Getting Out

In June of 2002, my boyfriend hit me in the back of the head with a wooden bat. I dialed 911 as I had many times before, and I knew this time would be the last.

I had been battered for the duration of the ten years that I lived with my abuser. I endured beatings, several broken noses, many black eyes, verbal abuse, intimidation, and threats of violence. He told me I could never leave; he said he owned me, and he would kill me if I attempted to leave. I believed him.

When the police finally arrived that final night, I wiped the blood from my head and urged one of the officers to take photographs. "You watch too much television," he responded.

But another officer cleared the room, sat down with me and began to listen. He asked what had happened and what I wanted. I explained that my abuser would not let me leave, and that no one would help me. He assured me that he was on the case, and promised to help. That man was the first link in a chain of events that began the process of my escape, and by listening that night, he probably saved my life.

My abuser was arrested 24 hours later. Meanwhile, I fled to the safety of a friend's home with my daughter. I was there when the deputy called and told me it was safe to go home. My abuser would spend the next several days in jail without bail because this assault violated his probation for a previous assault and arrest charge.

"My friends had to physically put me in the truck. And then it was as if I had simply disappeared."

Leaving my daughter with friends, I went home. I cleaned up the blood. I called his family; his mother told me that she knew of the abuse, but she wanted to know what I did to provoke him. Obviously there would be no support from her. I still wasn't clear about what I would do, but getting my daughter to safety before he was released was priority. I called my mother, and within hours I put my daughter on a one-way flight to grandma's home hundreds of miles away.

When I returned from the airport I sat on the porch, wondering what to do. Then the phone began to ring. Though still in jail, he was permitted to make multiple calls to me. He wanted his clothes. He was cold. I was still hurting and traumatized after saying goodbye to my child. I would hang up on him and he would call again. I kept asking myself, what the hell am I doing here? I was not going to stay with him and stay alive. I could not live and die this way.

For those who have never been forced to abandon their own homes and most of everything they own, it's not always easy to understand that deciding to leave is difficult for someone who is in the midst of domestic abuse. It's the right decision — but it hurts in every way you can think of.

The next day I secured a temporary protective order. A co-worker and her husband began planning my move. I didn't have much time; I didn't know when he would be released, and I didn't want to be around when his family came to get his things.

I called women's services in my area, and they connected me to domestic violence services in the state where my mother resides — where I was headed. I made an appointment with them on the spot. I needed something to keep me accountable to my commitment to leave. In just 24 hours, I was in a truck and gone. I was a wreck. My friends had to physically put me in the truck. And then it was as if I had simply disappeared. I left two vehicles and all my furniture behind — but I was on a mission; my little girl was missing me.

Rebuilding a life

He pled guilty to a felony assault charge, serving six months home detention and five years supervised probation. According to state law, he should have been required to attend a batterer's intervention program, but he wasn't. He even violated the no-contact order on many occasions without consequence.

The initial trial was finally over, but not for me. I did not feel vindicated. All my energy had gone into the court case. Now that it was over, I knew I needed to focus on becoming independent and whole.

I had been in intensive counseling and group therapy since I made my move. I suffered from nightmares and panic attacks. Recovery was a long process, and participating in a support group helped to melt away my shame and isolation. I realized I was not alone, that I would get through it, and that I was worthy of so much more than what I had become – what living with violence did to me. It took a lot of hard personal work to find my way back to a place in myself that I could call my own, where there was courage and strength. The legal battles continued and seemed never-ending. At times I felt the cold shoulder from the court system, but I appreciated having support and access to resources through Witness Justice. When I was struggling to understand or fight for the enforcement of laws that are supposed to protect people like me, Witness Justice provided encouragement and information on legislation concerning restitution, restraining orders, and probation. Among the most emotionally charged issues were those of visitation rights, child support, and custody. Not everyone understands that children from homes of domestic abuse are also victims.

My daughter has been in counseling as well. I cannot assure her that she will be safe, because the courts will not deny his visitation rights as a parent. In my book, a man who beats a mother in front of their child is a threat. Although some states recognize domestic violence as a factor in deciding custody in the family law statutes, judicial decisions do not necessarily reflect a complete understanding of the effects it has on a young child. Sometimes it seems that the offender has more rights than the victims.

Talking freedom

I see now that living in an abusive situation is like being a prisoner. Through counseling and the help of others, I learned that I did not deserve this treatment at the hands of a "loved one." There is never an excuse to endure being hit. There is no apology or promise in the world that justifies that behavior. If abuse happens once, it is going to happen again. Refusing to live that way is the first step out.

There is life after being a victim — it is the journey of a survivor. Being a survivor means never stopping to fight for what was mine all along: the ability to live free.

In the fall of 2004 Karen B. earned her AAS as a paralegal. She plans to work as a legal advocate, helping women and children who are victims of domestic abuse.