My story actually begins the day I was born. My dad was really hoping to have a baby boy that he could hunt with, fish with, and play sports with. Instead he got a baby girl. He was devastated. He was in the delivery room for my birth, but afterwards left the hospital and didn’t come back until it was time for my mom to go home. As a result of my gender, he didn’t want anything to do with me. He didn’t want to hold me, feed me, or care for me. With domestic violence happening even before I was born, this only made things worse. My dad would get angry with my mom if I cried or misbehaved and would hit her, push her, kick her, and frequently pull her hair. As I grew up, I witnessed these behaviors daily and it wasn’t long before the abuse included me.
My dad, who was a raging alcoholic, drank a quart of E & J Brandy a night. The littlest things triggered his anger and soon chairs would be flying, couches would be flipped over, dishes were broken, and physical aggression happened. As I got older, I couldn’t just stand there and watch my mom get bruises and black eyes, so starting in 3rd grade, I began physically placing myself in front of my mom to protect her. I would frequently do something to distract my dad and turn the attention on me rather than her. I thought that I could save her and it was certainly better if my dad beat me rather than my mom.
Time and time again, my dad would kick me, slap me, throw me around, or hit me. The littlest things would set him off, such as being in his way, interrupting his tv watching, or sometimes just the sight of me triggered him. His booming voice would send shivers down my spine and he had no issues yelling in my face, his spit landing on my cheeks. I tried not to back down. As I got older, I wanted him to see that I was tough and that his tactics didn’t scare me, even though at times I thought I would die from fear.
In middle school, I had such low self-esteem from my dad always telling me I was useless, unattractive, and overweight, that I craved male attention. Despite being on the honor roll every quarter, joining sports and clubs, volunteering at church, and never getting in trouble, nothing impressed my dad. I even took a Hunter’s Safety class in hopes of him taking notice of me and wanting to spend time with me. It didn’t matter. I never heard “I’m proud of you” or “I love you”.
When I was 14, an older boy told me I was beautiful and wanted to be my boyfriend. I fell for him hook, line, and sinker, only to lose my virginity by being raped. My sense of worth was the lowest it had ever been. I believed that I deserved this treatment because I was a “bad girl”, and that there was something wrong with me. I was now “damaged goods”. I told myself I would never get married because there wasn’t a man on this Earth that would want me. I used negative self-talk every single day and there were many days I didn’t even want to live. I began cutting on my arms. I remember feeling that satisfying sting when the knife sliced through my skin. Once I even threatened to commit suicide in front of my dad. In turn, he handed me a knife from the kitchen and said, “Here. Do it”. I was in complete hell and didn’t think things could get any worse.
My Sophomore year in high school, a senior from school broke into my house in the middle of the night with the sole intention of raping me. With tears streaming down my face while he penetrated me, all I could think was that I better not make a sound to wake up my dad in the next room or both of us would be dead. My dad was crazy, and I knew he would literally kill the both of us. I didn’t tell a soul and showed up to school on Monday like it was just another day, passing my attacker in the hallway.
Fast forward to college, I met a man named Jon that I thought was the man of my dreams. He came from a family that was as close to the Beaver Cleaver family as it gets, the family dynamic that I had always dreamed of. We married in the year 2000 and everything was great…until control issues started to surface. If I ever mentioned doing anything by myself, he would say “You can’t do that” or “I’ll come with”. The marriage became suffocating and he continued to manipulate me. When I mentioned my distress to my mom, her response was “well, he doesn’t hit you” and so I stayed.
I stayed for 21 years until I just couldn’t take it any longer. I was tired of being timed every time I left the house, tired of always having to explain who was calling me, tired of being blamed for looking at other men, when I wasn’t. I took a chance on myself and filed for divorce in 2021. It has been a difficult two years, but I’ve pulled through. I’ve found that I CAN do it. I can travel on my own, I can pay my bills on my own, and I can live on my own.
From birth to 2021, I witnessed and endured 44 years of domestic violence. I’ve seen it all from verbal abuse to physical violence to sexual violence. I often wonder how my life might have changed if someone had stepped in or if a program such as the LOVE>hate project had come into my school and educated me on domestic violence. For most of my childhood, I thought this was the normal way a family functioned. This is why this project is crucial to our communities. Children living in homes with domestic violence don’t realize it’s wrong. They don’t know how to get help. This project saves lives and provides resources to people who can help victims. This program is trailblazing, and I cannot be more proud to be a part of it.
