Pain is personal

Four years ago I became aware of a local organization fighting against domestic violence called Samaritan House. I had survived my own traumas in an abusive relationship as many of you know, and so I accepted the invitation to an upcoming luncheon they were hosting to check things out. Up to this point in my story, I had told others about my abusive past and I had done some work on my healing but I was still coming to terms with the depths of the damage and attempting to reconnect the feelings and emotions was proving more difficult than I imagined. Surprise! Seven years of damaged stuffed down into a no-go box and shoved in the back corner of the mind with the strongest chains and locks only grow stronger and more powerful the longer it is not acknowledged.

I could speak of the truths, but I was not prepared to feel them.

So, I show up at this luncheon by the Women Against Violence with my normal coat of armor, I network and socialize before things started, I found my seat and we all began to eat. Suddenly as the room quieted, a 9–1–1 recording comes on overhead and my life changed. The call was a woman pretending to order a pizza in fear for her life, the emergency operator quickly picked up on the panic in her voice and was able to ask specific questions to learn that she was in imminent danger. The perpetrator, her husband. The man she said, “I do” too, the man who said “I love you”…