“I won’t abandon you,” I whispered to my little girl as I tucked her in for the night. “I don’t know how I’ll get us out of this, but I promise I will.” This has been my nightly vow since her birth, a promise I had also made to her brother and to myself for as long as I can remember.
Yet, that promise felt shattered within a marriage I couldn’t escape—a life ensnared by abuse, financial dependency, and a legal maze I couldn’t navigate. I felt imprisoned, responsible for two children who relied on me.
Many mornings, I found myself staring at my reflection, struggling to recognize the woman looking back at me. Who was this shadow of my former self? I thought as my eyes fell on the bruise that marred my face. I had aspirations and dreams for my life and my children’s lives, but the mirror told a different story: a woman drained of hope and purpose.
“I’ll just leave him,” I would convince myself. “We’ll go to a shelter, they’ll keep us safe.” But then the questions would flood in—safe until when? Until my husband’s lawyer fights for custody of my kids? I couldn’t afford an attorney, and the legal system often overlooked domestic violence when it came to custody decisions.
Research had shown me that around 70% of abused women lose custody to their abuser, primarily because they can’t afford the legal representation they need. I would never abandon my children; I was their mother and protector.
Even if I managed to flee with my kids, I was lost about the next steps. Local shelters offered only six weeks of refuge—then what? I would still be tied legally to an income that suffocated me financially, disqualified from daycare assistance, food stamps, or Medicaid. The burden of our mortgage only compounded my challenges and his financial control had left me in debt.
What choices did I have? Leave without my children or take them with me, only to face homelessness and hunger? So, I remained.
I set aside my own needs, as so many mothers do, and focused solely on my kids, sacrificing my own well-being. As I looked down at my son in his crib that night, I felt the weight of a life in ruins, unsure of how I would ever rebuild it.
Eventually, I met a compassionate attorney who understood my plight. He told me, “You need to break free from this if you ever want a future.” I looked him in the eye and replied, “But I can’t afford freedom.” Despite my financial constraints, he advocated for me, for my children, and for our future.
Thanks to his unwavering support, my family found a way out, allowing us to rise from the ashes of our past. I often wonder why my situation turned out differently. What makes me special? The answer is nothing. I was just fortunate to have someone who saw beyond my financial struggles and recognized my worth.
No woman fighting for her life should have to do it alone. The looming cuts to domestic violence programs by the current administration terrify me. We must stand up and make our voices heard. Every woman and child deserves a life free from fear, and sometimes they just need support to claim it. This is the essence of “supporting life,” isn’t it? I hope to see lawmakers advocate for these critical programs and genuinely demonstrate their commitment to life.
Consider the countless women who feel powerless and struggle daily, not only to be the mothers they aspire to be but to survive. If you or someone you know is facing domestic violence, I encourage you to seek help from organizations such as the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence or check out resources on communication in healthcare for additional support.
In conclusion, it is crucial to remember that every survivor deserves a chance at a better future, and we must work collectively to ensure that no one feels trapped or unsupported.