My name is Kristin, and if you are reading this, first and foremost, I want to thank you, and I am proud of you, even if I don’t know you or your story. I am thankful for you and proud of you.
I wanted to say how humbled I am to be involved in this organization, even in a small capacity. I take pride in knowing that in some small way, I can pay it forward. If my words or my actions happen to reach and/or impact even one person, it would make my experience with domestic violence seem worth it.
I understand that each and every single person who finds themselves in a situation in which they need to escape their own life in order to seek protection, and no two stories are alike. I am going to share my own personal experience with you, and again, if my words can somehow impact or inspire even one person, that would make my experience seem worth it.
It’s important to understand the major distinction between “victim” and “survivor” of domestic violence. I don’t view myself or anybody who goes through something like this as a victim. We are survivors of a tragic circumstance that isn’t our fault.
Read that again.
It isn’t our fault.
That is something that took me months, and perhaps years, to fully grasp.
I was born and raised in Wisconsin. I got married young, and for the first few months, I was seemingly “happy” to outsiders. I married someone who could easily turn on the charm for outsiders, and nobody in the world would have ever suspected what was ACTUALLY happening behind closed doors. My abuser broke me down emotionally, verbally, financially, psychologically, physically, and sexually, to the point where, in the final months of my 5-year marriage, I was the shell of myself. I looked in the mirror and I was lost. I didn’t even know myself anymore. I was conditioned to believe that everything I ever said or did was absolutely my fault, and that I was never going to be loved by anybody the way HE loved me, and that I was worthless. I was nothing without him (or so he wanted me to believe). We owned a home together and had pets together, but no children, due to unexplained infertility issues on my part (most likely because I was riddled with such terrible anxiety and depression during my marriage, my body wasn’t receptive to a pregnancy). The financial abuse was unbelievable; our entire marriage I always earned a better salary than my abuser, but he would dictate how, where, and why my/our money was spent. I knew in my soul that every day I woke up, there would be something different he would find a reason to scream at me about that day, but every day, I tricked myself into believing that today would be the day I would act perfectly in order to avoid punishment or scrutiny. That day never happened. I was sexually abused multiple times per week, against my will, and as a bribe or as blackmail. It was never about love for my abuser, but just another way to have power over me. The physical abuse happened much later on – almost as if my abuser had to build up to it. I told myself for years that he would never hit me.
Until he did.
It wasn’t only hitting, either. It was grabbing, yanking, holding hostage, scratching, slapping; sometimes I would cry and beg him to stop, and other times, I would cry silently and pretend I was somewhere else, knowing it would all be over soon and I just needed to “ride it out”.
Every day I went to work, I would breathe a sigh of relief for having 8 hours of a “break” from my abuser, but at the end of the work day, I had no choice but to go home and I was always completely petrified. The cycle never ended. I will forever remember the humiliation of being screamed at in public places, and praying that some kind individual would intervene, but nobody ever did. I was completely alone, and most days, I tried to convince myself that I asked for this when I married him, and it must be my fault. I didn’t talk freely about what I was going through, because I didn’t want to invite people into our marital issues or worry my family, who love me deeply. For a while, I was completely oblivious to the fact that what was going on with my abuser was wrong. For a long time, I considered his behavior normal, and perhaps this is what all relationships are.
WRONG.
After several years of enduring an unimaginable torture by somebody who had once vowed to love me, I finally had enough; I told my best friend, in confidence, what I was going through. I was terrified. My best friend and I developed a “code word” that I would use to text her in the event of an emergency; if I was scared for my safety, I would text her the code word and she would intervene in some way.
Just 2 or 3 days after me and my friend created the code word, I was in trouble. My abuser was upset with me about something and was screaming at me for hours. He held me down, took my phone from me, and I was on the verge of passing out, but I managed to grab hold of my cell phone for a brief minute and I texted my friend the code word.
My friend called authorities, and within minutes, the police were at my door, unbeknownst to my abuser. The two officers were very kind and patient, but ultimately were not able to arrest him at the time; they suggested I leave my home. I remember being so confused, asking why I should be the one to leave, when he is the one who should leave. They said that if they make him leave, they cannot prevent him from coming back and harming me.
My stomach sank. My heart was beating in my throat.
I knew I had to leave. I knew this was the last straw for me. I was sick of living in fear. I missed my old life, where I could just live without fear.
I quickly packed a backpack with just my essential documents (birth certificate, passport, wallet), a change of clothes, and I grabbed my dog in my other hand, and I left. I remember looking back, heart pounding, thinking that he was going to chase me down and tackle me to the ground. I jumped in my car and I left. Even driving down the street, I kept looking back, thinking “I cannot believe it. Any minute he’s going to be chasing me. I don’t even know where I am going”. The racing thoughts continued.
For the first two weeks after my escape, I couldn’t sleep. I would alternate between crying and trying to distract myself from crying, on repeat.
I was lucky enough to be in contact with a domestic violence advocate, free of charge, who the police department connected me with after the near-arrest. The domestic violence advocate was essential to my strength and my survival during the first few weeks of my escape, when I was most confused and most vulnerable. Many, many people who escape their abusers end up returning in the first few weeks, due to many reasons; lack of resources, money, support, and the list goes on. I was determined not to look back. My abuser even went to great lengths to get me to return to him; blackmailing me, contacting my family members, and faking being mugged in order to gain my sympathy. I didn’t buy it. (There are so many tactics that abusers use to gain sympathy from their “victims”, I learned)
Two weeks later, I quit my job and I moved across the country to live with my parents. I had basically no money. I had no job. I had no place to live, and only a few clothing items. I had nothing. I knew if I remained in the same city/state as my abuser, my head would always be on a swivel.
I had nothing…… except freedom, and safety, and the ability to breathe. I had essentials; a bed, a toothbrush, some clothes, and shelter. I had what I needed at the time to begin a new life. I was terrified, but I was safe.
I understand that only few people who go through something as I did, have the support during their escape, the emotional and physical support needed to carry them through the most difficult time. Many, many people don’t have the bare necessities or shelter or extended family to assist them. I know I am one of the lucky ones who had a place to go and financial support to get me there.
It has been a few years now and I’ve gained a lot of strength, perseverance, and confidence about my journey. I have come to terms with a lot of things, and although I still have triggering events, I have no regrets about making the choice to escape. It was one of the most difficult and painful things I have ever done, but knowing that I went through that and it is now in the rear-view mirror of my life, I know I can endure hard things.
I can do hard things, and so can you.
If you are reading this and feel as if you can relate in any way to my story, please know that you, and everybody, deserves to be treated with RESPECT. Having physical and emotional boundaries is healthy. It’s NEVER okay, under ANY circumstances, to be put through any form of abuse, and I encourage others who have gone through something similar, to seek a safe place and seek the truth.
A little life update on me: I have settled in very nicely in my new life in Arizona, and despite my past traumas that I have worked tirelessly in therapy to overcome, I am happily engaged to the true love of my life and we are getting married in September 2023. He is kind, respectful, and gentle in every aspect of our relationship, and I am SAFE with him, which is something I never, and nobody should ever, take for granted in their relationship.
This organization, DV Control Alt Delete, assist people who have the strength and determination and willpower to escape, without the necessities they need to survive on the outside. I am grateful for organizations like DV Control Alt Delete, for giving survivors a chance to become survivors versus becoming a victim or statistic to our abusers. Thank you!
*Sharing a Survivor Story is never easy but can be healing. Thank you Kristin for sharing your story, for lending your strength to a Survivor that needs it right now.
Control Alt Delete helps people escape domestic violence by removing the barriers that keep them in unsafe and violent situations. We provide one time assistance at the request of victim advocates, prosecutor offices, crisis response teams including police and fire departments.
Our 100% volunteer run nonprofit means $1 of every dollar donated goes directly to helping Survivors escape.
