My Story

While I was dating a young man when I was in my 20's I had a boyfriend who would hit, bruise and choke me. I felt it was my fault, he made me feel that way because he was very manipulative, I believed him. I am a lucky woman and a wise woman to have seen through that, so many women feel they deserve to be abused, this is so untrue. We need to stop this violence NOW!!!!! MY FRIEND ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF AN ABUSIVE HUSBAND, SHE NOW DIVORCED HIM AFTER COUNTLESS BEATINGS AND E.R VISITS.

Writer

No one gets out of childhood unscathed, but ours was rougher than most. Four children with an alcoholic father - we were scared, alone, black and blue, and could tell no one. Our mother did her best, but was terrified herself, without many options at the time and the family had an iron rule of silence to the outside world.

We didn't fit the idea of abused children - our family lived well economically, but inside our home we were terrified, doing and becoming whatever was necessary to keep ourselves safe. The abuse reached a point where my father threatened my mother with a gun while I watched. He later tried to kill her with a rifle he'd snuck from our house while the four of us slept.

No child deserves what we lived through. No child should be abandoned to the brutality of the rage surging through sick parents. A society is only as strong as its most vulnerable members. Please, sign the petition today.

I've Walked in Their Shoes

I was raped several years ago by someone who I believed had been my friend. I was in the military at the time, as was he. He escaped punishment, but I didn't - I live with it every day. Having access to services after the rape was one of the things that helped me continue functioning and, I truly believe, one of the things that has helped me make it through to the wonderful life I have today. Taking away the assistance for victims who need it would be tantamount to taking away medical care for someone who has cancer. The illness is different, but the need for help and treatment are universal.

Strength in Numbers

My sister Emily and I grew up in a home with an incredibly intelligent, articulate woman for a mother who, with two Bachelor's degrees, could have done anything she wanted in life had she not been so oppressed and abused by my father, himself a prominent surgeon. We lived in constant terror; he was by turns neglectful and abusive, never needing an excuse to call my mother a bitch or shove my sister or me into a wall. He raped all three of us on a regular basis. By the time I turned fifteen I was anorexic, bulimic, drug-addicted, self-mutilating, and suicidal. One day at school a teacher found the cuts on my arms and I was admitted to the hospital. Over the next few months, the truth about our lives began to emerge. My parents divorced, and Mom, Emily, and I began the long process of learning how to live in the aftermath of his violence. Six years later, we are still not home free, but we're getting there. The three of us had to band together, as women, in order to survive-- and the strength that each of us had as individuals grew exponentially when we did.

The unspoken war against women and children

The first time I fended off sexual violence I was 10 and my parents saw to it that the bank president went to jail. The second time I avoided rape I was 13 caught on a golf course by a "friend;" the 3rd time I was 16 and taken to a closed pool hall by a friend's brother; the 4th time I jumped from a moving van to escape a man with a gun. The 5th time, I wasn't so lucky, my college "date" was an athletic star & I had nowhere to run. The 6th time I was attacked was likewise unlucky - I had accepted a ride on a cold miserable rainy night that ended with the 2nd raping of me. The7th time a man attacked me I was 22; he said he loved me, he tried repeatedly to kill me, to run me over with my own truck, to strangle me, he raped me and invited his friends for some, I was officially living in domestic violence before the word had even been coined, and that was 1979-1983.
Only the first incident was ever reported, the police were known to do nothing but admonish girls that they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Reading Andrea Dworkin's book "Woman Hating" put all the pieces together for me - she spoke to what was happening to me. I could finally make the moves to leave being a victim once I figured out I was not to blame for all the attacks. But the attacks didn't stop.

I've been beaten and hospitalized in Texas for being an uppity Yankee. I've had a doctor insist I see the fetus I aborted from a rape in LaPorte, Texas. I was attacked in Fort Collins, Colorado, for being a hippy; an entire household of college students had to detain the Vietnam Vet before the police could get there. A friend and I were attacked by a man with a butcher's knife in London who screamed we were lesbians. I was stopped in Belfast by British troops who ran their machine guns up and down my thighs before they took off to chase Catholic Youths and shoot blindly down alleyways after us. I was pursued by two men in a car trying to run me down in the narrow streets of Amsterdam, Holland; the chase lasting un til I could find a public place to hide me. I was vaginally “inspected” by an ambulance driver in Amsterdam in 1986 after I'd been hit by a car doing 60 mph and was in a hospital emergency room. At 5 months pregnant, my child’s father was strangling me; it took three adults to pull him off.

I've always wondered if men have been so prone to violence towards me because I make them feel small. My very existence dispels any myths of women being the weaker sex, yet the men always seemed to have to prove something with me; the majority of my attackers were white except one. My father is Samoan, my mother French-Irish. Now that I'm 47, and the size of an NFL linebacker at 6'7" and 300#, the attacks have stopped happening.

I reckon my combat days were 1968 to 1993 (from when I was 10 to 35), but 25 years in the women's ranks don't get us any veterans' benefits. With 1500 women in the US dead each year due to domestic violence, that makes it twice as deadly to be a civilian woman in relationships with men in the U.S. in 2005, than to be U.S. military personnel in Iraq (based on reported casualties of 1700 in last 2 years of this stage of U.S. aggressions in Iraq).

Chain Reaction

When I was 6 yrs old I was molested by a family friend, at the age of 10 I was molested by a cousin, uncle, and one of my mother's boyfriend.

My mother changed boyfriends from week to week, who were very abusive to her and to me as well as my siblings.

By not being educated that this type of behavior was wrong, I ended marrying an extermley abusive man. Anything would set him off; I was not allowed (yes, "not allowed") to go out and check the mail or throw out the trash. He would hit me with his fist in my chest to knock out the wind from me, he hung me out of a 5 story window and advised me he would drop me, he kicked me so hard over and over again I ended up in a brace on my leg, he would pick me up and hurl me across the room. I would get so nervous when it was time for him to come home, I would shake and cry. I did not tell anyone (not even my family knows to this day), I was too ashamed, I felt guility, I felt it was my fault!

Eventually after years of abuse I left and took our daughter with me. I have educated my daughter on abuse and the consequences of it. I know from experience that you have to educate your children at a very early age that abuse is wrong - physical, mental, and verbal abuse is wrong!

We Are the Author of Our Own Life

During my senior year of high school, I lost my best friend -- my dad. His death was sudden, and life altering. Not only had I expected him to share my academic accomplishments, but my future dreams. Subconsciously I searched for a surrogate father, someone who would comfort me, and make me feel safe. I looked to the nearest male, and mistook young physical attention for true love.

I should have known from the onset that something was wrong with the relationship, when I met his family -- the original cast of "Everybody Loves Raymond." A dominant controlling dictatorial mother brought on a sudden turn to alcohol in her eldest son -- my new husband. His drinking to evade issues between his parents and myself led to physical abuse. I became his immediate outlet - a substitute punching bag.

During our twelve-year marriage, we sought the help of three priests, two sensitivity and nine marriage counselors. Not one session helped, because he was unable to escape the controlling dictates of his mother. After our divorce, I made up for lost time by continuing my college education. I soon met someone, who seemed to perfectly match my personal passions. Unfortunately, I ignored the abusive warning signs, and plunged headlong into another horrendous relationship.

Even before we married, we went to two marriage counselors in an attempt to correct the dysfunctional patterns that had developed. These investments were single-sided -- I was the only one working to make our relationship work. So desperate was I to be loved, that I fell victim to an insecure man's need to 'be in control.' As a result, he restructured my jaw three times, body-slammed me in the floor regularly, and threatened to disfigure my face to the extent that no one would ever want me.
Several times I called the Houston Police to file charges, but they did nothing more than take his word over mine, even though there was physical evidence that he had abused me. After the third visit from police officers who refused to do anything, I determined that another call might end up costing me my life.

We moved from Houston to New York to further his career. Let me add, I was the main provider. As a rising opera singer, he earned money from the Houston Grand Opera Studio, and as recipient of an international vocal competition, but it was miniscule compared to my salary. Foolishly, I added his name to my existing credit cards, never dreaming that he would abuse those as well. When he decided to accept an operatic tour of one year, I felt abandoned. Although he was earning $3,000 a week, he never sent me money to help pay our combined bills, and his own personal student loans. Rather, he began raking up charges to the tune of $33,000, for which I later became legally responsible.

Before he returned home, I cancelled his name from my credit cards, but by then it was too late. Upon his return, in the presence of my daughter's fiancé, he taunted me by saying how he had experienced sex with many of his touring companions. He asked my son-in-law to be if he ever felt so angry with a person that he just wanted to pummel their face. The response was, "No man should ever lay a hand on a woman. If you feel that much inner rage, you should walk away and cool off!" Within a half hour, my daughter's fiancé left for the local store. Meanwhile, my ex-husband grabbed the phone, and punched me across the face with its base cracking my glasses, and cutting my face. Even though I was unsteady on my feet, shaking like a leaf, and sobbing so hard that I could barely see anything through my flood of tears, I made my way downstairs, got into the car and drove to the nearest police station. Fortunately, East Coast police are more in tune with domestic abuse issues. Two officers followed me back home, ordering my ex-husband to vacate the premises immediately. They arranged for me to have spousal abuse counseling, have my glasses repaired, and provide me protection when my husband came to retrieve his belongings.

I wasted eight years trying to make that relationship work. I learned, "once an abuser, likely always an abuser." I abstained from dating for one year. Through counseling, I gained the self-confidence necessary to enter the world of dating with a clear mind and eyes wide open. Although I never found anyone who fulfilled my intellectual, emotional, and physical needs, I can truly say that I learned to be happy with myself. I discovered my strengths, and came to realize that before I could find happiness with another, I first had to find it within myself.

Because of my experiences, I have been able to help students escape parental battering and sexual abuse. Not only did I learn from my own mistakes, but also I have been able to help others because of those lessons. Unlike many daughters of abused and battered women, mine chose the perfect soul mate. He is the perfect life partner, spouse and father. Yes, he is the one who told my husband, “No man should ever lay a hand on a woman.”