Tonight, I was talking with a woman that I’ve been in semi-regular contact with on an abuse thread. She contacted me after stating she needed a call to grant her some leeway to put a plan into play. Of course, I responded, as I usually do.
I asked her some details, same set of questions I always ask. She gave me some details, and it’s evident she needs help. But now we’ve come to D-Day.
Tomorrow. That’s when it happens. Tomorrow is the day where shit could go terribly wrong. So, it dawns on her today that she doesn’t know anything about me. I could be anyone. Hell, I could be her abusive husband for all she knows.
So, I said “here is my post history, please review it, and head over to my page askabitchface@substack.com, and have a look at what I do”.
And, now, after the plan has been finalized, and her plan exit verified to check for places she could be caught trying to leave, I’m replaying the conversation. I’m thinking to myself, Jesus, I’m so glad I have this life to offer up as evidence. I’m so glad I’m verifiably a champion for women.
I am really glad that I am the woman I am, that I help women in bad situations get a chance to get out. I am happy that, at the end of the day, I can have my cup of coffee and write to y’all and tell you that my own damned references are me, myself, and I.
I’m not any different than I was 5 years ago. I don’t want to give the illusion that I’m some sort of fairy godmother, just waving my wand and fixing women’s lives. I can’t do that. I can’t fix anything for anyone.
I give women strength. I give them a shoulder. I give them a checklist of what needs to happen before they can safely run. I give them advice on where to go, what to take, who can shelter them, and how to stay under the radar. I sometimes, in the worst cases, will give up my couch. My money. My own security if I have to, because the situation merits it.
So, really, in the grand scheme of things, I don’t do much. I’m not out here changing the world, winning awards, or collecting trophies. I’m never going to have a street named after me, or even a park. But, I can tell you, as of today, there are about 30 women who have a better life than they had when they reached out to me.
I think that is a pretty decent resume. I think my references speak to my dedication to helping women leave the men who hurt them. I think it would be a great thing if I didn’t need to do this, but since I do, I will not stop until this position is retired.
I will not turn my back on the women in the worst time of their lives. So many other people do that, but I don’t care if it takes you 5 years to get the strength to leave. On that fifth year, when you call me, I will be there to tell you where you need to go to sleep for the night. I will be there to remind you that your go bag is where we decided in year 2, under your craft bin in the attic. I will be there.
So, consider this my resume, readers, updated accordingly. If you are in need of a plan, a way out, an ear, or whatever it is that is going to get you out of the abuse and into safety, reach out to me. Message me, email me, send up a smoke signal, I am not particular. All that I particularly care about is that you are no longer being beaten by a man who claims to love you.
Mermaid, if you need strength, I am here. You are strong enough. I know it, and tomorrow you will too.
Damn, it's been a minute since I've "seen" you around, and I'd almost forgotten how much I liked you. How fuckin absolutely fabulous is this post? Good on ya .
Thank you. The world needs more of ya.
I spent nearly a year and a half at a battered woman's shelter (including the transitional housing).
Can't say I haven't been with an abusive man since then, but I can say I haven't stayed.
Now I'm very happily married to the man I dated for 13 years before saying yes. He'd never dream of it. He would probably let me beat him to death without even trying to defend himself. I don't advocate that either.
Unfortunately the abuse in my past left me with a "hair trigger finger " (is that how you say that?) and at the first sign of trouble I'd come out swinging. I thought, for the longest time, I just needed to not jump the gun so quickly, but.It finally dawned on me in my late 30's, that duh, I needed to not be with fucking douche bags that ever gave me a reason to worry about it at all. Not how long I wait before I start feeling like I have to fight to save myself - so I don't accidentally turn it physical when they "weren't going to get violent until I did" Whatever. Don't buy it.