Domestic Violence Almost Always Happens Again

I thought long and hard before hitting the "PUBLISH POST" button when I wrote about my experience with domestic violence. I really did. I wondered what readers would think of my and how people would judge me based on it. 

But what actually pushed me to publish the post transcended my doubts and fears. It was the thought of helping someone -- anyone -- who may be experiencing what I already went through. And conquered. The fact of the matter is that "Nearly three out of four (74%) of Americans personally know someone who is or has been a victim of Domestic Violence" (Stat source). And yet, no one talks openly about it. 

So I figured... It's time to talk. Period. The more we talk, the less the topic is stigmatized, and the more we can empower the victims to become survivors. Period. 

And it's okay to let those who may be going through it know that they may be feeling many different things all at once. I know that's how I felt. 

I was in too deep and I couldn’t even see my way out. Not that the physical abuse happened everyday, but isn’t once enough?

It got to the point where I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I was so far gone. So out there. I didn’t know how to find my way back to myself. I thought of leaving. I really did. Everyday after the first incident. But something kept me. Fear, maybe. Sometimes love is so blind, it feels right when it’s wrong. #Beyonce 

He tried to be Mr. Right after the first incident. And I tried to believe him. But the inner Alicia was saying “No… something’s not right.” I silenced her by thinking, “But he’s going to counseling for his issues.” Then he terminated prematurely. No more counseling. No what? The inner Alicia started to speak louder, but I still didn’t listen.

I was so tangled and confused and living in passion and lust and not-at-all Alicia. But that’s the thing about passion – when it’s good, it’s great. But then it gets bad. So bad. It burns hard and fast and … out.

Then… it happened again. The abuse. Suddenly, all of his begging and crying and pleading and counseling sessions meant nothing. Nothing at all. Because it happened again.

That's when the inner Alicia started to scream. And I, I finally began to recognize her high-pitched, sweet sounding, melodies-to-my-ear voice.

And just like that, I was done.

I’d found my way back to me. And it felt good. Oh-so-good.