Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


5 Comments

Please Don’t Stay


Advertisements


17 Comments

Shaking My Head


I overheard a conversation recently in which an individual stated, “DV has nothing to do with the growing healthcare crisis and the economy.”

Domestic violence victims lose nearly 8 million days of paid work per year in the US alone—the equivalent of 32,000 full-time jobs.

The costs of intimate partner violence in the US alone exceed $5.8 billion per year: $4.1 billion are for direct medical health care services, while productivity losses account for nearly $1.8 billion.

In the news:

Judge “X” Turned Blind Eye, Woman Dead

Police Officer “J” Arrested For Beating His Wife and Children

Attorney “C “Arrested For Killing Fiancé

DV Shelters Closing Due To Strain Caused By Budget Cuts

Wife Murdered After Alleging Husband Abused Her

Legal Aid Funds Cut

Based on reports from 10 countries, between 55 percent and 95 percent of women who had been physically abused by their partners had never contacted non-governmental organizations, shelters, or the police for help.

A friend told me, “Whatever happens behind closed doors is none of my business.”

Every 9 seconds in the US, a woman is assaulted or beaten.

Every day in the US alone, more than three women are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends.

Around the world, at least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime. Most often, the abuser is a member of her own family.

Shaking my head.

If you or someone you know is suffering in Domestic Violence please click the link below:

http://nomore.org/category/news/

my shadow


9 Comments

Please Don’t Forget About Me


It is not usual for me write according to the daily prompts, however, I have said these very words to my children repeatedly. Please don’t forget about me, the new me, the me I was meant to be free. Therefore, this is dedicated to them.

Within the walls of pain and shame, I hid behind a masquerade of lies. Domestic violence sucked me up and deposited me in the darkest, most crippling place imaginable.

Not only me, but also my children suffered the deepest kind of pain for which I have no cure. I have no ability to remove their suffering, their misplaced guilt and shame, their hearts or their souls.

I do not have to imagine coming to the end of my life; the end rapidly approaches. I have little time to attempt to right the wrongs. I have failed them in the worst kind of way. It has been said, “It is not your responsibility to bear the full brunt of all that has occurred in their lives.” I cannot accept that statement as truth.

I am their mother. A mother’s role is to protect and nurture, not crash and burn before their very eyes. Security ripped from their trusting hands, safety far from reach, and an abundant dose of a twisted, perverted, kind of love filled most of their lives.

In January of 2012, we chose the door leading us away from that horrid existence. The only goal prevalent and revolving about me is to make up for so much lost time. I want to be there for them, love them the way they deserve to be loved, encourage them; make amends the only way I know how.

The legacy I have given is a garish hell from which there sometimes seems to be no escape. I have to, I must, at all costs, any cost, give a new legacy, one in which no one can take away. I must be sure their rightly inheritance befitting over comers, survivors, and lovers of life are well within their reach before I leave them. It is imperative to make them believe that, for without belief there is no hope and I cannot let go of the here and now having left my children without hope for a better future.

I pledge to do all within my power to mend the brokenness I have affected and allowed and to restore their birthright, the only gift I have left to give. I cannot change the past, but I can pave the way for a good future.

It is for this reason that I write every day to spill myself upon these pages so that when I am no longer with them they will be able to feel my presence as real as the life surrounding them. I never want to leave them, ever again and the only way to do that is to leave a tangible piece of myself behind.

For the sake of anonymity, I cannot post the multitude of photos I have taken in a desperate attempt to capture moments I never want them to forget. In addition, if for some reason, those things are lost, I have only the hope that the new memories far outweigh the old, a touch that can never be lost or stolen.