The Survivor Speaker’s Bureau (SSB) of REACH Beyond Domestic Violence is based on a social justice model in which REACH staff and volunteers work with community members, community agencies, educational institutions, and youth to raise community awareness and understanding of domestic violence to create positive change by encouraging individuals to reflect on their selves and their relationships with individuals and the community.
This blog post was written by a participant of the SSB program who was connected with REACH by a referral from another agency. They have committed to spending their time to share their experience to educate the community on the causes, complexities, scope and impact of domestic violence. If you are interested in learning more about SSB, or you want to have a speaker share their experience with your community, please reach out to Sydney Carter, Community Engagement Specialist, at sydney@reachma.org.
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I am a mother of three beautiful children, an educator and now, a passionate advocate for those affected by domestic violence. In 2019, I made the difficult but necessary decision to leave my ex-husband, who was my abuser. This was a heart wrenching decision. I was connected to him in so many ways and for so long, I couldn’t imagine him not being a part of my life. The truth is, most of us don’t even recognize that we are victims of domestic violence because the trauma bond we have with our abuser is so strong, it blinds us to the reality of our situation. I was naive to the power of this bond and didn’t fully understand its grip on me until I was deep in the struggle.
I’m here to share what I’ve learned through working with a couple of different domestic violence organizations, to shed light on this hidden struggle, and to let others know that there is hope, even in the darkest of times.
This is not just my story—it’s the story of millions. Did you know that 1 in 4 women and 1 in 9 men experience severe intimate partner violence in their lifetime? These numbers are staggering, and they remind us that domestic violence is not a rare occurrence. It’s an issue that can affect anyone, at any time. Whether it’s you, someone you care about, or someone you may meet in the future, understanding the dynamics of domestic violence, and approaching it with empathy can make all the difference. My hope is that by staying engaged today, you’ll leave here better equipped to recognize the signs and support those who may need your help.
My story began when I was just 17 years old. I was a junior in high school, a cheerleader, popular, and friends with everyone. I thought I had it all, and when I started dating my abuser who was the football captain and already in college, I felt like the coolest girl in school. He was older and wanted to spend all of his time with me. It seemed like a dream come true.
But what I see clearly now, I could not see back then. It wasn’t that he wanted to spend all his time with me, what he was actually doing was isolating me and trying to control me. I wasn’t allowed to go to parties or proms without him, so because he was in college, I missed out on so many senior year events that should have been the highlight of my high school experience. I convinced myself that it was because he loved me so much, that he just wanted to be with me all the time. But it was the beginning of the control and manipulation that would come to define our relationship and affect the rest of my life. What I mistook for love were the first signs of the abuse that I would endure for years to come.
After high school, I went to college and he would often show up unexpectedly at my school, which was an hour and a half away from where he lived. I remember thinking it was so sweet that he would come all that way just to see me. He’d text me from the parking lot, and I’d feel special. But now I realize it was all about control. He wanted to know my every move, to make sure I wasn’t out of his sight.
He got into so many fights at my college that he was eventually banned from my dorms. During my sophomore year, he proposed to me at just 19 years old and got an apartment right near my school. At the time, I thought it was another sign of his deep love for me, and even my friends thought it was cute that he wanted to be so close. Soon after that, he convinced me to withdraw from college and move back home to live with him. I ended up taking classes online, missing out on so many experiences that should have been part of my young adult life. But at the time, I thought I was just in love and ready to start my life with him. I didn’t see that I was giving up my freedom, my education, and my future for someone who was slowly taking control of my entire life.
We started our life together and we had three kids in three years. Being a mom has always been, and still is, my greatest gift. No matter what challenges I faced, my children have been my constant source of joy and strength. They will always be the light in my life, even during the darkest times.
I loved being a stay-at-home mom, making his lunch every day, and I loved that he was the provider. I was so proud to be his wife and to be a mom. I didn’t believe I needed my own identity outside of that, or at least that’s what I convinced myself. He enjoyed playing in softball and bowling leagues and going out for drinks with friends. I remember thinking that because he supported us financially, it was okay that he did the things he enjoyed. I didn’t realize at the time that it was all part of a pattern of abuse, designed to keep me at home unless he could be by my side at any outing.
As our kids were starting school, I began to feel the pull to return to work. I really wanted to use my degree in education again, even if it was just part-time teaching. But the moment I mentioned it, he was completely against it. The fights became stronger, louder, and more intense. He wanted me to stay home, and I wanted to work. He would make me feel guilty, as though I was letting down our children and failing him as a wife if I decided to pursue a job outside the home. And once again, I rationalized his behavior, telling myself that he just loved me so much and was so proud of me that all he wanted was to take care of me and our family. I didn’t see that this was another layer of abuse, to control a way to keep me from finding my own identity and independence.
The fights continued, with constant accusations—allegations that I was cheating, that I didn’t love him the way I used to, and that I didn’t want to be the mom I had always been, all because I wanted a job outside the home. But everything changed when he put his hands on me for the first time. It was Thanksgiving Eve, a night when people go out to reconnect with old friends. Our children were staying with their grandparents, so we decided to meet up with friends we hadn’t seen in a long time. He had too many drinks that night, and it all escalated quickly. He started a fight at the bar, and we were kicked out.
On the way home, his anger only grew. He accused me of flirting with old high school friends, of looking too pretty that night, and of not loving him anymore. He said he was going to leave, and when I tried to block the door, fearing he would drive drunk, that’s when it happened. He took his fist to my face, and I fell to the ground. Then he picked me up by my neck and held me against the wall. I begged him to let me go, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally dropped his hands and walked out the door.
That night, he was arrested for a DUI. I woke up the next morning with a black eye, a busted lip, and no idea where my husband was. I had to pick up my children, only to find out that he had been arrested and his parents had gone to bail him out. We attended Thanksgiving like nothing had happened. I covered up my bruises with makeup, and nobody said a word. I was living in a nightmare, but I kept pretending everything was okay because I didn’t know what else to do.
The next few years were a blur of drunken fights that often ended in physical violence. Over time, I stopped remembering the details—I just remember closing my eyes and thinking, ‘This will end soon,’ trying to detach from reality and waiting for the moment to pass. The next day always came, and with it, his kindness. He would say the nicest things, do things for our family, take us on trips, or buy us gifts as if those could erase what had happened the night before. But we never spoke of the abuse. He never apologized for hurting me. Instead, he would try to make up for it in materialistic and affectionate ways, and I allowed myself to believe that was enough.
This went on for years, the cycle repeating itself over and over. Eventually, we decided to start over in a new town, thinking that maybe a fresh start would make all of this go away. We bought a beautiful home, and for a while, things seemed okay. I let myself hope that maybe this time would be different, that maybe we could finally move past the pain and build something better.
I was wrong… The year 2019 was one of the hardest years of my life. I was stuck in what I now know was a trauma bond. I wanted to love this man more than anything, to keep my family together, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Covering up my bruises became a daily struggle. My children started asking questions, and I would make up stories. My family noticed, and I lied. My friends started to see the signs, and I lied to them too. Hiding his abuse was becoming almost impossible.
In the summer of 2019, I sat down with my parents and told them I was thinking about leaving my husband. Sadly, they come from an old-school mentality, and they told me I needed to keep my family together, that I would regret leaving him. They didn’t support my decision to divorce, and it filled me with guilt. I thought, ‘Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can’t do this to my children. Maybe I should just go home and figure it out.’
A couple of months later, in November of 2019, we were out with friends and once again, he accused me of looking too pretty, of being too flirty. That night, in the car, he smashed my head against the dashboard several times, so much so that my eyes were completely swollen shut and I was bleeding. I called 911. He jumped out of the car and ran from the scene before the police arrived. The police immediately began asking me questions and called an ambulance. From that moment, I was in defense mode. I wanted to protect him and didn’t want him to get in trouble. As soon as I got to the ER, I discharged myself because I knew that if I said anything, he would be in trouble, and there would be terrible consequences for me.
A few days later, I went to the police station and begged them not to press charges. They looked at me and said, ‘You should go home and look in the mirror, because no child deserves to see their mother like this, and no child deserves to live in a home with abuse.’ That was the moment I knew things needed to change. After he was arrested, he was no longer in our home. At his arraignment, I begged the DA to drop the charges, and because I wasn’t willing to testify, they told me they would keep the case open without prejudice, so I could come back at any point to press charges.
It’s been a long four years since then—a long journey of healing. But I’ve come to realize that I do deserve better, that what happened to me was not okay, and that I can still be a good mother and have a healthy relationship one day. Someone can love me for who I am without putting their hands on me. It took a long time for me to find my voice, but I’m here now, ready to be there for anyone who needs help finding theirs. My story is like so many others—I was stuck in a trauma bond I didn’t even know existed. But I’ve found my voice, and it’s the strongest feeling I could ever have imagined.
