October's own

October is domestic violence awareness month. ONE OUT OF THREE women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime.

In the triumph over struggle, sharing stories and supporting one another is of the utmost importance. Few people know the details of what I went through, but I think the best way to heal is to confront the past and rejoice in your progress........so here goes:

Pictures of some of the clothes he cut up.

my make up box defaced by my dior lipstick

My ex trying to convince me to help him after cutting up all my clothes that he didn't steal

I stepped out of the shower ready to retire to bed for the night. I had been coaching cheerleading at the High School, watching both the JV and Varsity games and I was wholly exhausted. He was likely exhausted as well since he decided to walk six miles home after the JV game because I didn't want to let him play a game on my phone. "We're going to _______," he declared. "I'm not going anywhere," I adamantly protested, still irritated from the previous events. I started to walk towards my room; he firmly grabbed my wrist. He had this different look in his eyes, one of despair. I knew since coming back from school he was a much different, broken man, but this look sent chills down my spine, and it wasn't in a good way. "Get dressed," he forcefully commanded. "I'm not going to _____, and I don't know who the fuck you're talking to like that." He lunged for me. I jumped backward. He grabbed my keys. At this point, I didn't give a fuck about my car. "Take it, bye!" I exclaimed trying to shake off any visible signs of fear or weakness. He threw my cheer shorts at me and again instructed i dress. I stared at him; he swiftly moved forward, forearm against my throat trapping me against my bed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I demanded in between breaths as I struggled desperately trying to pry his forearm from my esophagus, trying to kick free. He grabbed my phone and told me if I wanted it I would do as he instructed. I acquiesced and got dressed. Barefoot and shaken, I got into the car. I kept trying to convince myself that his behavior was normal. This wasn't abuse, it couldn't be abuse. I was in college. I was a Sociology major, and Women's Studies was my minor! I took Feminist theory! I know the signs! I've read the statistics! I'm not impoverished and I fit none of the predispositions or social stigmas. I coach young women in cheerleading! I teach little girls gymnastics! I am NOT w e a k ! He began to rapidly accelerate. Seventy. Seventy-five. Eighty. Eighty-five. Ninety. My heart raced. "Slow down!" I begged. He laughed at me, he laughed at me. I felt so defeated. He exited the freeway and pulled over. He told me to get out. I refused to get out of my own car. He got close to me, the tips of our noses nearly touching. I refused to be intimidated. He stood at six foot eight weighing two-hundred thirty pounds, and he played basketball for the entire duration of his life. I knew I didn't stand a chance, but my pride wouldn't let me back down. After all, he was my boyfriend and he loved me. I had no reason to be scared. "Get your ass out of the car! You can walk like I did today!" He screamed. "I'm not getting out of my car! Fuck you! You don't scare me!" I lied. He inched away. I fearfully hugged my knees into a ball pressing my body tensely against my seat. I closed my eyes envisioning happier times; moments later, my head bounced off the window. I instinctively grabbed my head and shifted my body into the fetal position. My vision was blurry and I felt like throwing up. My neck got hot and tingly. After the shock wore off, I began to sob so hard my whole body shook. He went to place the back of his hand on my cheek. I flinched in response. He started to apologize over and over again. He wrapped his arms around me. "I need help, Haley" he confided. "I'll call the cops. I'll go to jail if you want. Haley I'm sorry," he offered. I couldn't even look at him. I was completely numb and my body went limp. I couldn't even process what just happened. Did he really just punch me? I blinked a few times to try to revive my vision.

Tears streamed down my face; I was shaking. As I lifted up my sleeves I turned my head away in fear of her reaction. I was smothered in shame. She didn't say anything, so I curiously glanced upward. My eyes met hers. Pain. Tears welled in my eyes as everything I was avoiding was suddenly staring back at me. Her disappointment hurt more than the bruises. Why didn't you fight back? I did, then felt like it was also my "fault". Why didn't you tell anyone? I'm embarrassed. Why didn't you just tell me? I didn't want your pity. The silence was suffocating as both of our pain filled the room. I looked down at my arm and winced. Everything I had been hiding finally surfaced, and all I felt was empty.

In the following weeks, the idea of possible human interaction repulsed me. Despite my lack desire for human contact, I felt free. I can't remember the last time I wasn't walking on egg shells. I never realized the mental restrictions I had imposed upon myself. I was deleting apps and social networking in secret; I was more consumed with not upsetting him than I was my own happiness. A wave of disappointment swept me in its tide as I began to drown in my regret. I regret not leaving him sooner, I regret allowing him to hold me back, and most of all, I regret losing free-will and becoming imprisoned by my own emotions. Random objects lying around became instant weapons used against me. I learned to be aware. Driving on a highway became a terrifying event in cases where shouts of promises to end it all by swerving into the opposite lane became a reality when he slapped me as I was driving. Guys messaging or talking to me became a horrifying experience as watchful eyes were weary. I craved his approval. In public if he had disapproved of my behavior he would pinch me. He monitored and controlled me. I LOST. I was lost. The thing about my misdirection was that I thought I was in love. I knew better of course, deep down, but I also didn’t know any better in other ways. I was not taught any different and the peak of the abuse happened as I was barely an adult. I was isolated from my friends and most my family so I had no guidance and no person telling me this wasn’t okay. I hid certain things, too. When we moved in together he broke my furniture, my body and threatened suicide so many times that I didn't even take him seriously anymore. I covered up things until I couldn’t deny them. The final straw was when he started to pretend he was going to leave me as some sick head game. Along the way I ignored the danger signs and the overwhelming number of red flags. I had come to conclude that because I was in love with him I could change him and make his world a better place. I have never felt anything as terrifying as not being able to breathe. My head throbbed and my world spun. I couldn't tell if it was injury or anxiety, but I had no will to fight back. I pressed my cheek into the cold surface of the bath tub, surrendering. why was this happening? I wanted to motivate him to be better. I thought I could fix him. I mistook his emotional torment for caring.

There's NOTHING more empowering than finding the strength to walk away & to know & BELIEVE that you deserve better. We live in a #rapeculture. We don't give #women vocabulary for things like emotional abuse (which is generally the first step in the cycle of abuse.) We minimize offenses like rape w/words like "legitimate rape" (thank you again, GOP), counter claims & victim blaming. Culturally we devalue women & until that changes women will internalize bad treatment & abuse. It upsets me on a personal level to see the lack of cultural shame as a result of male privilege. we need to educate our populous, both men & women, to know that hostile behavior should never be tolerated by either sex toward one another. Above all else, we need to teach men not to assault opposed to teaching women not to get assaulted. Our societal attitudes towards emotional & physical abuse need to change drastically. #patriarchy is evident in how gendered poverty is, the existence of the glass ceiling & even more evident within our cultural dogma. Empowering women to know they deserve better & to recognize emotional abuse doesn't threaten masculinity. The concept of masculinity/femininity is so rigid & definitive & negates to address the fluidity of human behaviors. Having personally been a victim of dating violence, it saddens me that this isn't viewed as a cultural social problem & is considered "private business" when I've heard so many stories similar to mine. If there's so much similarity going on, this obviously isn't a problem confined to me or my belief structure. The issue is when people are dismissive of experience & belittle the stories of women who've gone through these types of things.

*disclaimer: With the support of my AMAZING friends & family, I was able to overcome. since getting out of that toxic relationship I was able to get healthier mentally & physically & my life is back on track. it's NEVER too late. Silence begets violence. If you know someone you even suspect is being abused by a loved one, reach out & be there. They'll likely push you away, but they need you. I've come along way since then & it's all because of those in my life who cared enough to encourage & help me, even when I was reluctant to help myself.