#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Depression, Domestic Violence, EMDR, Grief and Loss, healing, Hope, Love, Uncategorized

January 2020 Domestic Violence Story: A Child Witness

Since awareness is key to helping end domestic violence, I want to share a story each month with a different focus. There can never be too many stories shared. Sharing replaces hopelessness with hopefulness.

Since this idea did not come to me until late into the month of January, I thought I would start with my story. I did share my story in October 2019, as well as in my memoir, The Monster That Ate My Mommy, but there is always room for more details and more insight. My hope is that sharing my story, even on repeat, it will reach the right people to make a difference. If one person is helped by my suffering, it was for something.

The first three years of my life I did not have contact with my father, and as far as I know, neither did my mom. She brought baby girl Aiken home to her mother’s house from the hospital with the father’s name on the birth certificate blank. From the start she knew she didn’t feel safe around my dad, and maybe for the first time in her life, she listened to her gut feeling. During those three years she kept him away from me, and because he was not named as my father, without a DNA test, he did not have any rights to me.

The plan had been to name my brother’s dad as my father, and I was going to be given his last name. He agreed to this plan, and as far as I knew, he was my dad. He was loving and kind, and fun to be with. Before this plan could be put into motion, he became very sick, and died. I am not sure if it was this alone that changed my mom’s mind about my dad, or her wish to give me a father, or the hope for a family, but he was welcomed into our lives. My birth certificate was changed to list him as my father, and my last name was hyphenated to include his.

Within days we were moving into a new place as a family, and the abuse came creeping back in. Some of the scariest, most traumatic moments of my life came from the three short years we lived together. I witnessed my brother’s beatings, so severe, I was not sure he would live. I watched as my parents had violent sex in the living room, and saw my dad inches away from ending my mom’s life.

I was a watcher. I watched and observed everything. I wanted to be prepared for what might happen. Every sound awoke my adrenaline as I waited for it to escalate, and spiral out of control. Even at four years old, I knew I had to think fast, and be ready for what might come. I knew I had to be strong and step in for my mom or brother when their beatings became too much. I’d cause some sort of distraction to take the focus off them, hoping the belt across my bare bottom would be enough for him. If they could have a break, maybe they would be strong enough for the next time.

I knew there would always be a next time. I knew that even when we were laughing and having fun, it would end as quickly as it started. My guard was never down, and it wasn’t until recently that I understood the impact this has had on me.

Some things are easy to see what they were caused by, while others take time to fully understand. My newest development came in a counseling session where EMDR therapy was used.

The goal of the session was to understand the reason I don’t feel at home anywhere. The last place that felt like home was my gram’s house, the same house I was brought home from the hospital. Even though I moved out of this home when I was three, every time I went back, I knew I was home. It wasn’t a big surprise to me. It made sense that my gram made it feel like home; she was home.

My problem was I have not been able to recreate that feeling since. It was not due to feeling unsafe or unloved. I didn’t understand what was the route of this lack of connection came from. In the past abuse and neglect made it was easy to see why I didn’t feel like I was home. My life is no longer filled with either and I wanted answers. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to find that feeling.

Some of the factors that lead to this decision were the boxes I have not unpacked for over ten years. They follow me, all the things I have carried with me throughout different moves, and do not find a permanent place inside the building I reside. I do not decorate or make an effort to make it feel like “home.” I thought it was because I was lazy…or busy…but lately, I knew there was more to it.

During my session I had to go back in time to a memory that may have caused this. Going down memory lane I counted 20 moves in my lifetime. Most all of them had a negative connotation. There were two that stuck out. One was when I was 14 and first in foster care, and the second, the one that I worked on, was when I was six and going with my dad for visitations.

Tears began to roll down my cheek as I thought back to thirty-two years ago, to my six-year old self with my rolled up brown paper bag full of my clothes gazing out the window, waiting for my dad’s car to arrive so I could slip out the door before my parents had a chance to interact. In those moments I dreaded these weekend visits. I wanted to go to my gram’s, but on his weekends, I couldn’t.

As I worked through these emotions and memories I realized what had been keeping me from feeling at home. It was the lack of fitting in, the lack of having a safe place, the lack of belonging, the lack of having a solid foundation.

How does this all relate to being a child witness to domestic violence?

All that fear, and waiting I experienced followed me. I’m ready at a moments notice to throw my belongings into paper bags, or garbage bags and throw them into my car to get to safety. I’m ready to make my escape, because to me, home was not safe. To me, home was where I went to be hurt and watch others be hurt. It was a place that held all the secrets and horrors that no one else was allowed to know. It was filled with loud voices, swears, insults, and bruises. It was the space between going to school, and my gram’s house, where safety wasn’t questioned.

Watching my dad hurt and threaten to kill my mom changed me. It instilled a fear in me I thought was part of my existence. It gave me an altered view of what home and love were supposed to look like. It ate away at my self-esteem. It robbed me of self-love.

It changed me.

As an adult, who found my way to my own house of horrors, it took me a while to realize it was not normal. I didn’t believe I deserved anything other than what I had always known. I recreated a “home” that mimicked the one I had grown up in. On guard for the next incident to happen, I never had time to get comfortable. I didn’t know what comfortable was.

Recently, I thought something was wrong with me because I can sleep through my husband’s alarm clock. I know now that there is nothing wrong with me. For the first time in my life I feel safe. Safe enough to sleep soundly. Safe enough to let my guard down. Safe enough to figure out what home is.

It’s time to start living. Existing is exhausting.

If you have exposed your children to domestic violence, please don’t feel guilty. We all do the best we can with the information we have at the time. Each day is a new day to make a change. Tomorrow is a clean slate. Don’t let the past keep you somewhere you never belonged.

I don’t share my story for pity, I share it for awareness. Awareness is the key to ending domestic violence.

#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Domestic Violence, Love, Uncategorized

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Jessie’s Story

“When I was three years old, my mom, brother, and I moved into a new home with my dad. I had not known my dad for long before this move, and I was not sure what to think of the change. The nice man he had shown me before the move changed overnight. My home became a place I didn’t want to be, and was no longer safe.

My dad and mom would yell and fight. It was rarely quiet inside our home. I developed migraines at a young age, and the noise became that much more painful. My mom would cry, and my dad would yell louder. He called her awful names, and if I was around, he called me them too.

When my mom yelled back, he would hit her. When I tried to stop him from hurting her, he would leave her alone long enough to take his belt buckle to my bare behind, and then go back to hurting her. At night the sound of their fights would wake me up, and I would tiptoe out of my room to watch, to make sure he didn’t kill my mom. I had to be very quiet, because if he saw me, he would beat me for getting out of bed.

My mom found a new man and began cheating on my dad. When she was invited to live with him, she told my dad she was leaving him. It was then that he first threatened to kill her, and us. For the next five years, my dad stalked my mom, and broke into our house to try to gather evidence to prove she was unfit and have me taken away from her. We did not stop being on guard until we got the news that he died, even then the PTSD from the abuse and never knowing where he was, or what he was going to do kept us as his prisoner.

The new man my mom moved us in with was not a safe choice, and he began abusing us, and the pets. My mom was unable to find a safe partner, and continued with this type of abuse each time she found a new partner. Growing up in this kind of environment, I never learned what a healthy relationship looked like.

I found my own unsafe men, and continued the cycle. The only thing that helped me see the pattern I was stuck in was when I started to see my own worth. When I knew I didn’t have to tolerate the abuse, I started to break the generational cycle of domestic violence. My hope is that my children will know what love looks and feels like, and they will know when to walk away.

It doesn’t have to be how it always was. A new life can start with you.”

Thank you, Jessie, for sharing your story. I am glad you know that loved doesn’t hurt. I am glad you are safe.

You are strong.

You are brave.

You are loved.

#DomesticViolenceAwareness

#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Domestic Violence, Grief and Loss, healing, Hope, Love, Sexual abuse, sexual assault, Uncategorized

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Kourtenay’s Story and the TD Project

As I searched the TD Project Survivor Stories Facebook page, I knew I had to reach out to the founder. After talking with Kourtenay, I learned about what led her to start the TD project, and was moved by her desire to help others. Her story will also be shared as part of this project, because like many of us, domestic violence has touched her life. I encourage you to take a look at her Facebook page, and read the stories that have been shared. Her project covers all different types of trauma, and I am certain it will speak to you on some level.

*************************************************************************

“My story and purpose of this project .
My story didn’t begin on March 16 , 2013 , it began far before that . March 16 , 2013 was only the spiral that lead to me coming out from other traumatic events .Most don’t know my story , many will be shocked . First and foremost I am not ashamed , and I am okay . March 16 , 2013 my father was shot multiple times along with his friend by his friends ex-boyfriend , who committed suicide shortly after , her two sons escaped through a window . That’s the thing with PTSD , it likes to hide, block , disassociate. It likes to tear you down blind you with depression and anxiety. My story began when I was 4 , I was ” touched ” by a family friend . It was one time , but not the last encounter I would have . At 15 I became an alcoholic, now that doesn’t happen with reason you could say I was dealt those cards as my family history has a long record of both substance abuse and alcoholism. I began to run away , bottle my feelings , my Mother tried her best with mental health facilities and rehab , but I ran . At 16 I was jumping house to house until I met a boy , he loved me and well I loved him ” teen love ” when I found out he was sleeping with someone else and threatened to leave him , he beat me , this happened numerous times , until one day I left while he was at work . He did save me in one way, I no longer needed to drink from the time I was with him . This only led to one unhealthy relationship to another, I didn’t know what love was or what it felt like . At 18 I worked at a restaurant ( my first time waitress) .Six months in I got had gotten fired for not properly ringing out add on salads , they had threatened me with law enforcement ( I never was properly trained working the computer system ) I thought I would need a lawyer, I never had gotten fired from a job , he took care of it ( I trusted him, he asked me to go to his office to sign paperwork and talk about what was going on . I was sexually assaulted , there was no paperwork . He instead have given me a gift certificate upon leaving , that week was followed by indirect threatening calls . I didn’t say a word for 10 years . I finally told my therapist when I was seeking help for dealing with PTSD . I would come home that night crying and told my husband ( no details ) he would be the second person. Then there was quite again until the Me Too movement where I felt triggered , again I went back to therapy but a sexual assault therapist . That was this year, where I would tell my mother what happened as well . It was suggested to get a lawyer before coming out but nobody would take my case. I am not ashamed , but I am scared and that’s okay, I don’t need to come out I just need to be okay with what happened to. I felt shame and disgusted for so long until this year . After my father was shot and killed in a double murder suicide , it brought on such intense feelings I even contemplated life itself . But these last 2 years I have found myself , I picked up a camera and well taught myself everything , it’s like I have came out of the darkness , I have found me again , I have found the light .A spiritual awakening. A few months ago while I lay wide awake I came up with this idea of empowering woman , it took a few weeks to get over the am I crazy part ( Lol ) but the idea wouldn’t leave my mind at night . I wanted to spread a message empowering one another , I wanted to make a statement like ” Hey , this is me I have something to say !! ” so the ideas kept flowing and well one post led to another which led me to create a private group , and well everything else. Everyone has a path , something they are MEANT to be doing , it’s up to you to find it . This is why I am here, no shame , no embarrassment, because I’m not alone , I have a mission to do . ❤ A movement I have created and a vibration that has been felt in all 50 states .


I own K.Me Photography ( located in Warwick , Rhode Island ) and founder of TD Project . https://www.facebook.com/TDProjectSurvivorStories

I have photographed several woman in Rhode Island as well for the Rhode Island  part of the project and also the first state to start . The project has not only helped me in finding my voice but it has sent a vibration across the country as it travels to now it’s 15th state ( Wisconsin ) ! It doesn’t end with 50 states only traveling once this dress will then go to a number of different countries and I will be also adding two more dresses to travel all over again , we all have a voice and I think we all need to be heard . “

Photo Credit: Sail AwayPhotography

Thank you, Kourtenay, for sharing your story, and helping so many others share theirs. Your project is so important, I am grateful I found you, and the TD project. The world is a better place, when we take our pain and use it for good.

You are strong.

You are brave.

You are an inspiration.

#DomesticViolenceAwareness

#TDprojectTheTravelingDress

 #StoriesofSurvivors 

#TDProject50statesandbeyond

#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Domestic Violence, healing, Hope, Sexual abuse, sexual assault, Uncategorized

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Sam’s Story

“I was so used to the constant abuse- the fights, the drinking, the name calling, hair pulling, black eyes, money stealing monotony of it all.. that I never thought anything would change, and that maybe.. just maybe I really was as “crazy” as he claimed..
Right up until the second the school called me- concerned (after some testing I had asked be done for my youngest son) that they believed he was suffering from PTSD.. due to being molested. I sent my children to my mother’s where they would be SAFE the very next day and had our abuser removed from our lives FOREVER. We have not seen him or heard from him in over 3 years… the active arrest warrant that I was notified about via the court system ensures that he while he may not have to face the full impact of his actions- My silence.. will NOT be the last thing he hears from me.”

Thank you, Sam, for sharing your story. I admire your strength and you desire to protect your children. Keep speaking your truth.

You are brave.

You are strong.

You are a warrior.

#DomesticViolenceAwareness

#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Domestic Violence, Hope, Sexual abuse, Uncategorized

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Debby’s Story

“Fear, anger, resentment, frustration, secrecy, feeling unclear, lying, deceit, these are a few feelings I had to deal with at a very young age. I became very good at pretending all was good. I felt like I was acting a part. I had become mother, housekeeper, cook, and defender of my younger siblings, also at a very young age. My biological parents separated and divorced. I do not know when, but I was told possibly why. Apparently she was cheating on him. The man she cheated on him with came in like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Who did so much damage. Drugs, alcohol, parties and physical abuse became common words that as I am older show a pattern of severe violence, abuse, neglect, and sexual abuse. They would go out drinking and leave us either alone or with anyone they could find; friend or stranger. The nights we would wake up to physical drunken fights. Several nights there were both naked and he would shove her into furniture or shove her to the floor. If we screamed or yelled, he would sometimes come beat us and threaten to do worse to all of us. He was hated in a few states for fraud regarding welfare and other agencies that people help. He drove drunk a lot of the time and they would use alcohol and drugs to get us to sleep so they could leave us in cars so they could go bar hopping and or find people to come back to wherever er were to have sex with them. These parties got loud and noisy but we learned to stay quiet and stay in bed. He started having his “special time” with me when I was about 4 or 5. Not sure, but I know where the house is that it began in. I was not sure as to what was going on but felt strange to have a “secret.” He told me that my mother know what he was doing, for all daddies teach little girls this. How to be able to show love to a man. I did not tell her due to he told me she knew, so I didn’t say anything to her. He said things would change as I grew older, and that he would be putting his penis in me to make me a woman. I still shut up with the belief she knew and this was normal. He enjoyed corporal punishment, it seemed.Very violent punishments, knees on broom handle, hit me with a hammer, physically hitting me across the face and body. I had bruises and injuries that I could not explain. Between the violence I endured, the physical, emotional, psychological and sexual abuse issues have stayed with me for years. Due to him and what he did to me, I had pelvic inflammatory disease that was is severe that it could not be fixed so I could not have kids. I have had several abusive relationships and allowed myself to be treated very badly, and abused verbally, emotionally, and psychologically because of what I thought I deserved and how I should be treated. They have both since passed away and my wounds are still deep and are healing very slowly.”

Thank you, Debby, for sharing your story. Debby’s story reminds us that what happens as a child can impact our entire life. It is the perfect storm for thinking you are not worthy of safety or love. Be easy on yourself, most of us have years of hurt to heal from.

You are strong.

You are brave.

You are a survivor.

#DomesticViolenceAwareness

#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Domestic Violence, gas lighting, healing, Hope, Sexual abuse, Uncategorized

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Jessica’s Story

A small piece of my story:

As a child I grew up in a home full of abuse. My dad was physically, emotionally and sexually abusive to my mom. I remember waking up to the sound of their fighting and sneaking out of my room to watch, to make sure he didn’t kill her. He also threatened to kill my mom, brother, and me. The most fear I had ever experienced was when my mom finally left him. I keep my eyes open, looking over my shoulder every time I was outside, wondering when he was going to shoot me. I was six years old.
As an adult, I repeated the cycle in my own home. My ex-husband started with psychological abuse, slowing killing my spirit, and taking any self-worth I had left away. He used my past to hold my hostage. The words turned physical for the first time when I was pregnant with my daughter. As I held my 20-month son, he put his hands around my neck and as he squeezed, he told us he was going to kill me and cut up my body and dump it in the river, saying, “No one would even notice you were missing.” Still holding my son, he pushed us to the ground and would not let us leave. He tried to get my son out of my arms, but my son would not let go of me as he screamed. This happened because he found out I was planning on leaving him. After this event, I felt that if I tried to leave again, we would have been killed.
He said no one else would ever love me, and I was lucky he did. He took control of the finances, even though I earned the money, and made sure I did not have access to the things that I needed. He opened up credit cards in my name and maxed them out, so not only did I not have access to my money, I also did not have credit. He created a situation where I had to depend on him, and reminded me that I was nothing without him. As my self-esteem made its way to the surface, he would find ways to push it away. I had no real support system, and did not dare tell people what was happening. I was scared what else would happen if I told anyone.
Through all of the abuse, I never called the police, not until he did. He called the police one afternoon and told them to arrest me for being a “whore.” When he did that, the police saw how dangerous he was. It was then that I knew they would believe me, and help me. The next time he put his hands on me, I called the police. He was arrested, and I was granted a protection order. He did violate that, and bullied me into dropping the order, telling me it was just a piece of paper and it wouldn’t protect me. I did what he told me, and suffered his abuse, control and manipulation even while the divorce proceeded on.
We did not break free from his abuse fully until my youngest daughter disclosed to me that he had been sexually abusing her. Learning this made me fear for our lives. I was convinced he would kill me for trying to protect my daughter. We now have a protection order keeping him away from us, and allowing us to heal the years of abuse.
I am happy to say I am happily married to a sweet, gentle man. Who, after six years together, has never called me a name other than Jessica. I know I am worth love and safety. I am teaching my children what love looks like, and what a healthy relationship is. I will do everything in my power to make the cycle of domestic violence end with me. I wrote a detailed, honest account of the abuse I survived in my memoir, The Monster That Ate My Mommy, to try to help others see that they are not alone. The link to my book is: http://a.co/72mQ7KJ

Photo Courtesy of: Jourdan Buck Photography

#DomesticViolenceAwareness

#DomesticViolenceAwareness, Child abuse, Domestic Violence, poetry, Uncategorized

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: “Jill’s” Story

Up against the wall… there you were Dangling inches above the ground Suddenly I was drowning with the sounds Of your aching screams of pain My vision was blurred with roaring streams That were forming in my eyes, What do I do was the question of the hour Do I let this one pass by Or do I start to scream and shout What do I do, what do I do…What do I do? The white telephone beginning to form in the corner of my eye Like the sun trying to beam through a rain cloud, Finally I was blinded by that beam of sun I turned around and dialed those foridded numbers 9-1-1
Thank you, Jill, for the touching poem. Thank you for sharing what it was like for you to witness this, and thank you for being brave and saving your mom.

You are strong.

You are brave.

You are loved.

You are safe.

#DomesticViolenceAwareness