What Domestic Violence Didn't Do

Domestic violence didn't break me.  In fact, it did quite the opposite - it forced me to look within myself more to view what I had once seen as broken pieces of me and learn to love those pieces.

 Domestic violence made me love myself again.  Odd to say, but it's true.  I was so invisible before.  Now, I'm this person that freely discusses hard ass issues with ease.  Self-care became a mode of survival when the hardest symptoms of PTSD first hit.  Now, I perform self-care with such ease.  I no longer make excuses for it or feel the need to explain.  If I need to distance myself from all forms of life for a while, I do it and gladly (not for long, of course.  My friends wouldn't stand for it). 

Domestic violence did not take away my trust in other people.  And by people, I mean men.  The harshest comments I received when I first left my abuser, came from other women.  Likewise, the kindest acts of generosity came from men.  I have a trust in myself that cannot be taken away.  I've been given the sublime opportunity to survive the most traumatic event in my life and now I have the tools necessary to go further than I ever imagined.  I know all the subtle signs of domestic violence and all of the non-verbal signs that most take for granted.  I learned that trusting and loving is an inside job and it starts with me.  How the hell can I love or trust anyone if I don't love and trust myself? 

Domestic violence did not take my ability to forgive. I forgive myself first.  The rest is a process.  I have a narcissistic mother that battles her own demons every single day but I do forgive her.  She says some of the most hurtful things that simply are not worth repeating.  My sweet Dad taught me the art of forgiveness.  He came from a family that made me often wonder how he even survived.  His own brother attempted to kill him with a machete when they were teenagers.  Later, my Dad would tell us that story and he'd always laugh.  "My dumb brother...God love him. I knocked his glasses off and he was as blind as a bat.  He never tried it again, I'll tell you that."  My Dad had a grace about him that I now model.  And my Dad's brother? Adored him for forgiving him.  My Dad's father was the most abusive soul that I ever met in my entire life.  My Dad never let that become an excuse for his own failure.  In fact, he simply moved on quietly and graciously and became one of the most respected plumber / pipefitters in his field.  He was always looking out on the bright horizon.  The harsh words of his father could've torn him down easily but he never let the words settle too deep.  His soul remained a bright beacon of courage and strength.

Domestic violence did not take away my hope.  It's hard being a single mother.  The statistics of my financial success as a single mother are stacked against me but that does not obliterate my hope.  My hopes and dreams are slowly coming into fruition of my new reality.  I am extending myself further than I ever extended myself before and I'm always looking for ways to improve myself.  Hope is my seed that I plant and my thoughts of my own success is the water that is making that seed grow.