abuse
simple things
Nov 19th
When I was in my early 20s, I was in a bad relationship. I mean a really bad relationship. I was being systematically beaten and terrorized for nearly five years of my life. There are huge chunks of periods during that time that I can’t even remember. They are blacked out spots in my memory. I think my mind has done that so that I don’t relive or dwell on what happened. Suffice it to say, it was bad. Police, hospitals, judges, counseling, and more were a daily routine in my life.
Things that I do remember, though, were what got me through each and every day. I remember waking up in bed one day and seeing the way the sun came through the blinds and made lovely shapes of shadow and light on the wall. I remember the birds chirping on the tree outside the bedroom window. I remember cuddling up with my little rug-a-muffin Dyno, a sweet (and very protective) yellow lab who later succumbed to Valley Fever (a dreadful disease).
It seems that when life gets hard for me, I turn to those little things…the bright side of life. They get me through the days. The sunlight made me smile. I knew there was something beautiful in the world. The birds made me want to sing. I knew that there could still be joy in the world.
It is now 15 years later and I still do this. My life isn’t nearly as rough as it used to be and I don’t necessarily need to focus on those little things to get me through (because, truth be told, I see so much beauty and joy now that I don’t feel like I need to grasp on to every little bit of it). I still notice it, though.
Yesterday morning, as I walked through campus from my car to my office, listening to my Audible recording of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love, I was enjoying the crispness of the air and musing on her words (she has a lovely voice and adds to the overall impact of the book). I didn’t see it at first but then noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye. Right in front of me, along the path I travel to get to my office, a little black skunk was moseying along the sidewalk, sniffing in the grass, and checking out the trees.
My head went up. Its head went up. We both continued walking. I headed out into the grass, away. The skunk headed toward the building I was going to. I love the way they run. They remind me of the ferrets I used to have, the ways their bodies scrunch up and move along. It made me laugh. It was cute. There was no danger in the moment. We were both in our own spaces and enjoying the early morning (I get to work at 6:30am and am usually the only person around).
Later, my nephew, Justice, and I had a conversation with one another over the phone. Justice has come a long way with learning and pronouncing words and it’s such a joy to hear him talk. But there are still times when I have no clue at all what he is saying. His exuberance, though, makes up for that. As I listened, he talked and talked and laughed and talked some more. And I listened and smiled and laughed with him. It made my heart sing.
This morning I was running late. I had stayed up watching an extra episode of the third season of Battlestar Galactica and I think that I was dreaming about it and couldn’t rouse myself (which is very atypical of me).
If I hadn’t been late, though, I would have missed out on it. I walked out the door with my beloved Dakota. We headed out to the gates to open them when a flash went across the sky. It was so beautiful. A shooting star that creased the dark sky with its brightness. And I smiled.
I smiled for the joy and the beauty that is in my life. I reached down and scruffed Dakota’s neck, telling him that he is a beautiful boy and that I love him.
A new day was beginning. And it’s a beautiful one.
love = violence
Sep 2nd
There is a problem mixing alcohol and a highly viewed video podcast that is watched by a lot of younger men — especially when you make a stupid comment about punching a women with a ring-encrusted fist to show her some love. Seriously. I kid you not.
Alex Albrecht made this comment on Diggnation this week.
I’m happily going along, listening to the podcast as the guys (Albrecht and Kevin Rose) talk about a marriage proposal that had made the top diggs, when they start discussing how they would top this particular proposal. That’s when he says it. The video is right here. Check it out. I made it short (37 seconds) so all of you could watch it.
What makes me really angry (besides the fact that no “girls” watch their show) is that they giggled about it afterward. And not only that, but a lot of young men follow them. Oh, sure, you might want to say I’m overreacting, that he was just horsing around. But it is exactly this kind of attitude that gets us into trouble. The man actually advocated punching someone to show love.I’m not laughing. Neither of them should be, either.
snitch
Jun 23rd
The things that human beings do to one another never fails to surprise me. I cannot even begin to think up these things and yet, new atrocities happen every day.
In the Phoenix news today:
The suspects shaved off a portion of the victim’s hair and using a branding iron, wrote the word “snitch†on her face, then blindfolded her, officers said.
Her body was also burned with a propane torch, investigators said.
I am sick to my stomach over this. It pisses me off.
People are frightened enough about coming forward and reporting crimes — especially crimes dealing with domestic violence. Then some monsters come along and mutilate a woman for watching out for their children — children they should have been caring for — and I think this will scare people away from calling the authorities even more.
They waited for her. They waited in the house for her so they could torture her.
I can only imagine what their children have been going through. I hope the children find good homes and that this woman is able to find some semblance of peace after this.
Monsters.
invisible
Dec 9th
This post is made in honor of all of the women, men, and children who have had to live under the threat or had to endure the atrocity of domestic violence.
The phone number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline, within the U.S. is 1-800-799-SAFE.
Domestic Violence is still a very misunderstood phenomena within modern society. Very often, a victim of domestic violence is asked what s/he did in order to make the abuser so angry. The victim of abuse is often given the impetus to make everything right, to insure that the abuse does not occur again. This is not only placed on the victim by the abuser, but by well-meaning family and friends who do not clearly understand the cycles of abuse.
There are many levels of abuse that can occur within an abusive relationship. One can be a victim of one or all of these forms of abuse.
- Emotional and Verbal Abuse: This type of abuse can be the most insidious and is likely the abuse that leaves the deepest and most long-lasting scars. The symptoms of this abuse are most often humiliation, name-calling, manipulation, mind games, and put downs.
- Isolation: Very often, a victim is told not to see family or friends and is kept at a distance from most people. The abuser can take it so far as to keep the victim home from work and/or other activities in order to assert complete control.
- Threats and Intimidation: Threats of violence (to the victim, friends, family, children, pets), suicide, and threats to take away children or pets is a common occurrence within a domestic violence situation.
- Physical Abuse: This can, very often, occur after the escalation through the other steps. Sometimes physical abuse does not occur but it does not lessen the impact of the other elements at all.
While men can be victims of abuse, it is most often the women who live within abusive situations. To better understand the prevalence of abuse in our society, I thank the U.S. Department of Agriculture – Departmental Administration – Human Resources Management – Domestic Violence Awareness Handbook (http://www.usda.gov/da/shmd/aware.htm for its information.
- Women were attacked about six times more often by offenders with whom they had an intimate relationship than were male violence victims.
- Nearly 30 percent of all female homicide victims were known to have been killed by their husbands or boyfriends.
- In contrast, just over 3 percent of male homicide victims were known to have been killed by their wives, former wives or girlfriends.
- Husbands, former husbands, boyfriends and ex-boyfriends committed more than one million violent acts against women.
- Family members or other people they knew committed more than 2.7 million violent crimes against women.
- Husbands, former husbands, boyfriends and ex-boyfriends committed 26 percent of rapes and sexual assaults.
- Forty-five percent of all violent attacks against female victims 12 years old and older by multiple offenders involve offenders they know.
- The rate of intimate-offender attacks on women separated from their husbands was about three times higher than that of divorced women and about 25 times higher than that of married women.
- Women of all races were equally vulnerable to attacks by intimates.
- Female victims of violence were more likely to be injured when attacked by someone they knew than female victims of violence who were attacked by strangers.
While there is no way to completely list the victims, the causes, or the effects of domestic violence in one page, the links below will give more information. Please be informed on this issue. It is all around us and each of us should know how to deal with a situation (should it be a neighbor or a loved one) and how to find help for someone who is being abused.
For more information on Domestic Violence and Awareness, please visit the following links:
National Domestic Violence Hotline
hiding
Nov 27th
I hide. I hide from everything. I hide to avoid conflict. I hide to avoid intense questioning. I hide to avoid embarrassment.
I hide behind books. I hide behind my computer. I hide under the blankets on my bed. I hide by living as far out of town as I can.
I tend to hide more when I’m feeling uncomfortable or put on the spot.
Recently, while on vacation, I had a situation in which someone was trying to have a serious conversation with me. I was playing on my computer when he came over to talk to me. Instead of putting up my laptop, I continued to play on it while he talked. He, of course, was irritated by that because I wasn’t paying complete attention to him during this serious situation. I wasn’t because I was hiding. I was allowing the laptop to become a barrier between him and me because I was afraid of where the conversation would go.
My hiding is a direct by-product of fear. I use it to avoid the fear of what a deep conversation may show me. I used it to avoid the fear of being bruised or hurt by words or people in general.
I didn’t realize I was hiding until recently. That situation with the laptop turned into a situation that became bigger than the actual conversation ever would have become. When I got home and discussed the situation with a friend, I realized what I had been doing. I started looking at my life and looking at the different ways I hide.
When I was a kid, I would hide from the angry words and yelling voices by going into my room, grabbing my current favorite book, and crawling under the blankets into bed. I could lose myself in those words and everything else, outside of my bed, would be lost into the hazy boundaries of “the real world.”
In my early 20s, I continued this behavior. I lived with a very abusive man and I would hide behind books. I took a book everywhere we went. There were times when he would grab the books out of my hands and tear them apart so I could not read them anymore (and there is nothing more sacrilege to me than to tear apart a book…that tore me apart).
Now, in my 30s, I have moved myself physically from people to hide from anger and direct probing. I have hidden behind computers. I have hidden in my rural retreat. I have hidden by distancing myself from people.
I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to loosen these binds that I’ve put on myself and start to live again.
I want to be free.
grieving
May 12th
My heart grieves.
My heart grieves for the family of Nick Berg.
Can you imagine getting a phone call to tell you that your son has been killed in a foreign land? Can you imagine, two days later, finding out that there is a video on the internet showing your son being decapitated? Can you imagine having having hundreds of reporters on your doorstep wanting your every reaction to this horrendous act, to the death of your beloved child, a child that wanted to help others?
My heart grieves for the mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters of the tortured Iraqi men who were kept at Abu Ghraib prison.
Can you imagine seeing your loved one humiliated? Can you imagine seeing your loved one bruised, beaten, and degraded? Can you imagine having the world at your doorstep wondering about your affiliations, your loyalties?
War is a horrendous event.
The people who have partaken in all of these acts have perpetrated crimes that are far beyond the horrendous acts of war. They have taken actions into their own hands and have humiliated and killed not only the people that are the direct victims but they have hurt entire nations.
These crimes are not indicative of democracy, Islam, or any number of other affiliations that people may want to associate with them. They are the acts of people who are not seeing reason, who are not seeing the humanity of the people they are dealing with. The victims have become a cause.
A cause I don’t support.
sensitive to abuse
Mar 5th
Yesterday’s blog brought in some really great dialogue. You all can’t even begin to understand how much I appreciate the really incredible and thoughtful replies that you left.
They did leave me with a thought, of course. 
When do we actually intervene? Do we wait until we see a man abusing a woman…I mean, physically punching her? Do we wait until we see a parent dragging his/her child by the hair to the car when they are screaming in the stores? Is it a more subtle moment when we decide to intervene? Could it be when we hear verbal abuse going on (as I believe I did at Target that day)? Is it when the hairs on our necks stands straight up and tells us something is wrong?
We’re told that we should intervene when we see something going on. But we’re also told that we shouldn’t. We’re told to call the police (or other authorities) but then told we should butt out.
How do we determine when is the right time?
As someone who comes from an abusive relationship, I can honestly say that I wish someone had intervened. I thought I was crazy. I thought I was imagining the abuse. I thought it must not be as bad as it was. Someone coming in and saying it was enough would have helped me get out quicker, I think. I needed the affirmation that what was going on was not ok.
I wonder, though, if this all makes me that much more sensitive to what I perceive as abuse. I, again, start to question what I’m seeing. Am I seeing abuse or am I reading things into situations.
It’s a hard line to figure out. I don’t want to be party to abuse but I also don’t want to overstep any boundaries that might not be mine to overstep.
knots
Mar 4th
I’m not a parent. I know that most people who hear someone who’s not a parent comment on parenting instantly think that we don’t know what we’re talking about. I am an aunt, though, and I have been the child to parents. I think that when you’ve been through certain situations as a child, this gives you a perspective that can be valuable to others. I also think that any authority figure (even if it’s the part-time position of aunt) can give a different perspective.
That being said, there are two incidences from this weekend that disturbed me.
I had to go to Target to get some items for my upcoming trip. As I was browsing through some racks, I watched a young girl (probably 9 or 10) playing with her younger sister (around 3 or 4). They were rough-housing but no more so than most kids I see. In this particular instance, the older girl was being asked by the younger one to flip her. The older girl was getting tired and told her sister that she didn’t want to do it anymore. The younger one practically begged and her sister obliged.
Of course, because the older sister was getting tired, this is when an accident would happen. She dropped her sister in mid-flip. The floors beneath the thin carpeting are hard and the little girl hit her head and cried. Of course she was hurting. I would probably cry, too.
You might be asking where their mother was during this. She was wandering around but the minute her smallest child cried, there she was. And this is what I overhead: “Get the f**k away from her. Just get the hell away. Don’t you EVER touch her again.”
“What did I do, momma?”
“Get the f**k away. I’m warning you. You dropped her on her head. You need to stay away from her.”
The older sister continued to ask what she had done wrong and the mother continued to berate her.
At this point, my heart is in knots. My stomach is upset. It’s not because a mother was upset or a little girl got hurt. It’s that the mother was choosing one child over the other, telling one that she wasn’t as important. That’s what I saw. The older child was definitely at a loss in understanding what was happening. She sees her mother holding the “baby” close to her and yelling at her to stay away. She was playing big sister. Accidents happen. How can she even begin to understand that her mother was scared? How can she understand that her mother probably didn’t mean to push her away? How can the mother even begin to understand what kinds of things she’s really saying to her daughter? That these kinds of words may stay with her for the rest of her life and may define how she thinks of her role in the family?
I wanted to say something but I didn’t want to make it worse and I was completely at a loss. I wanted to say “stop! Listen to what you’re saying. Where were you when they were playing?” But I didn’t. And I wonder if that is the bigger crime.
—
I talked about Dakota last week and how much he means to me. Well, my niece and nephew are even more entrenched in my heart (and that’s hard to say considering Dakota is my child).
This weekend, my niece, who is almost 4 (next week!), spent the night at my house. I love having her over. There is nothing like that little girl smell, that little girl laugh, the little girl crocodile tears.
Unfortunately, that little girl also inherited the evil redhead gene that I’m too familiar with. I think she’s feeling out of sorts and not sure where she belongs. Her cousin is only 4 months old and gets doted on continuously. She is aware that she has a brother or sister coming in the next few months (from her mommy’s tummy, she tells me). She is showing signs of jealousy and meanness at times.
We were out shoveling snow and she was playing. She kept calling Dakota to follow her. He’s not really a “play” dog but he is very tolerant of her and has been since she was born. Since he wasn’t doing what she wanted, she kicked him. Well, he’s been hurting as it is and he yelped, of course. I didn’t see what happened but I heard the yelp. I asked her what happened. “I kicked him.” I asked her why and she shrugged and said, “I don’t know.” I told her that she couldn’t do that.
She ended up doing it two more times without me noticing (because she did it behind the car where I couldn’t see her). She admitted to it when Dakota wouldn’t go anywhere near her.
I was so upset with her for doing that. I’m not a yeller and I don’t hit but I told her we had to go in and have a talk about this. I explained to her that we don’t kick animals…that it’s not ok to do…not ever. We don’t kick people, we don’t kick animals, we don’t kick anything. I could feel that fury beneath the surface but I refused to let it come out. What good would it do to unleash that on a 4 year old? It would hurt her (and me) more than it would ever help.
I think she understands now. I can’t promise it won’t happen again but at least I’m proud of the way I handled it. I think that’s the hardest thing to do.
