I Know What It's Like To Be Paralyzed...
But once you get that first step out of the door, you can fly. Really.
Tonight, I was talking with Rachel, AaBF Legal Counsel and my personal fave, and she asked me how my work was going with the women that I assist that are in less than awesome circumstances in their homes. That’s, of course, a nice way of saying they’re married to absolute pieces of shit who beat them and financially trap them, ensuring that they have no option to leave. The unluckiest of these women have children with these assholes, leaving them tied to the horrible excuse for a human for years to come.
She reminded me of an event in her own life with an alcoholic ex, and her journey to finding her way out, and said something that resonated with me.
“I know what it’s like to be paralyzed”.
It’s very much what the weight of abuse can feel like on you. It is a paralysis. You’re afraid to leave because the what if is so terrifying, and you’re afraid to stay because the devil you know may very well one day kill you.
I know the feeling, y’all, and it is not something I would ever revisit. There isn’t a man on this planet that is worth me feeling that horrible feeling of being paralyzed ever again.
It’s why I come to you and I tell you of the red flags, the cautionary tales, the “this is the time to go” stories. I’m not here simply as a self catharsis. I’m here because some of you ladies need to be heeding the advice that is being given.
I’m a people fixer. It’s not a good quality, although I thought for many years that it was. It is basically how I fool myself into thinking that I can make bad men be something other than bad men. I can’t and they won’t. Period.
Ladies, if a man shows you that he doesn’t care about your feelings, believe him. If he shows you that he doesn’t have your best interest at heart, don’t think that you can change that. You can’t. He won’t.
The first time that he puts you in a situation where you feel as though your safety is in question, that is the day that you pack your shit and you leave. You don’t wait for the day that he spits in your face, or he slaps you, or in my case, chokes you until you lose consciousness. You get up right then, you pack your things, and you fucking leave him.
There is no excuse good enough. There simply isn’t. No matter what is out there in the unknown, it is better than being knocked around by whatever type of humanoid figure this piece of shit is passing himself off as.
I can’t say this enough. The first time needs to be the last time. You don’t want to be the woman writing to me on Reddit telling me about how he held a gun to your head while your two kids were in the damned room. Yes, that really happened, and not too long ago actually.
Please. If you are reading this and this applies to you, reach out. I will find the resources necessary to get you out. It’s what I do. I can’t help you after he kills you. By that time, it’s too late for anyone at all to help you.
If you can’t reach out to me, 1-800-799-SAFE. The domestic violence hotline, and they will help you. Really. They will.
If you take nothing else I ever say seriously, please hear me when I say this. It doesn’t get better, they won’t change, it will get worse.
I’m out here pulling for y’all but I can’t help you if you don’t reach out. I’m here on the hotline all the time, just hit a Bitchface up. I got you, boo.
Glad I could be your muse! Great post.