by Blanche Belvidere
Domestic Violence Awareness Month is upon us, and I felt compelled to write about the subject.
A person will inevitably shift emotionally, especially when encountering people’s stories you relate to, as I often do. I share this, hoping it inspires someone to find their inner strength to walk away from something unhealthy or unsafe. Or to break the generational cycle of trauma and abuse. I am a storyteller, and words can have power.
The wooden chair.
Over 40 years have passed, and I’m still sitting in that same wooden chair—the same yelling. Insults meant to shame and demean. It’s the same throwing things around for drama and showmanship. The wooden chair I sat in as a child for my unconventional training to face scary monsters and toughen up for whatever life might throw at me. And here I was, a grown woman, crouched in the fetal position. I had reverted to being a little girl. Sitting in the same goddamn wooden chair. Yes, pour another whiskey drink so you can fuel up and continue trying to break me down. Remind me that it’s all my fault.
Everything is in slow motion. Just sit in the wooden chair. It will end soon. Cover your head and face. Pull at your hair so you can remain alert and in the moment.
I could hear my dearly departed family matriarchs shouting in my head, “Stand up, stand up, STAND UP!” A professional of manic screaming fits that appeared to come out of nowhere and unprovoked had groomed me so many years ago for moments like this, and I froze for the first time in over 40 years. I must have disappointed him, and I wonder if he questions from the other world if his methods were effective. Or detrimental.
Those kind eyes that once held a boyish innocence had turned black. Disconnected. Filled with rage and disgust. An emotional affective disorder I was all too familiar with.
Don’t. Move.
Don’t. Speak.
I sat in that wooden chair for hours, even after everything had gone deafeningly quiet. I wasn’t in the mood for any more surprises. My brain was reeling in confusion. What happens if I leave? How bad if I stay? My eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room, and I shuffled over to a small couch across from me. I lay there through the night, my eyes wide open, just in case. Anything could happen at any moment. Sleeping fully clothed and wearing shoes was not unfamiliar to me. It’s the norm when you live in survival mode.
The early morning light appears, and there is still nothing but an eerie silence. I walked through the house, and there I saw him. I noticed his eyes were still black – that’s a bad sign. At that moment, I realized this was no longer my home. I don’t belong here. The ancestral warrior blood I had in my veins began to boil over. I slowly turned around and quickly walked away. I was exhausted from too many rounds in this ring of absurd irrationality and madness. Yet it felt like somebody held my arm high as the declared winner. Walking out the door, I left everything behind. I don’t mean just material things – leaving behind what I hadn’t realized were years of unhealed wounds. You can’t ignore or unlearn what you’ve just discovered, like the opening of Pandora’s box. I saw the familial pattern. I saw the similarities in behaviors.
This chaos is what I learned to be a “normal” relationship. And why wouldn’t I? I can’t say it felt normal; my instincts always suggested otherwise. Some you confide in may respond with, “You think that’s bad? I had it worse!” or, “He’s good-looking, and you have a nice house. How bad can it be? He’s always been nice to me!” as if this is some sort of pissing contest of who had a worse situation. My personal favorite is, “But he didn’t hit you.” No, I don’t deserve to live in peace and be valued. I should suffer as others did before me. Should I wait until I get punched in the face, then it would be acceptable if I leave? Is that what’s required for you to believe me? I KNOW I’m worth more than that. I KNOW I deserve better than that. I also know that none of that behavior is love.
Someone recently told me, “Maybe you should’ve stayed married – then you wouldn’t be all alone at your age.” I’m much happier and healthier in the place I’m at now. And I am sorry you were not strong enough to leave when you went through it. Because not only did it damage you, but it damaged your children. I am glad I finally removed this kind of toxicity from my life.
Somebody should educate people to realize that none of those tidbits of advice are helpful to a person in this situation. Too often, victim shaming and lack of support cause women to stay. Sometimes, they find the strength to leave, only to return for a not-so-happy ending. Or get out and start a new relationship, repeating the same abusive cycle of behavior.
I work in a field where I have heard my story hundreds of times. I know the signs. I know how the story often ends. It’s so different when you are in it yourself. The excuses made. The justification of behaviors. All as you are withering away physically and mentally. Few noticed my weight drop to about 98 lbs. No one questioned why. As far as I’m concerned, that’s just as obvious as being covered in bruises. Nobody suspects a thing as long as you smile on the outside and keep up appearances. Another skill I have excelled at since I was a child. Seeing pictures of myself from that time, I no longer recognize that person.
When I heard the door click closed behind me, all the emotional cuts and bruises healed with it; there weren’t many things I had an attachment to. Keep it – everything holds years of negative energy; the smell of decay was already in the air. I would have preferred to burn it all to the ground. And those connected to it, hoping I would give up or crawl into a hole and die, have to live with their conscience. I never wish ill will upon people, no matter what they may have done. They undoubtedly have their own struggles and traumas that have not been treated and healed. Instead, I say to them: May you live forever.
History always repeats itself. And the problem with walking on eggshells is that all you hear is crunch, crunch, crunch. Never again. At least, not for me.
Learn about the cycle of abuse. Be aware of the signs. Know there is help and support available.
Alternative House – 24 Hour Hotline (Lowell/Greater Merrimack Valley area)
(888) 291-6228
Alternative-house.org
SafeLink – Massachusetts 24-Hour DV Hotline
(877) 785-2020
National Domestic Violence Hotline
(800) 799-7233
