Tell a Gal Pal About Domestic Violence

The following is not related to children's books, but I felt compelled to post my story for this important cause. Please “like” the Facebook page and pledge to Tell a Gal Pal about domestic violence to help raise $20,000 to be donated to the National Network to End Domestic Violence.

I suppose I always thought of domestic violence as something that happens between spouses, or adult couples at least. It wasn't until I heard about this campaign, "Tell a Gal Pal" that I started thinking about my own experiences with domestic violence throughout a two-year relationship during my teens. I think domestic violence among teen couples is probably more prevalent than most of us would like to believe.

Think about the insecurity and self-doubt that runs rampant in those formidable years. I remember feeling crippled by my own lack of confidence. So when that one person came along, the one who was interested in me, I dove in head first. My own doubts about self worth, and the overwhelming desire to have someone love me, were the qualities that made me the perfect target for someone to exercise control.

Most of the happy moments from those two years have been conveniently blocked out of my memory. But I still remember plenty of the negative. I remember it starting with the typical jealousy syndrome. I began, at his urging, to cut out long time friends from my life. He wanted me to stop wearing makeup and dress in loose fitted clothing. If another boy looked at me, I was the one to blame. If I worked too late at the local grocery store, then obviously I was cheating. Once, while sitting in his car, waiting for him to finish rummaging through a junk yard for car parts, he came back to discover his car battery was dead. He accused me of draining the battery by turning on the radio, (which I had not done). Refusing to believe me, and becoming more enraged by the moment because I wouldn't confess, he threw a lug nut at my torso and wrapped his grease filled hands around my neck. Apparently I didn't wipe it off completely because later that day, my manager asked how I got grease stains on my neck, and of course I quickly came up with a cover story.

The worse things escalated, the better I got at hiding them from others. Trying to escape through the passenger car door, and being pulled back in by my hair. A slap across the face. Being picked up by my throat, pinned up against a wall, feet dangling. No one ever knew. Actually, I take that back. His parents knew. His mother caught him twice. But why didn't she do anything? Why didn't I do anything? As I'm writing this, I realize that I'm still angry after 20 years! Angry at him. Angry at his mom. Angry at myself!

So the million dollar question has always been: Why did you stay? There is no clear answer to that. Anyone who has been the victim of domestic violence will tell you that it's a difficult concept to verbalize. Mainly because there's no real logic behind it. Perhaps it's because one is focused on the other person's potential instead of their reality, imprisoned by the fleeting moments of charisma and tenderness that occur between the rage. Maybe it's the flawed logic that they do these things because they care for you so much that it drives them mad. When you're a person who is struggling with self worth issues, that is a powerful weapon in the abuser's arsenal; the thought that you're worth having so much that it makes another person crazy.

Luckily for me, I did get out. I'm not sure why or how. Somewhere at a fork in the road, I got a glimpse of two very different futures. One that was terrifying, and the other that was full of fun, friends and self respect. It wasn't easy to make the break. (The police had to be involved a couple of times.) But once I was free, I never looked back.

Years later, when I was newly engaged to my now husband, we were joking around and pushing each other playfully. At one point my feet were close together, so I didn't have a solid stance. He pushed me on the shoulder, and I lost my balance. As I crashed into the side table next to our couch, I simultaneously started laughing and crying. It was the weirdest sensation. It was funny because we were just teasing with each other. But something visceral welled up inside of me and brought me mentally back to age 16. It was a horrible feeling, and I felt terrible that it had crept it's way back into my happy adult life. I guess it goes to show you that those things are never truly wiped out of one's psyche.

So do I have any advice? I suppose the best defense against domestic violence is to try your best to raise your kids with awareness about the topic and try to arm them with as much self confidence and self worth as possible. Having said that, my parents tried their best to instill those things in me as well. Sometimes those insecurity characteristics are just an innate part of someone's personality, such as mine. Thankfully, I outgrew them. But there are a few signs you can look for: Is your child beginning to cut friends out of her life? Is she making changes to her appearance? Is the time she spends with her boyfriend affecting the quality of time spent with family? Do you hear a constant apologetic tone in her voice when she's talking on the phone? Those are just a few off the top of my head, and I'm sure there are plenty of other signs that are not coming to mind at the moment. Please feel free to respond to this post if you have other suggestions or comments.

I wrote this blog post while participating in The Allstate Foundation’s Tell a Gal Pal blogging program with TwitterMoms, making me eligible to get an interview with Cheryl Burke. For more information on how you can participate, click here.