Gardens of Purpose . . .

Fear crept into her heart. She realized the garden was now complete. Her throat began to tighten as she knew he would know there was no real reason for her to ‘be in the garden'. Sore and tired from another day's work she bent down to tie her shoe and asked herself: why do I do this? 

The answer came as she brushed the soil off her skirt: I garden to cope with emotional pain. She rose up and surveyed the one thousand square feet of fully native plant landscaped yard and said: “That's a lot of pain.” 

Where others saw beauty, she saw the plants that represented every fight and demeaning word he spoke to her. Every garden has a purpose, she thought. 

She felt close to God in her garden. It was where she was reminded something softer than her husband’s harshness existed. Each new garden bed was a hope of something new. Winter was coming and she knew her garden had served its purpose. Time spent in it gave her clarity to think about what God really had for intended for her life. She only hoped she would survive the winter to be able to live to see it. 

The purple ribbon is flown or tied to acknowledge a survivor. 

Most people do not realize: more women die from Domestic Violence  each year than from Breast Cancer or other causes. Intimate partner abuse begins with harsh words, restricting her finances, ability to work, socialize and eventually acts of physical assault on or near the victim and her children. Many survivors do not want to return to their families as that is where they were taught to expect and tolerate that kind of treatment in exchange for housing.

Does it fall on society to rebuild us?

 I hesitated to ask for help because I did not believe it was the responsibility of society to right the wrongs my oppressor committed against me. When the court system allowed itself to be used by my oppressor to further abuse me, I had no choice but to ask society and churches for help. I have documentation to show I was legally homeless. The abuser cried in court claiming he became homeless when I called the police and they removed him. 

Most resources go to the new wave of refugees coming into the country. I watched as I returned to the hotel from yet another food pantry as an immigration lawyer paid for an entire floor of immigrants' rooms. They bussed them in and set them up in apartments within two weeks. I am two years in on over 20 ten year wait lists. I lived in two domestic violence shelters and five hotels. The first two apartments I rented were filled with black mold. God kept me from ever having to live in my car, but I was always ready to do so. In two and a half years I moved fourteen times.

I am finally safe enough to begin to build the life God intended me to have. I sold the garden I grew that helped me cope with intense emotional pain. 

I am blessed to be tending and drafting a design for another person's garden. This is where this page will continue. A mix of garden stories and a mix of realities about what it takes for a woman to leave a life threatening marriage.  

I suppose 'the garden' that helped me cope is helping me move on . . . 

I pieced together some behavior trends this past week. It was confirmed by myself and four different police departments that: 

I am being stalked again. 

The police in each town gave me the same suggestions: 

Change your name

Change your job

Sell your car 

Carry Pepper Spray

Consider a gun permit

They were kind enough to review other steps in an overall safety plan. I decided to carry pepper spray again and always have one phone ready to dial #911 and one on video every time I go out. 

I woke in a panic the next morning and realized if I pursue the professional path I was on I would essentially be walking around with a target on my back.   

I shared my concerns with my new employer and they decided it was best if I no longer work there due to the high level of visibility necessary to succeed.

While I will now prioritize writing, photography and other creative endeavors which I hope to earn an income with, I am haunted by this thought:

An abuser's behaviors are still impacting my life. 

 My choices are still limited and I still need to make decisions for my life based on what is safe. This is similar to what it was like when I was married.

I stood my ground in court for two plus years against the man who was a husband turned abuser and is now just 'the guy who stalks me'. I need to honor myself and the life I fought hard to protect. 

I feel sad because yes, I left abuse, but the one who abused me is not leaving me alone. I still have reason to hide and be less visible. I hesitate to sparkle. 

I hope one day society will understand that a woman leaves,  but that does not mean she is left alone. 

 I was the only woman with a porcelain complexion in attendance at a domestic violence support group.  I was told by the women with  darker complexions than mine: "At least you do not have cultural abuses to deal with too." 

I listened as they exchanged  stories of hardship and oppression and when they turned to me I said:

 "How many shades of concealer does it take for you to cover up a bruise? It takes me five, because my skin is so light. His bruises ran deep and changed many colors while healing. Due to the statistics and cultural differences you mentioned people are more aware of the various forms of abuse that happen in your relationships.  When I reported, people, including domestic violence counselors told me that my abuser had idiosyncrasies and I should just time his anger outbursts. Because I am light in complexion the abuse I endured had low visibility in society. White Catholic school girls from Irish/Scottish families are shamed if they report abuse. Secrets are kept for generations."

Their reply was silence.

I reported seven times. On the seventh time I was offered help. What if I were offered help the first time?  How much of the statistic that states women leave on the seventh attempt is the result of society and protection agencies not believing them first time because of the complexion of their skin?