Right now, a painful piece of your life may be popping into your memory. I'm so sorry! So so sorry! Or you may be thinking that domestic violence hasn't affected you. Well, my friend, it has and you may just not realize. You see 1 in 4 women has been a victim of domestic violence at some point in her life.
One. In. Four.
Let that sink in. If you know more than 3 women, then most likely a relationship that you have is with someone has been shaped by this. Check out the stats here: https://ncadv.org/statistics. October is Domestic Violence Awareness month. “Domestic” and “Violence” put together should be an oxymoron, but it isn’t. It’s prevalent. It’s when home... a place that should be a safe haven with love becomes a place of hurt and fear. We all have a part to play in ending domestic violence. We need to speak up and help others find safety and heal. We can all be a positive influence and support as victims redefine love and home.
We all have a story, and in that story are chapters and pages. I am so grateful for the good, the bad, and the ugly of my story that God is writing. It reminds me daily of God's love, grace, and redemption. Below I tell of three experiences I have shared with victims of domestic violence and how it has impacted my life.
Growing up I didn't know my grandfather. I met him twice before seeing his lifeless body in a coffin at his funeral. I missed out on all the memories I could have shared with him. My first memory was meeting him. I was very young, and the memory was awkward and faint. I was confused being introduced to someone with an important title yet felt like a stranger because he was. My second memory of him was lying in a hospital bed dying of Emphysema. My Grandmother was the victim of domestic violence by his hands, and she lived with us; therefore I was the victim of not knowing what it was like to have a grandfather.
If you know me well now, the following may come as a surprise to you. As a child, I had lots of fears. Bearded men, roller coasters, and the dark held the highest place of fear in my life. To compensate for my fear of the dark, I slept with my grandma every night, who was also kind enough to leave the bathroom light on from down the hall. I called her Nanny. One night in particular, when I was only 5 year old, I was lying next to her in her comfy queen size bed, and suddenly heard the rattling of bracelets. I opened my eyes and turned over to find her shaking uncontrollably. She was having a grand mal seizure. "Nanny!" "Nanny!" I screamed trying to wake her. Her eyes were open but rolling in the back of her head. I ran to my parents' room to get help and then went to hide under my bed in my own room. The dark suddenly didn't seem as scary as what I had just seen accompanied by the police and fire rushing into my house to try and save her. Upon arriving at the hospital, they performed surgery and found brain cancer. The doctors gave her 6 months to live. God gave us a miracle, and she lived many, many more years. However, those years were not what they could have been due to the cancer, surgeries, and the effects of it. While the doctors could not pinpoint the exact cause, they shared that her condition was potentially a result of the beatings she received on her head at hands of my alcoholic grandfather. I can assure you the broken home surely was a result of that.
Fast forward to my adult years, this ugly monster was in my life again. One minute every thing was just fine, but a phone call instantly changed it. It all feels like such a blur, but I remember sitting next to one of my very best friends waiting for the doctor to come in and examine her body for marks and bruises. After too much alcohol, her husband... hurt her. Her tears were more than a result of physical pain. Trust was broken. Love didn't make sense. The life she lived for and the future she saw was falling to pieces. "Don't tell anyone!" are words I heard with fear and shame in her voice. At some point we have all been a victim of something in life, but as a victim, we seek justice. However, I've learned that is often not that case with Domestic Violence. Silence and shame take over. Unlike many others, my friend became brave. She stood up, used her voice, and broke the cycle.
With thousands and thousands of children in foster care, my husband felt called for our family to step up and make a difference in this way. We quickly learned of all the trauma that comes with each child that would enter our home. One teenage girl in particular stayed with us for just under a year. Throughout that year, we laughed and had fun. We did chores and ate family meals. We went to school and church. We smiled. Most people saw that side. What they didn't see was her curled up in the rocking chair in my room with tears streaming down her face. "Why?" was her constant cry. Why would her parents do this to her? Why couldn't they go back to her early childhood when things were normal, before the drugs and abuse? Why couldn't they go back to the beach where they loved to surf? Why couldn't they be a family again? I would hold her, and rock with her, and cry with her. Our cries were over an hour long each night that first week. Over time they got shorter and less frequent, but the pain was always there. One trigger would bring it back in an instant... the realization of her divorcing parents, looming court dates, counseling appointments, that her mother was in a shelter for abused women, her siblings in another home... that things would never be the same again. Drugs took over and domestic violence ensued bringing her to the place she was... children taken into custody, a broken home, and a life forever changed. I could hold her and listen, but I couldn't answer the question, "Why?" I couldn't erase from her memory the abuse she saw.
The sad part of this very long post is that there is more. I could keep going with stories of my own past and stories of those in my life. Tomorrow morning I will be attending an event for My Sister's House, a shelter for abused women. The same shelter the mom of my foster daughter found hope after experiencing domestic violence. We all have been impacted my domestic violence in one way or another. We all can give hope and have an impact but in a positive way. Speak up. Donate. Listen to someone's story as they heal. Do something to be a #differencemaker in this way.
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