The Storm after the Storm: Dealing with the Aftermath of Domestic Violence (1)

In the spirit of Femmes Faithful’s focus on October as Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I have a confession to make: I am a child of domestic violence. There, I said it–or should I say, wrote it? You see, though I have been open about this very personal area of my life to some people within my circle, I have been hesitant to share this more openly. In fact, even though I have talked about it, I have never actually admitted it in writing–ever! This is because, to me, the words that I write are permanent and they are always a direct reflection of my heart and my spirit. I’ve been afraid to be so vulnerable about this with people I don’t know for the same reason that any victim of domestic violence often is: fear of judgment; fear of being looked upon with pity; fear that a closely guarded family “secret” is being revealed (a secret which really isn’t a secret, and hasn’t been for a long time); and worst and most irrational of all, the silent killer that is shame.

You see, my father was emotionally and physically abusive towards my mother, as well as my siblings and I. It was something we never ever shared with anyone, until my father began to expose himself without any help from us. Life was often chaotic to say the least, but you would never know by looking at my mother, my siblings, or me. My personal escape at the time was to retreat: I became what you would call a “loner.” The nooks, crevices and corners were my favorite places, and silence and my imagination were my best friends. It was there that I could dream, that I could hope, and I could be free. Little did I know, that it was in those moments that I would find God, and He would find me. I often think to myself that God Himself literally raised me and protected me, and He did the same with my siblings (along with my amazing, resilient, irreplacable mother). Somehow, we managed to avoid the pitfalls that even our more well-adjusted peers didn’t–or so I thought.

You see, the scars of domestic violence are more than just physical and deeper than the emotional scars that most people expect. Things happen;, outlooks change; perspectives become different; and for many children, innocence is lost. As a woman, I saw my father’s example, and began to make unholy vows. You know those vows that women make that they think make them strong, independent, and invincible, they are unholy vows. They are unholy because they are founded on deep fear and negative expectations, instead of God’s healing and love – at least mine were. I began to vow that no man would ever treat me a certain way, or anticipate certain things so that I would be “prepared” when they happened. I began to build a wall to protect my heart. I was justified in doing that, but I had no right to.

As a young woman in a relationship with a young man (the first and only relationship I had with the man who is now my husband), I didn’t realize how broken I was. I had prayed before doing this, and I had heard God release me to go into it. I was whole, I was perfect, I was ready–I was not! As the days, the weeks and the months progressed, I saw that the past I thought I had left behind had caused me to plant seeds in my heart that had started to become barriers to the growth of my relationship.

I thought the storm was over when I left home, but now, I was dealing with the storm after the storm, the aftermath of the domestic violence I had endured.

I have had to turn back to God again and again for healing – day after day after precious day. Though we are now very happily married and I have overcome some of my hangups, it is not perfect: there is so much more healing God is doing through my husband and one-on-one with me. The storm might not be over, but I serve a God whose word alone can calm any storm. [Mark 4:35-41]. I have learned to embrace my journey because I know that I could never be who I am without the experiences I have had.

If you’re like me and you have made unholy vows with yourself (vows against openness and vulnerability), it is time for release. Allow God to step in an calm your storm. Let Him begin the journey to putting your broken pieces back together again. Allow Him to say to you, “Peace, be still!” Then, take that step, and then, the next step, and continue walking until He carries you to your freedom. Understand that you are never, ever alone!

For domestic violence resources and further help, click here.

{Image Credit: Real Storm 87}