Recently, I was invited to be a part of a local domestic violence group’s efforts to make changes in the legislature. One step in the process is to compile a stack of victim impact statements from survivors. Here’s mine:
My first attempt at writing an impact statement focused on the effects that the trauma of domestic abuse and post separation abuse has had on me. I didn’t like it. My second attempt focused on the ways that I have come out stronger and freer than I was even before the abuse. I didn’t like that, either.
Neither one felt right. Without the positives, he wins. Without the negatives, the very real effects I live with every day are minimized. About a week later, it finally hit me: It’s not either/or; it’s both/and. Each one of these impact statements begins with the thing that made me a victim. Each one ends with the thing that makes me a survivor. In the middle is the all important “AND.” I am BOTH a victim AND a survivor.
I couldn’t ever use or wear the color blue, one of my favorites, AND, now I use it all I want.
I couldn’t say “no” without paying for it later, AND, now my “no” is a complete sentence.
I couldn’t enjoy my personal interests without punishment, AND, now I draw, write, surf, and play sports without owing anyone anything.
When there was a problem, I wasn’t allowed to have good ideas about how to solve it. AND, now I realize that problem solving is actually one of my greatest strengths.
I was expected to give up my career as an educator to run an ever-failing business and raise our children with little to no support from him, AND, now I work full time again. I specialize in teaching traumatized children, and thanks to him, I’m really good at my work. Our kids are surrounded by a community of safe adults at their school rather than being isolated in an abusive home.
As the abuse escalated over time, I stopped being able to verbalize my wants and needs because of the harm that would be done to me if I spoke up. I still have a physical sensation in my throat when I need to have a difficult conversation. AND, I still get the words out. I am learning that assertiveness is not something to be ashamed of.
Our kids saw me lying limp, helpless, and unable to console myself after he was through with me, AND, their sense of safety and stability increases a little more every day as I progress on my healing journey.
I was expected to think just like his family, AND now I think for myself according to my own values. (Our kids are learning to do this, too, but sometimes it’s still dangerous for them and me when he finds out.)
He (and his family) minimized and denied our childrens’ neurological differences and nutritional needs. He thought early intervention, diet restrictions, and ongoing therapy was stealing their childhoods. He accused me of fabricating their diagnoses. AND, for half of their time, they are free to stim, have their sensory differences valued, eat a diet that keeps them healthy, receive therapy, and celebrate their differences publicly with peers and safe adults who love them as they are.
Love = currency, and currency = love. (Also, physical intimacy = currency), AND, now I know my worth doesn’t depend on my performance. (Also, I don’t owe anyone sex for their “help” with the dishes)
I went hungry, without clean water, and lived in unsafe housing while he hid money away to spend on himself, AND, I’m starting a shelter alternative where DV survivors provide housing and a recovery community to other DV survivors. It’s going to make a difference for so many.
May 5, May 14, May 29, May 31, June 5, July 15, and most holidays are marked by memories I wish I didn’t have (but they surface even when I’m not thinking about them). AND, they sting a little less every year as I create all kinds of new traditions and ways to celebrate my new life post abuse.
I had to lie still and keep quiet when he hurt me during physical intimacy. To speak up was to fail as a wife. To fail as a wife meant he was free to have an affair (he reminded me of this frequently). AND, My body is so, so valuable. I care for it in every way. No one is EVER allowed to touch my body without consent and full communication.
The psychological, emotional, and systemic abuse rendered me unable to feel anything. It hurt to be alive; so I went numb to survive. AND, with therapeutic interventions, I am now free to laugh, cry, and express all of my deep and complex emotions once again. My depression is no longer in charge, and my sensitivity is a valuable asset.
When he could no longer victimize me, he victimized our kids. They spoke up, and he gaslit everyone involved until they believed I fabricated the whole thing to get control of a custody battle that didn’t exist at the time. Instead of experiencing protection when they were brave enough to disclose, they were forced by multiple broken state systems into increasing amounts of unsupervised time with him. I don’t have an “AND” for this yet. It’s still torture for me to send them away to him when they don’t want to go. It’s still torture to see the dysregulation they deal with after their stays with him. It’s still torture to have to hold my tongue when I want to warn them before they get hurt by known patterns of behavior. It’s still torture to hear from them that neglect and harm is still happening and know that there is not a single system in my state that I can turn to for help. Maybe someday we can find a way to recognize gaslighting and listen to kids a whole lot more effectively, but for now this one still has the most impact on our lives. Our state has to stop harming children like this.
I almost lost my children because he told everyone (including DHHS and the GAL) that I am crazy. We all believed him. AND, with extensive professional therapeutic support, I’m starting not to believe I’m as crazy as he (and all those other people) said I am. (Thanks to the kids’ therapist sticking up for them, I still have all of my parenting rights and half of their childhood to spend with them.)
Driving past the marital home, heavy boot steps on stairs, truck engines roaring, silence and a hard unfeeling stare, vehicles in the middle of the night, the sound of his voice, that pleasurable smirk like when he knew he had done damage (it was the same smirk on the DHHS caseworker’s face after she dropped the bomb that they determined I had fabricated everything and in turn was the real abuser), my kids’ faces peeking through the door frame when they saw me helpless on the floor, the words and pictures from my kids’ disclosures about their victimization, these are just a few. AND as I write out these triggers, I still notice physical responses as if these things are still happening right now. I did EMDR, acupuncture, and countless hours of therapy (and paid for every session). Now I can slow down and reduce the physical responses with strategies I have learned. I rarely wake up drenched in sweat from nightmares (it used to happen every night). But, the triggers are still active. Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) is difficult to treat when there’s still active trauma occurring. When courts force victims to coparent with their abuser, it prevents the victim from experiencing total freedom from ongoing abuse. Despite this, I’m doing okay. I’m continuing to fight for healing in the midst of ongoing trauma. C-PTSD may still have a voice, but it doesn’t get to make all the rules.