Back to where it all Began

Living in that apartment felt confining. Each day seemed the same, filled with moments of fear & survival. I knew I needed to make a change, not just for myself, but for my daughter. However, escaping an abusive situation is challenging. It involves careful planning, small steps, and overcoming doubts about whether leaving would improve things.We faced eviction, & agencies I turned to couldn’t offer practical solutions. The church, which I once saw as a source of hope, turned away when I didn’t meet their expectations. I wasn’t seeking judgment; I needed safety. As options dwindled, the situation felt increasingly dire.Adding to the complexity, the loan for my vehicle was in my name, but he was making the payments. This financial entanglement made me feel even more trapped

We moved to my father’s house, which was far from ideal—cluttered & lacking basic amenities. But it provided a temporary roof over our heads. My boyfriend & I worked hard to clean & fix it up, trying to create a livable space. Yet, survival wasn’t just about having a place to stay; it was about dealing with the physical & emotional scars, the broken window, and the need to hide the truth from everybody.

Throughout this time, I was incredibly grateful for the support of my friends and family. They stood by me, offering help & encouragement, even before I fully realized how bad things were. Their support was a lifeline that kept me going.

Then came the moment I knew I needed to get out. In the kitchen, on the very floor where my mother gave birth to me, he drew blood—a lot of it—& he wasn’t sorry. He demanded I clean up “my” mess. I couldn’t let myself be degraded & humiliated in the very place I was brought into this world.

The day everything changed, my daughter was outside, & I sensed something was wrong. When I stepped out, I realized I couldn’t continue living like this. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew it had to be better than the past.

Seeking help was another challenge. I was directed from one office to another: I navigated from one office to another, determining which department or agency was the appropriate one to initiate the criminal/legal process. Eventually, things started to move forward—a warrant was issued, and efforts to break free from my abuser began.

I found myself in a shelter—pregnant, tired, & uncertain, with a 7-year-old. But for the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope. I didn’t know how everything would work out, but I knew it would. Despite feeling so much misdirected guilt & shame, I was determined to find a way forward. I knew I needed to listen to people who had my best interest at heart. I did not trust myself.