People often say, “Why don’t women just walk away from abusive relationships?” When I was younger, I asked myself that same question. But the reality is far more complex, I know, because I’ve lived through it.
I grew up in a broken home. I never really knew my biological father. My mother told me I called him Daddy when I was little, but one day he left and never came back. That was my first heartbreak. When I was seven, my mom remarried. Soon after, my little brother was born. My stepfather was violent, especially when my mom wasn’t home. He would throw me against walls and hit me. We grew up with very little, and at times we didn’t even have running water or electricity. I was terrified of him as a child, and I still don’t want to be near him as an adult.
When I was a young girl, I often imagined being saved. I believed in the fairy tales where a prince comes and saves you. At twenty-three, I thought my prince had arrived. He was tall, handsome, and successful. He swept me off my feet with gifts, dinners, and promises. Within six months we were married. On our wedding night, the man I thought I loved changed completely. He became controlling, possessive, and sexually aggressive. He told me, “Now you’re mine. I own you.”
Our marriage moved quickly. I gave birth to two sons, and while I loved being a mother, pregnancy nearly killed me. I suffered life-threatening complications and postpartum depression. Our first son struggled from the beginning and was eventually diagnosed with early-onset bipolar disorder. Later, our second son was diagnosed with the same illness. Raising two children with special needs was exhausting, and my husband gave little support.
By our sixth year of marriage, I discovered he was having an affair with my best friend. That was the first time I tried to leave. But when I confronted him, he put a loaded gun in his mouth in front of our children and threatened to kill himself if I walked away. I stayed. I remained, out of fear, out of love for him, and because I felt I had no other place to turn.
For a while, life seemed calmer. His business was doing well, and we enjoyed family vacations. But his behavior became more unstable. He had violent mood swings, cheated on me, drank heavily, and controlled every detail of my life. By 2009, he was using steroids, and the abuse escalated. He warned me that the only way I would ever leave was “in a body bag.” I walked on eggshells every day, trying to protect my children from his rage.
In the spring of 2011, my greatest fear finally came to pass.
One morning, something in him snapped. His eyes went cold, filled with hate. He threw me to the ground outside. When I tried to call 911, he ripped the phone from the wall, crashed my car into a tree, and went for his gun. I truly believed in that moment that he was going to end my life. The police arrived just in time. He was arrested.
I filed for divorce and a restraining order. I thought leaving would end the abuse, but it didn’t. From jail, he harassed and stalked me. He dragged me into court over custody, violated the restraining order, and refused to pay child support. He let our home go into foreclosure. Friends and family who had begged me to leave turned their backs. I felt completely alone.
Still, I kept fighting. I found a strong lawyer who helped me win full custody and a lifetime restraining order. I built a new life with my children. Later, I met a kind, supportive man who became my husband and my rock.
Life continued to test me. In 2015, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Later, my children and I were all diagnosed with PTSD. My ex-husband continued to stalk and harass me until he passed away in 2021. Three days after I learned of his death, I was told I had stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. It is treatable but not curable.
There are times I find myself questioning why my life has carried so much pain. But then I look at my boys. They are safe. They are thriving. I survived for them, and I continue to fight for them.
Leaving an abusive relationship is not simple. It’s one of the toughest and most dangerous choices a woman can ever make.
But I did it. I am still healing, but I am stronger than I ever knew. I am not just a survivor. I am living proof that even in the darkest moments, there is hope.
