Leaving

Why did she stay? 

A question I hear a lot, and one I had asked myself before I became a victim. Why doesn’t she just leave? Why did she stay? 

I know the answers now. I have some knowledge on this topic, and I want to share it with anyone and everyone who has ever wondered why? 

But more on that later.  

First, I want to share why I finally did leave, how difficult and terrifying an experience it was, and why it was not as simple as you think. It is mostly etched into my brain (some parts are blurry, but that is what traumatization does for our nervous systems and our brains). 

How it started... 

I remember he picked another fight with me. He was substantially bigger than me in size and stature, so I was always terrified in those moments (and I am sure if you have been a DV victim or a survivor, you know what I am talking about). I knew what he was capable of, but I did not know what his limits were or better stated, how far he was willing to go. When he finally stopped screaming and getting in my face, yelling obscenities, threats, and calling me names had stopped (he may have even left the house), I called the only other person who knew what was happening to me. and their words resonated and still do...they said, “Don’t worry, Jen, you only have 18 more years to go.” 

The idea that I would have to be abused for another 18 years was the most terrifying idea at the time. And then it occurred to me, what would that mean for my two babies? This life would teach my daughter that it was okay to be abused, and it would send the message to my son that it was okay to abuse his partner, and that idea was heartbreaking. For all the reasons I was not able to save myself, I knew I did not want this life for them. 

So, I did what I have learned I do best. I reflected on what I knew, and what I wanted for my life. I endured more abuse. I cried from sadness. And fear. And worry.  

When I came home from work (another tumultuous and toxic environment), I went down to the basement. I was physically and emotionally exhausted and spent. As I sat on the couch in the moldy and mildewy room, I could hear him singing a “lullaby” to my daughter on the baby monitor. The song he made up in that moment was telling my 3-year-old how crazy and useless her mother was. How unworthy, helpless, and hopeless I was. And he sang to her in a tone that I knew was meant for my ears, that I did not love her.  

And I knew... 

I knew that I would not let him change either of their hearts.  

I knew I could not let them learn that this was acceptable behaviour. 

I knew right there, in that moment, I could not live this way any longer. Either I was going to break or, due to his escalating violence and rage, he was going to kill me.  

So, I hashed out a plan of how to begin. It wasn’t easy, nor would it be, 

But more on this soon.  

Post two will come in a couple of weeks. I cannot wait to hang out with you again. See you soon. 

All my best, 

 J