Some of you may remember that I used to work at a domestic violence shelter as a counselor. This time of year is not only the busiest for shopping, but also for the domestic violence shelter. Every year, without fail, from now until Christmas eve the shelter would overflow with women and children.
Yes, I am sad to say that some were only there for the free Christmas gifts they would receive. I may sound jaded saying that, but it is true. I worked there for several years and I would see some of the same families stop in a few days before Christmas, give us their children’s list, open gifts and return home Christmas afternoon. This was one of the leading causes to my complete social work burn out.
Those families aside, most of the women and children in the shelter were there for the real reason- to escape abuse. I am sure most people know that the holiday season has the highest rate of suicide, but that same stress can cause abusers to take that stress out on their families.
It used to break my heart to see the children in the shelter. Some were the victims of the actual physical abuse, but all were victims of the mental abuse. One of the biggest myths in talking with the mothers was that the situation in their home wasn’t affecting their children. They could hide it from them. Ahh. No.
Many of these kids had seen the violence or the arguments. Many had been shuffled from home to home hiding from their fathers or mother’s boyfriends, only to end up in my shelter, which was no haven, let me tell you. The children had to be confined within tall walls, attend school at the shelter and participate in therapy. Not only that, but the “extra” things that went on in that shelter, were disgusting, scary, and sad.
The stories I could tell. ( I have many poems and short stories regarding these issues, as writing helped me deal with all the emotions in this field of work) Yes, there are the gory ones, of heinous acts that abusers afflicted on the victim. The frightening ones, in which I at one time became afraid for my own life and had to go into my own lockdown. The frustrating ones where you would watch the cycle of abuse repeat itself over and over in a family.
Instead, I will leave you with a common, nothing extra special about it, story based on one of the children who witnessed domestic violence.
I just couldn’t. I couldn’t jump.
I cupped my hands over my ears and closed my eyes trying to block out the reality that was around me. The shouting and noise of items being thrown just got louder. Being filled with anger, I kicked my feet on my bed, trying to propel myself away from that place. I wanted to float right out of that apartment, right up to the sky. But when I opened my eyes, I was still there.
When I got up and peered out my cracked door, I saw her holding a knife lunging and threatening him. “Just kill me,“ he says. They spot me and yell to go back into my room. I slam the door and jump on my bed and kick some more. Nothing. I pound my fist with extra strength, but instead of gaining distance, I just become sweaty with fright and exhaustion.
I place the pillow over my head, using the burnt orange dainty flowered fluff as a shield. It doesn’t work. The scene I just saw is all that I can see whether my eyes are opened or shut. Not just the furniture turned over, but the hatred spewing out of her mouth, tangled up in her long straight hair. The crazed look in her eyes almost as sharp as the knife in her hand. His pleading, begging for another chance, and at the same time for her to just end it all.
A few minutes later I hear the door slam and I rush to my window. He is 2 stories below, still half drunk, and asks me to come with him. She rushes in. I think about if I want to go or not. No. She decides for me. “She is not leaving with you.”
“Jump. Jump to me,” he says.
I can’t. I am afraid of heights and even more afraid of what she would do.
I stay. I pack up everything I own and head out with her on the run. On the run to get away. On the run to start a new life.
I am thankful for…
my time working in this shelter. Although exhausting and frustrating, it was a great experience for me. I learned so much about the world around me and can say that I was truly changed because of it.
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