In my writing, I try to inject a little bit of humor, just to keep things interesting. Unfortunately, today's subject has no humor and can't be laughed at.
Around 50 years ago, a little boy got up in the morning and began to make his way to the kitchen for breakfast. He knew that his Mother would let him have a bowl of "Rice Krispies" for breakfast. He got as far as the family room when he came upon his Mother. Usually, she was well "put together", even in the morning. His father insisted that all his family look their best at all times. There was no hanging around like a slob in this house.
This morning, something seemed to be wrong. Momma seemed "off". Her hair was not quite right and her eyes were puffy and red. When the little boy put his hand on her shoulder, rather than the loving smile he usually received, there was a sharp intake of breath and a little flinch from his Mother.
The young boy asked "Momma, what's wrong?"
His mother looked at him as if she didn't realize he was there before this and smiled. He noticed that her lip was slightly swollen. "Nothing Sweetie" she replied to his question. "Let's get you some breakfast."
The morning progressed normally after that but the little boy never forgot the empty look in his Mother's eyes.
The woman in the above story was my Mother and I was that little boy. This was my first memory of being exposed to Domestic Violence.
Of course, back then, in the summer of 1963 it didn't have a name as it does today. Wives "got what they deserved". It was accepted that a husband could "discipline" his wife as he saw fit. Much like the slaves of nearly 100 years prior, a man's wife was his property in all but name.
There would be many more incidents of violence in our home, both against my Mother and against most of the children. My brother Mickey and I were favorite targets. I wish he were still with us. He could tell you that I was a real favorite of my father's. I was a favorite target, not a favored child.
It's no fun growing up in fear. You do almost anything to cope. I would hide under my bed, sneak outside, anything to avoid my father and his unpredictable wrath. As a child I had no idea why he would beat us and Mom. As an adult, I can put forth theories. But, theories don't help. The scars are still there, long buried and mostly forgotten. I say mostly because, as you read above, I can recall them when I think about such things. That's my burden.
My Mother's burden was to try and protect us. She did so with heroic effort. Most of the time, there was not much she could do, but she tried. Whenever she interfered with the disciplining of the children, she would pay, usually in private. I don't even want to think about how Mom paid. I would occasionally see the marks.
The violence stopped against me after many years. I was just a teenager when my father had invented another reason to be angry at me. We were the instrument of our own fate when it came to my father. He would have me "report" to him. Stand at attention and he would order me to remove my glasses. I swear he wanted me to remove them, not because if they broke while I was wearing them, they may do serious injury to me. I think it was because the glasses were expensive and he didn't want to buy a new pair.
But, on this evening, my Mother stepped between my Father and me, and did the unthinkable. She said "NO!"
The great bully tried to get her to move out of his way. My Mother; in the most heroic act I ever witnessed held her arms up to shield me and stuck her chin out and said in a clear voice "You will not hit this child ever again!"
My Father stormed out of the house. He returned later and in the dark of the night, my dear Mother paid the price for protecting me.
Eventually, there was a divorce. Some 17 years later, my Father died. But, until her death, my Mother continued to love my father. Someone who has never experienced the horror of Domestic Abuse may not understand that. I think you would have to experience the confused emotion to understand how you can endure merciless abuse and love your abuser until your final breath. Such is the heart of domestic abuse.
The abuser counts on the love of the victim(s) to continue in an atmosphere of abuse. The victim can often times become an unwilling and unknowing accomplice to the abuse they fear. It is only through courage and the overriding desire to make life better that a lucky few can escape the living hell which is Domestic Abuse.
Here are some statistics:
Every 9 seconds in the US a woman is assaulted or beaten.
Around the world, at least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime. Most often, the abuser is a member of her own family
Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women: more than car accidents, muggings and rapes combined.
Studies suggest that up to 10 million children witness some form of domestic violence annually.
Ninety two percent of women surveyed listed reducing domestic violence and sexual assault as their top concern.
Domestic violence victims lose nearly 9 million days of paid work per year in the US alone. This is the equivalent of 32,000 full time jobs.
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The list of horrifying statistics goes on. It's a sad state of affairs. Domestic violence occurs in all countries and knows no bounds based on economic or social conditions.
What can we do to stem the tide of this horrible trend?
First. At the first incidence of abuse, call the authorities. Most jurisdictions do not allow police officers to use any discretion in Domestic violence cases. The abuser must be removed from the home. While the abuser is in jail, you, the victim need to leave. Take what you can carry and any children and get out! Call a friend, or a family member. If you have no other resource, CALL ME! I will help. If I can't help you directly, I know someone who can. I have friends all over the country.
The one thing you can not do is allow the abuser to come back. If you let the criminal come back, you are giving your permission to be abused again. This is why getting out is so very important.
Even if you are not in an abuse situation, teach your children what to do. From the day that they can understand, teach your boys that real men do not hit women. There is no situation that a man can hit a woman. Even if the woman is violent with him, he can get up and leave. But a real man does not ever hit a woman.
Girls need to learn the same thing. Control does not equal love. The media is full of stories of women and young girls that justify physical and emotional abuse as love. "But he loves me. I love him." Do not let your daughters confuse abuse with love. There is someone out there who will love each and every one of us without beating us physically or emotionally. Every girl needs to learn that she does not need a man to validate her self worth.
Statistics show that children who witnessed abuse growing up are twice as likely to become abusers themselves. Break that cycle. I have never ever put my hands on my wife in anger. I never disciplined my children out of anger.
I remember vividly being beaten by my father. These were not spankings. They were beatings. I also remember what my thoughts were at the time. I swore that I would never ever do this to my children.
Violence does not equal love. You can raise children without teaching them violence. Do not stand for it. I realize that it is not easy to leave. The abuser will use every trick in the book to keep you under his thumb. I can tell you this; none of what the abuser tells you about yourself is true. You can escape and prosper. Getting out of an abusive relationship is not a failure. It is a triumph! Anyone who tells you otherwise is just wrong! Remember, you do not need a man (or anyone else) to validate your self worth. Keep saying that.
If you find yourself in an abuse situation, call help. You can live your life without fear.
October 19th was National Domestic Violence Awareness day.
As Always…
The National Domestic Violence Hotline offers 24/7 Confidential Support.
Call: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233), TTY: 1-800-797-3224
WWW.TheHotline.org
** Statistics provided by Domestic Violence Statistics.org
