.

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    Name

    I grew up with an immense fear of men, of which I never understood why... Until I reached my midlife and developed a serious physical ailment, only then was my horrific secret unveiled! During my childhood, I was often left in the care of my caretaker as my family member was busy nurturing my younger, sickly brother hence I became independent from a young age. Nature and my pets were my solstice. Growing up I was shy and introverted, and always felt like I never belonged. Deliberately I would avoid contact and conversation with all men, including family members. Constantly I bit my nails, until they bled sometimes. As a teenager, my caretaker would belt me until I was bruised for my insolence apparently?! My family obviously heard, yet chose to be silent due to their fear of him. An inner rage developed towards him and eventually I completely despised him. One day in my mid-forties I awoke with a serious frozen neck. As a Holistic Practitioner, I knew that this was an underlying emotion which was manifesting as a physical ailment so I decided to seek psychological aid. After a few months of regular sessions, the deepest dark secret was revealed... I had been sexually abused by my caretaker since childhood. YES that was a heavy pill to swallow, and of course more therapy was required to heal my painful, inner child wounds. The horrific shock caused various emotional reactions from depression, anger, shame, guilt and even suicidal thoughts. However, a power deep within me gave me the strength to slowly and gently work through it on a daily basis, thanks to the love and support of many wonderful people including close friends. Yoga, meditation, journaling, breathwork, energy therapy and different holistic modalities assisted my transformational, healing journey. I also believe that my continued faith guided me as well, to find inner peace and forgiveness towards my abuser. A year later I approached my family member about my abuse, and as shocked as she was she could still not support me emotionally. My dysfunctional childhood could never be erased, however I chose to make the rest of my life the Best of my life from that day onwards! After some time. the day eventually came when I had the courage to face my abuser. I looked him in the face with absolute compassion, that's when I realised that I was completely healed. My path hereon would be creating the life I dreamed of. His choice of denial was his issue! On Date, I appeared for the first time publicly on stage as a Speaker to share my story of Name of Presentation' at the Location of event. It was utterly life-changing. Standing at the podium, my legs were trembling and hands were shaking, yet I felt this Divine presence supporting me and giving me the courage. I was not alone. I chose to speak my truth and be the voice for the voiceless! The audience were fortunately patient and understanding as I opened my heart. Since then I was inspired to create my personal brand 'Brand Name', which offers support, healing and guidance to those who've been sexually abused and endured domestic violence. I'm also a Organization NameAmbassador for the prevention of Children's sexual abuse, which is unfortunately ripe in today's society. My passion is to continue to share my triumphant, transformational story on webinars and podcasts worldwide. The time is now for victims to come out of the closet and be the change they wish to see in the world, so they too can live the life of freedom and peace that they truly deserve. My mission is to encourage other victims to no longer be silent. Speaking my truth was my path to emancipation. Recently I co-authored a book, Book Title - The voices of survivors' which will be published on Date. Writing it was another beautiful, healing experience for me. I gained even deeper, inner peace. Even though my trauma was horrifying and I was scarred both physically and emotionally, I was determined to transform my pain to purpose and my wounds to wisdom so I'm no longer the victim but rather the Victor in my life! I am living proof it can be done and proud to say I've never needed to be on medication; Holistic therapies greatly aided my metamorphosis. Nowadays I am more confident, brave and compassionate, appreciating every day of my new-found existence! " OUR TRUTH DESERVES TO BE REVEALED; OUR PRESENCE WARRANTS TO BE ACKNOWLEDGED; OUR VOICES NEED TO BE HEARD AND EXPRESSED." - Name

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    #870

    I survived. I got out. You can too. Insidious and devious are the words I think of when I've wondered how I got trapped. My ex-spouse was so charming, everybody thought he was a great person and I did too. So much so that I decided to ignore the fact he raped me and chalked it up to us drinking. Then gradually as we dated and then married he tried to spin a web of control around me by being angry and violent when I would spend time with friends or go to the gym or go to the library to study. Telling me I was not allowed to go to the gym because there were men there. Being told I couldn't go to work events. Calling my work when I was working late and accusing me of having affairs, then being verbally and physically abusive. He was so successful at manipulating others even my dad, initially, didn't believe me when I told him about the monster and the horrible things I had endured. I finally told my dad what had been going on when he threatened to kill me and chased me with a baseball bat. I was able to get in my car and get away and called my dad crying and screaming. He thought I had lost my mind. Some of my friends also thought I had lost it, and told me oh he is so nice and scoffed when I said I was filing for divorce and a protective order. After the first two calls to the sheriff they believed me and were so kind, frequently driving by my house and making sure I was safe. There is power in being believed. There is strength in knowing that others have made it out both alive and eventually became whole. I still experience occasional flashbacks and certain situations will trigger my anxiety, but I am able to trust people again and no longer fear "being in trouble" if I spend time with friends. Even more, I have allowed myself to become emotionally vulnerable with other people again after all these years. That was a huge leap for me. And I genuinely feel like a good person again.

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    A SURVIVING VICTIM’S STORY - Name

    A SURVIVING VICTIM’S STORY - Name I was four years old when upon hearing my parents’ raised voices, I peered around our living room corner, a silent spectator to my dad’s hand connecting with my mom’s face, propelling her into the air and onto our Danish Modern coffee table. Upon impact, the table and my petite mother broke into pieces. That night, my fix-it father repaired the table. I didn’t know it then, but my mother was forever broken. Although my older brother didn’t witness this one-sided match-up, he certainly heard them arguing, followed by the hit, my mom’s screams and the crash. My dad left her atop the tabletop bits, crying, as black mascara streamed down her face. Not knowing what to do and afraid to say a word, I ran to my room. Minutes later, she appeared in my doorway, her watery, reddened eyes framed by expertly reapplied Maybelline lashes and her mouth gleamed in my dad’s favorite color, the deep red of Fire and Ice lipstick. As I reached for my teddy bear for comfort, she said, “Your dad’s a good man and he loves you very much. I’ll go make supper now.” That night, as always, the four of us ate at our kitchen table, the usual banter going around our Formica table as if nothing had happened which left me further confused about my mom and especially, my dad. Although I never saw my dad hit her again, when I noticed bruises dotting her pale arms, I felt compelled to ask, “What’s that?” “Nothing,” she’d say while pulling her sleeves down to cover the black and blue marks, “Your father is a good man and he loves you very much.” My dad ruled our roost, a charcoal gray, Cape Cod style suburban house while my mom stayed home, cooking, cleaning and raising us while he worked fulltime. At the reins of our home and finances, my dad had everything he forbid my mom to have- a job, credit cards, a car, access to bank accounts and friends. The world was his and his was ours. He brought home the groceries, my mom cooked whatever he chose and we ate it. Having graduated from high school, I left home to attend college, happy to leave behind what I’d once witnessed that Sunday afternoon and my high school classmates bullying taunts of “Ugly Dog!” Despite starting my life anew, my insecurities about my looks followed me halfway across the country. As one of 25,000 students, I embraced my classes, and the firsts of a part-time job and bank account as well as a tall, blonde, muscular, blue-eyed student I’d met in my freshman year. Although he said I was pretty, I didn’t believe him since I’d discovered my high school classmates’ derogatory taunts about my looks had accompanied me to university, echoing in my head. We began dating and I felt fortunately honored that someone so handsome would deign to be with someone unattractive but apparently, opposites do attract. And there was a bonus- this brawny farm boy was the physical light to the dark features of my dad and, my dad liked him. Our dates were filled with flirting, making out and his physicality which I first felt in a campus town bar. During happy hour, accompanied by my brother and my roommate who sat across from us, we listened to music, laughed and chatted about nothing in particular. Suddenly, I felt his outstretched hand on my face. The intensity of his powerful palm sent me off my barstool and onto the sticky, beer-soaked floor. Pulling myself by the bar edge, I wobbled to the ladies’ room and wiped away my tear-soaked, dripping makeup before returning to him and our silent witnesses, an undaunted trio deep in collegiate chitchat. Although I continue feeling the force of his hand on my face long after graduation, I had long since begun to believe that my golden-haired boy loved me, just as he said. I’d been in love with him since first sight so I accepted his marriage proposal. My dad, still his biggest fan, was our happiest wedding guest who, despite his frugality had footed the bill for it all, including the white taffeta, crinoline princess wedding dress I’d always dreamed of. Returning home from our City honeymoon, his unpredictable physical outbursts continued. In time, he added something new, sexual assault, ignoring my begging and screaming to stop. Although his physical actions always occurred randomly, he began giving me a warning- the cracking of his knuckles. I was unprepared the first time but I was ready for the next time when I heard the snap. Although I braced myself for the hit, he caught me off guard by wrapping his hands around my neck, choking me before lifting me up with ease, slamming my head into the wall or whatever structure was nearest before releasing his grip, my body sliding down until I landed on the floor. As with his slaps to my face, his hands around my throat left no visible bruises and so, I kept quiet, returning to the reliable comforts of cooking dinner, watching television, playing board games, dog walking and sex. Each Sunday afternoon, I placed a call to my parents. My dad always answered the phone first, ready to update me with the latest goings on before the hand-off to my mom. Our chats were brief, mostly about a buffet they went to or how my job was going yet each one included an unprompted passage from her well-worn script, with one tweak, “Your husband’s a good man and he loves you very much.” On a weekday off from work, I was cleaning our apartment as a daytime tv talk show played in the background. When I heard domestic violence survivors detailing their experiences which echoed mine, I put my dust rag down and approached the screen. Tears rolled down their faces as these victims of abuse admitted fearing for their lives and those of their children. For the first time, I saw before me, myself and my mom. When the show’s end credits froze on a DV hotline number, I grabbed a pencil, scribbled the number on a notepad, tore out that page and stuffed it down deep into my datebook. While I’d felt compelled to write it down, I also wanted to keep it out of my own view, which I did. But, I could not unsee the images of those frightened women, one of whom was my mom’s doppelgänger. Transported back to that memorable Sunday afternoon of my childhood, I heard my mom’s screams, followed by the table breaking apart. Many months after that show aired, during a quiet evening at home, I heard the cracking of knuckles, followed by my husband’s hands around my throat. But this time, he held it tighter than ever before. When he finally let go, I fell to the floor, choking and sputtering as I grasped for air. He stood over me shouting, “Go ahead, call the police, they won’t do anything to me! They’ll know as I do that, you’re crazy and haul your lying ass out of here! Go ahead, do it!” He threw the phone at me; it bounced off my shoulder and onto the floor where it and I remained until he turned and headed to bed. At work the next day, I reached into my handbag, pulled out my datebook, unfolded the scrap of paper. Squinting to read the now faded and barely legible phone number, I dialed. I didn’t know it then but those ten digits would save my life. The hotline referred me to a local battered women’s shelter where I could obtain help. As soon as I sat down in the counselor’s office, the floodgates opened. I detailed my husband’s hobby while simultaneously defending his actions since unlike my dad’s maneuvers, my husband’s handiwork left no telltale signs, save for two occasions, one when he hit me in the face with a wooden hanger and another when he pushed me down onto the floor and my face connected with the rug, leaving burn marks. “And,” I proudly added, “He’s definitely not like my dad. My husband is not controlling, jealous or possessive and, I’m nothing like my mom. I’m independent, I have my own car, college degree, career and, I come and go as I please. Plus, I handle all of our finances.” Upon hearing my words, I heard my truth. Within a few sessions, I understood that abuse is never permissible. Whether it leaves visible bruises, broken bones, or furniture, it’s abuse. Similarly, even if you’re married, sexual assault is a violent, abusive act. I also learned that domestic violence does not always follow a formula. It doesn’t have to be preceded by a tension building phase nor followed by an apology be it flowers, candy or my husband’s blame-filled, singular expression of regret after viciously pulling hair from my head, “I’m sorry you made me do that.” With each counseling session, as I grew confident, I also became guilt-ridden as I was better off than the shelter residents with children who didn’t have the resources afforded me. My husband wasn’t jealous or controlling so I had freedom, finances and more. I felt I was stealing help that others needed much more than I. It was then my therapist reminded me of the many abuses I’d endured, the very ones which led to me calling the hotline. She explained that not all abusers look and act alike, nor do their victims. In domestic violence and sexual assault, one size does not fit all. The only thing it has in common is that it’s wrong. With my counselor’s encouragement, I confided my truth to a kind coworker who responded with acceptance, a comforting hug and the words I’d longed for, “I’m here for you.” As I thanked him between sobs, he added, “You need to leave him. What are you waiting for?” With a slight smile, I replied, “I’m waiting for the flowers and candy.” At work the next day, he handed me a chocolate rose. “Here’s your goddamn flowers and candy. Now leave the bastard! Go far away from him, from here. You’ll start over, you’ll be fine, you’ll be so much better.” With his support, I heeded his advice and applied for jobs 1,000 miles away. After scheduling and attending interviews, I accepted an offer for a fabulous opportunity in the state of my childhood, which I half-jokingly referred to as ‘the scene of the original crime.’ Although my husband expressed his unhappiness with my decision to leave, during a fleeting moment of truth, he said that while I was trying out my wings, he would attend counseling so that we could start anew, peacefully. He was so accommodating, even offering to split the long drive with me and not yet one-hundred percent confident I could go it alone, I accepted. Our trip was surprisingly calm until he set down the first box in my attic apartment and gave me a verbal housewarming gift, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me for this dump.” That night, I breathed a sigh of relief when I dropped him at the airport. Starting over in a house of strangers was difficult so, I returned, partially, to the familiar, speaking with my husband each night. In almost every call, he slammed me, “You might as well come back now, we all know you will and you know I love you.” The more he said that, the more he reinforced that I’d made the right decision. With my job going well, I decided to celebrate my thirtieth birthday in Country with a college friend. Upon my return, a gift awaited me, divorce papers, sans gift receipt, wrapping paper, ribbon or sufficient postage. Accepting my fate, I paid forty-one cents for the package. The return on my investment was indeed enriching as I reveled in knowing that I would be forever free from his abuse. With the finalization of our divorce, I returned to school, landed a position as a designer, purchased a condo and volunteered at a local battered women’s shelter. I was safe and happy but something was missing. To find that puzzle piece, I signed up for online dating which led me to a charming, talented man who, like me, was creative, wore his heart on his sleeve and had witnessed violence in his childhood home. He too was divorced and tearfully told of his marriage ending in infidelity, a vow-breaking act we agreed we’d never engage in. The cherry on top was his empathetic response to my past for prior to our meeting, he’d served on the board of directors for his local battered women’s shelter. For the first time, I had a mutually supportive, loving relationship. On a long City 2weekend, he proposed and joyfully, I said yes! Returning to City 3, we renovated a condo and began planning our wedding. Combining our two households, we didn’t need wedding gifts so, instead, we included donation slips to the National Domestic Violence Hotline with each invite. With only four months until our New Year’s Eve wedding and knee-deep in preparations, I noticed my vision decreasing. I booked an appointment with my ophthalmologist who did some tests, followed by a few whispers to his assistant who then handed me orders for tests. Two days later, with my fiancé by my side, I was diagnosed with a massive, facially disfiguring brain tumor which had already robbed me of the vision in one eye. So busy with renovations and planning our future, we hadn’t noticed the tumor pushing my eye forward. I underwent eleven hours of life-saving, emergency brain and reconstructive facial surgery. My fiancé stayed with me throughout my ten-day hospital stay and accompanied me to all post-op appointments and tests. Since the tumor had compromised my sight, I was had severe balance impairment but, I had my future husband’s physical support, helping me each step of the way as, for the first time, I was reliant upon a cane. We had survived a tumor and its surgery which could’ve left me totally blind, paralyzed or dead. Gratefully optimistic, we continued with our wedding plans. The light at the end of our tunnel darkened again when a routine medical appointment for his type 1 diabetes resulted in a leukemia diagnosis. Fortunately, he didn’t yet require treatment so once more, we maintained our scheduled plans. Our wedding was a joyous celebration of love and survival. As I was still recovering from surgery, we chose a quiet, beach honeymoon in Country 2after which we returned to our newly renovated City 4 loft. We enjoyed our creative, professional endeavors, free time together roaming the city, surprising each other with gifts of trips and jewelry while still making time for visiting friends and families. Additionally, we continued volunteering, with him serving on the board of directors for a children’s charity while I had the honor of speaking on behalf of the NDVH. Soon after, I underwent extensive training and earned my advocacy certificate which enabled me to volunteer in twoState hospital ED’s, providing support and resources to female victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. Ours was a mutually gratifying and rewarding marriage, one which our friends routinely admitted envying. We had everything anyone could wish for as well as something no one wanted. A routine MRI revealed residual brain tumor growth. After weeks of radiation, I suffered from relentless side effects of memory loss, fatigue and insomnia, all of which negatively affected my ability to work and volunteer. Instinctively, my husband knew that as a self-supporting individual, my new reality was difficult to accept but he also knew what needed to be said. “You work two days and you’re dead for five. It’s not healthy. You need to quit.” Cushioning the blow, he added, “We’ll be fine, you’ll be better, healthier and, we have more than enough money. As I always say, ‘worry is waste,’ so please, no worries. Most importantly, we have each other.” Reluctantly, I admitted that he was right and together we admitted that I was, unfortunately, permanently disabled. After leaving my job, I stayed home, writing personal essays and working out when able. I detested admitting that I was disabled but I did suggest I file for benefits. He responded by hugging me and saying once more, “No need, we have more than enough money.” The next day, on his way to work, he phoned. “Jot this realtor’s number down. It’s a gorgeous house in East Hampton!” That weekend, we drove to City 5 and began house-hunting. Within six months, we purchased a gleaming glass ranch with pool and tennis. We alternated our time between City 4 and City 5. With that property purchase and my not having lived in my condo for more than two years, we sold it and used the profits for the downpayment on, as he suggested we buy a home for my parents, as he’d done for his former mother-in-law during his first marriage. My mom and dad adored their new, State 2 townhouse. While planning a romantic anniversary trip, my personal essay chronicling my journey from brain tumor diagnosis to idyllic wedding was published. We flew to the Island as planned, where we lazed in the sun and splashed in the sea. But our return home was not what we’d planned as he began experiencing rapid onset fatigue. While he’d already scheduled a party to celebrate my writing achievement, given his declining health, I requested he cancel the event but he refused. The celebration was wonderful and guests called the next day with thanks, followed by questions about his health. We had yet to tell anyone about his leukemia since we didn’t want family and friends to worry as they’d already done so during my surgery and radiation. And, perhaps we didn’t want to worry ourselves either. When a visit to his hematologist revealed our latest reality, we scheduled chemotherapy. As we’d done with my tumor and its regrowth, we handled his treatments with mutual optimism, support and encouragement until, the unexpected occurred. Overnight, he morphed into someone I didn’t recognize. He began making rash, unilateral decisions which included selling our loft, recently purchased house and, him having placed an offer on a coop in City 4 toniest neighborhood. Despite his inconsistency, what remained the same were his morning love notes. However, his afternoon phone calls just to hear my voice became vitriol-filled rants about nothing in particular. Each night he’d return home from work, greeting me as he’d always done, with a kiss and a hug. But each time I brought up his ever-changing behavior, he refused to talk about it, claiming that everything was fine. Seeing me suffer emotionally, he booked a marriage counseling session. Making progress in therapy, we returned to our walks in Park, movies, travel, board games and lovemaking. We marked the end of his treatments with a celebratory trip to City 6where he surprised me with a Tiffany necklace. Our nights were spent enjoying romantic dinners, playful flirting at clubs as we listened live music and making passionate love. We spent our days sightseeing, shopping and taking long beach walks. Although we were close, we were simultaneously miles apart, even when in the same hotel room. As we’d both agreed to follow our marriage counselor’s advice to address such situations immediately, I brought up that he seemed to be distancing himself from me but I was cut off with, “I promised to never do that again and I won’t.” The remainder of our getaway was hot and cold as he launched into angry outbursts followed by declarations of love for me. Confused and unsteady, physically and emotionally, I thought he was gaslighting me but the man who stood by me before, during and after my brain tumor diagnosis, disfigurement, surgery and radiation, who intimately knew the depths of my memory loss, who had long advocated for DV victims, would never engage in such cruelty. While packing for our return flight, I flashed back to my ex-husband’s singular apology. Maybe I was making ‘him’ do this. Our flight home was pleasantly uneventful until his severe emotional turbulence resulted in a bumpy landing which continued long after we deplaned. He abruptly quit the job he loved, formed a new corporation and sent a scathing rage-filled, accusatory letter to his amicably divorced ex-wife, assassinating her character with worded weapons of war. He proudly requested I read the letter only to ignore my opinion about its contents and advising he not mail it. At our next counseling session, I planned to discuss his most recent, hasty decisions but he took the lead, pointing at me while yelling, “You’re a fucking evil bitch!” His face was contorted with hate as he stood up and stormed out of the room. Before I could apologize to our therapist, he returned for an encore, reprising his offensive script and slamming the door on his way out. As I slunk down in my seat embarrassed, our therapist said, “Did you see my hand on the phone?” “No. I was so humiliated that I didn’t notice anything other than his stomps of shame out your door, although it’s doubtful he feels shame or anything anymore. I’m just so embarrassed.” She responded, “You did nothing wrong. He did. In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was going to call 911.” I trembled throughout the taxi ride home, alone. He met me at the door, apologizing and begging for my forgiveness. Wanting to keep at least a semblance of peace, I forgave him. The next day, I awoke to a love note followed by his loving phone calls throughout the day. Later that afternoon, he emailed me my boarding pass for his upcoming business trip which we’d excitedly planned. Moments later, he messaged that I will not be accompanying him to City 6. He needed time alone and requested that we have no calls, texts or emails during his absence. I was crushed. Since our first date, we’d never gone a day without contact. Not wanting the remaining apples to spill out of what was left in our marital cart, I acquiesced. The day after his departure, I phoned JetBlue to obtain the credit for my unused ticket and the agent was most accommodating. He told me that since my ticket had been reassigned to someone else, he couldn’t provide a credit. Next, he voluntarily provided the name of my husband’s seatmate, unwanted information which led to me reviewing our credit card statements and phone bills. Before me were pages upon pages of his activities- hotel charges, phone calls and texts, many of which occurred before, during and after our City 5 getaway. Facebook confirmed their friendship. She was married, with children. Per his wishes, I didn’t contact him during his trip but I did phone when, long after his flight landed, he hadn’t returned home. “Where are you?” “I’m at the office, catching up on what I missed while away. I’ll stay here tonight and get it all done.” Desperate to talk with him and hopefully discuss my inadvertent discoveries in person, I pressed him to have dinner with me at a local restaurant. Eventually, he agreed. Over dessert, I casually said her name. He rapidly responded, “I have no idea who she is.” It was then that I pulled out my confidence-building handbag of truth and set the proof on the table. With a reddened face, he said, “I don’t know her; I’ve never spoken with her. It’s all a mistake. JetBlue, The Hudson Hotel, AmEx, AT&T and Facebook are wrong. I’ll call them all tomorrow and straighten it all out.” I wished it was so but there was no denying what I knew to be true. The man who declared his unconditional love for me daily, my first-ever advocate I’d trusted with the life and death decisions of brain tumors, the man who in turn, trusted me with his cancer, both of us living in sickness and in health before marriage, and him, a longtime supporter of battered women and the NDVH, was lying. I was woozy on the short walk back home together. Once inside our apartment he shouted, “I’m not staying here with you. I’ll be in touch.” As he opened the door to leave, he saw my cane in the corner and said, “Sure, try to get sympathy with that thing. It won’t work.” After my tumor treatments, I worked hard at walking without assistance but sometimes, such as after coming home from an intense workout, he would see me wobble a bit and remind me to use my cane. When JetBlue derailed me with reality, I lost trust as well as my appetite and within days, I’d lost so much weight that I again relied on my cane for support. While I stood at the door sobbing, he again shouted his unfounded defense, “They’re all wrong! They’re wrong! I’ll fix it all! They’re wrong!” Thirty minutes after he slammed our door, I received an email, “I had a nice time at dinner.” Fifteen minutes later, another, “If I were going to fuck around 1) I’d be exceptionally discreet and 2) I wouldn’t. I am not permanently pissed, but this is a black mark for me, let’s see what we can do with it…” Then, another email in which he declared his forever love and deep regret. Anxious to see him the next afternoon at counseling to discuss this recent development, at least recent to me, I arrived early for our appointment. In the waiting room, I stared at the door for his arrival which didn’t come. Our therapist called my name, I went into her office and sat down without a word. While staring at the floor, she said, “He called. He’s not returning to therapy.” With this abrupt decision and his unusual choice of messenger, as soon as I was home, I called him to request a medical release form so that I could meet with his hematologist and discuss that perhaps his transformation might have resulted from his cancer or chemotherapy. He immediately faxed the signed form to his doctor, called me with an appointment date and a promise that he’d meet me there. That same week, I sat in another waiting room, staring at the door. Again, he didn’t show up. I walked back to the doctor’s office and after polite hello’s, I explained what had been going on. “Whatever it is, it’s temporary. You’re the happiest couple I know. Deeply in love, so supportive of each other, always together. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.” I was further conflicted and yet comforted. I returned home to another email. “The money is safe. I am not taking it anywhere. Out of the country no. Hiding it away no. Please do not pressure me to do what will be done.” As I’d not mentioned money, I didn’t know what he was referring to. Logging into our joint bank account, I noted that for the first time since we were wed, he had not deposited his paycheck. He was gone and yet, not as he continually requested that I meet him at area restaurants, with his mail. Our get-togethers were cold but ever optimistic, I continued seeing him. He followed each meeting with emails such as, “I love you baby, xoxo me,” and, “You looked beautiful last night, as always.” I’d longed for those words which had been commonplace but were now rare and typically, followed by insults. And yet, each message gave me hope that he was right and what I knew to be true was wrong. After days of such ‘I love you’ emails, he began calling, wanting to discuss a formal separation agreement, informing me that we’re no longer married, that this is a business deal, that it took all his strength to walk out of our apartment and, he’d been unhappy since the day we met. His next email threatened that if I didn’t go along with what he termed, a mutual, determined separation agreement, it would negatively affect my future well-being and he’d file a summons for cruel and inhumane treatment. My days and nights were filled with more of his appetite suppressant messages. Nearly emaciated, I was too weak to exercise and stopped attending the dance classes I’d loved, the ones that he often enjoyed with me. Unable to hide my protruding bones with clothing, I was at a routine physical, when my doctor said, “You’ve lost all of your muscle! You have to start working out again.” I returned to the dance classes I’d loved. Within minutes, I was surrounded by my teacher and students who were greeting me with hugs and smiles before informing me that my husband began attending class with a woman he’d introduced as his girlfriend. The, they began showing up several times a week at what had been my regularly scheduled classes. My decision to attend other classes led to his increased calls and threats, followed by his notifying me that he moved uptown to get away from me. He had and yet he hadn’t for although he was in a different neighborhood, he continued parking across the street from our condo. After two months of uncomfortably bumping into him outside our building, I retained counsel. My husband, a board member for a battered women’s shelter long before we met, didn’t hide his detest for my ex having physically abused me. He also believed that my brain tumors resulted from my ex grabbing me by the throat, lifting me up and slamming my head into walls and his truck. And yet, he took a page from ex’s gift-giving registry although his package was delivered with no postage at all. I was running errands on my birthday when I heard a man calling my name. As I looked to see him, he glanced down at a stack of papers, the first of which I could see was a photo of me taken in happier times. Shoving bound papers at me, he said, “You’ve been served.” I wasn’t about to reach out and accept them so he dropped them on the ground. Laying before me on bustling Street sidewalk in the November wind lay twenty-three charges of cruel and inhumane treatment, lies which my husband later admitted to having invented. As we were childless, there would be no custody battle so I knew ours would be a quick divorce. About to leave for the first court date, my lawyer called to say that court was rescheduled since my husband was out of town. He was lazing in the Island 2 sun again but unlike our honeymoon, he had an entourage- his girlfriend, her two children, their grandmother and our money. His delay tactics became as routine as his continual, vindictive violations of the judge’s temporary support orders. Friends and colleagues who’d envied our marriage were shocked about the way he’d been treating me and his divorce filing since he’d always told them how much he loved me and how happy he was. And, reassuring me, his ex-wife said that what I’d witnessed for years was indeed true, he had dutifully paid her court ordered support without interruption or complaint so she knew he’d do the same with me when our divorce was finalized. Even his closest friends said as he had, he’d always take care of me. Post-trial, while awaiting the judge’s decision, I attended medical appointments and underwent routine tests, the last of which revealed another brain tumor, this one threatening my remaining vision. After another emergency brain surgery, I awoke in Neuro ICU but this time, temporarily blind, disfigured and alone. Not only had he long since abandoned me, the friends and family who’d been present and supportive after my first brain surgery followed his lead when I needed them most. I attempted to recover in peace but my valiant efforts were interrupted and delayed by realtors showing prospective buyers our apartment. This was the only court order he followed, the listing of our City 7 condo and City 5 house. The issue of our State 2 property was settled when I received my parents’ birthday package. Addressed in my dad’s controlled, cursive handwriting, I excitedly opened the box to find a unique gift, the garage door opener without card, wrap or ribbons. As with my friends who abandoned me when my husband had, my parents did the same while also abandoning the Florida townhouse. One phone call to the realtor who sold us the property revealed that they walked out the door, leaving it empty and me, hollow. With my husband aware of my recent brain surgery, his get-well gift came in the form of violating temporary court orders for my medical expenses. Struggling to see, undergoing two more surgeries to correct disfigurement, and rife with emotional and physical pain, my doctors wrote critically necessary prescriptions for physical therapy, a host of medications and home healthcare aides. But without receiving his court ordered support, I couldn’t afford all of my requisite care which led to my incurring further physical damage. Based on the voluminous medical evidence provided to the court, the judge accepted the fact of my disability. Immediately, I followed her order and applied for SSDI. Recognizing that I could not survive with SSDI benefits as my sole source of income, in her final judgment, my ex-husband was court ordered to pay spousal support, healthcare overage and maintain me as the sole beneficiary of his pension and life insurance policies. I began anew again but my second beginning started and stopped simultaneously with his continued court order violations. Necessarily, I returned to court with a lawyer and a contempt motion. Back in our trial judge’s courtroom, this hearing took only thirty minutes during which time she reviewed my evidence of accrued spousal support arrears and his cancellation of my health insurance. Again, the judge instructed him to follow all court orders and again, he said he would and again, he didn’t. Retaining another attorney, I filed a second contempt motion which was assigned to a different judge. At our first hearing, the judge informed him that continued violations could result in jail time. I didn’t want him locked up but as our original trial judge found, I couldn’t survive without him following all court orders. Rather than believe the judge’s not-so-veiled threat, his violations continued but with a new twist, of the pen. On the subject lines of his shorted and late support checks, he began writing emotionally abusive messages such as, ‘Blood Money,’ and his most-oft used favorite, ‘Fucking Evil Bitch.’ Then, he crumpled the checks into trash-like balls which he stuffed into envelopes. His heinous, illegal acts continued for four more years, enough time that the judge forgot the court order enforcement actions afforded her. With my finances rapidly dwindling, I could no longer afford legal representation and so, I became a fool, representing myself. This would be a bad choice for anyone, but especially for someone whose only legal education to that point had been the prior years in divorce court. Adding in my permanent neurological impairments which had long ago rendered me unable to work and support myself. Among them, brain inflammation, memory loss and nerve pain, all of which intensified. While struggling to file motions, organize legal documents and attend court, I endured cataclysmic catastrophes resulting in damage as massive as his intentionally cruel court order violations and those of a judge who repeatedly admitted not reviewing the case before her. A massive flood resulted in the loss of my belongings and my apartment, I received multiple diagnoses including- a third brain tumor, glaucoma, a chronic retina bleed in my only usable eye, cataracts requiring immediate surgery, an ovarian cyst and prior surgical scar tissue resulting in intractable pain, all while I struggled to continue representing myself in court. Meanwhile, in order to pay for critical medical treatment, tests, medications, surgeries and the necessity of shelter, I accrued credit card debt for the first time in my life. Although my renter’s insurance policy paid flood reimbursement monies, they were quickly dissipated on survival necessities of food, shelter, transportation to and from court, health insurance and more. When I thought I’d reached rock bottom, I began receiving harassing and often profane messages from inventive email addresses, including one from Email Address informing me that the happy couple had wed and were raising her children in what had been our City 8home. That message was followed with my next birthday gift, a dead plant with a florist’s gift tag on which he wrote, “I love you.” I consistently reported his damaging, harassing and abusive actions to the judge who responded while looking at him, “Stop doing that.” He responded to her affirmatively but instead, increased his vicious email attacks while also adding childish crank phone calls. Throughout our five years before this judge, she chose to ignore my factually, documented evidence of his non-stop court order violations which included a running total of his accumulated spousal support arrears just as she disregarded her long-ago promise of holding him accountable for his violations. Despite his courtroom confession with evidentiary backup that he violated the original court order by replacing me with his girlfriend as the beneficiary of his pension and life insurance policies, the judge turned a blind eye, tantamount to approving of this violation. Finally, the judge rendered her decision, one which disregarded my years of factual evidence proving his years ten years of continually violating court orders and substantiating that he was, far from his baseless claims of being flat out broke but rather, flush with more than enough to pay the full amount of support arrears which surpassed one quarter of a million dollars. Explaining her rationale for ignoring the rule of law, she said, “Given the Plaintiff’s comorbidities, she has less time left than he, so she won’t be needing the accumulated spousal support monies or any other benefits stipulated in the previously entered judgment of divorce. I sat there shocked that a State State Supreme Court judge had based a legal decision on her non-medical prediction of my imminent death. I walked away from the legal system, further battered and bruised with scars as invisible as those caused by my first husband’s sexual, emotional, physical and verbal abuse. Those painful wounds remain as unseen as my irreparable vision loss, ongoing brain tumor growths, radiation treatments, the abandonment of friends and family and those left behind by my second husband- financial and psychological abuse which combined, equal physical abuse for they left me further impaired as I’ve been unable to obtain and maintain shelter, medical treatment, medications and other survival necessities. Alone, in pain and in need, I embarrassingly became dependent upon the kindness of strangers, one who generously provided me with temporary shelter and food, keeping me alive when someone else died- my ex-husband. Apparently, our judge’s crystal ball was as cracked as the rule of law she chose to break. One year and five months after she rendered her decision and amended the original divorce judgment, he was gone. But I wasn’t. My health has steadily declined since I made my Love Connection with my second husband, after which he treated me to The Dating Game followed by The Newlywed Game. I believed I’d won the prize of his undying love, affection and support. But when he began playing his favorite boardgame, Malevolent Monopoly, I lost and continued losing since he declared himself the banker and real estate mogul, owning all of the properties and utilities. Throughout his illegal, unending game, he never went to jail directly or indirectly and I never collected $200.00 for passing go or the $250,000.00+ in accumulated spousal support. Left with not much more than questions as to the how and why this all happened, I played a game of my own- connect the dots. A single line connected each dot, forming a family tree with rotted roots and ancestrally infected branches. As a child, my mother witnessed her mom be physically, financially and emotionally abused by her husband which led to her marrying my dad for the safety and security she’d always desired, only to relive what her mother had and likewise, my mom did her best to ignore and hide her husband’s abuse. My brother chose to ignore the truth of my mom’s screams on that long-ago Sunday afternoon. Similarly, he chose to ignore the physical abuse he saw me endure at that campus town bar and my increasing impairments and substantial losses resulting from my second husband’s financial and psychological abuse. My dad was a good man and also, not. He loved me, my brother and my mom very much but ultimately, he loved her to death. As for my in-laws, after I paid forty-one cents to accept their son’s postage due divorce-papers, I learned that my first husband’s father had physically abused his mother, leading to her suffering two nervous breakdowns. When I told her how her son physically and emotionally abused me, she advised that I should’ve done as she had with husband and stop doing what bothered him. Upon meeting the man who would be my second husband, he volunteered his truth of being betrayed by his spouse during their marriage. A year later, he detailed the domestic violence perpetrated by his mother. During his childhood, his mom prepared his brother a sandwich with a unique condiment, broken glass. Additionally, she often engaged in psychologically abusing him and her husband with her favorite weapon, gaslighting, which only ended when she was institutionalized. I am living proof that as with disability and destitution, domestic violence doesn’t have to be visible to exist yet few believe my truth of living those traumas. Rather than hear an empathetic word, most often I’m told, “You don’t look disabled, abused, or homeless.” Over time, I’ve learned that there exists a pervasive, preconceived image of what a disabled, impoverished victim turned survivor of domestic violence looks like and unfortunately, that image is typically wrong. Not all tragedies are visible. Not all living below poverty level live on the streets, not all disabled are nonsensical and mangled and, not all victims of domestic violence have broken bones, black eyes or bruises. Anyone can experience what I have as well as additional challenges, be they rich, middle class or poor. Domestic violence can happen anywhere, on a Midwest farm, a State 2 beach, a bustling city or the peaceful quiet of the City 8, just as it did with me. Likewise, abusers, victims and survivors of domestic violence come from everywhere and anywhere, as in my case, the East Coast, New England and the Midwest. Abusers look like everyone, in packages of various sizes and shapes, in gift bags or boxes, decorated in ribbons and bows or with no finery whatsoever. Specifically, seen or unseen, happening to anyone, anywhere and at any time, domestic violence is always wrong and all too often, it’s dead wrong. However, what is right remains the same- victims of domestic violence and sexual assault need to be heard, supported and believed rather than silenced, ignored and doubted. Being believed provides life-saving healing, validation, encouragement, comfort and hope. Rather than continuing to prove who I am to those disbelieving my truth, I am content in knowing who I am and with that, I validate, encourage, support and comfort myself as well as others for judging a book by its cover leads only to tattered pages, broken bindings and torn, broken people. Fortunately, I have found permanent glue and hope but tragically, too many do not.

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    Welcome to NO MORE Silence, Speak Your Truth.

    This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.

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