“Our discontent begins by finding false villains whom we can accuse of deceiving us. Next we find false heroes whom we expect to liberate us. The hardest, most discomfiting discovery is that each of us must emancipate himself.” – Daniel J. Boorstin
Long ago I volunteered at the Mission Transition House. It was an eye-opening and sometimes soul-crushing experience. It was like peeling off the bright mossy top of a log to reveal an entire population of squirming, writhing creepy-crawly bugs.
One night, I was on weekend pager-duty. This meant that I had to answer calls from women who needed a safe place to hide. We would meet at a public location, ensure no one was following, and then I’d drive her to the safe house.
It was dark. We met in the parking lot of the Mission City A&W. Her car was a pale blue four-door. I remember her blonde hair. She had a great haircut. She was stylish and modestly-dressed. Her boy was about seven, the little girl maybe five-years old. I no longer recall their exact ages or the details of all their features, except that they would not have looked out of place in a Dick & Jane reader. They were that particular type of perfection that is embodied in young children. The three of them looked like they were on the way to the mall.
Except, of course, they weren’t going to a mall. They were in a strange town, meeting someone they didn’t know so they could go to a house with one-way windows; all so they could hide from the man who was supposed to be their protector, provider, husband, and father.
The key points of her story went like this:
Her husband was a school teacher and a Sunday school teacher and very well-regarded in the community.
He beat her. Regularly. Between the neck and the knees so no one would see. And he was always very very sorry the next day.
Very sorry.
Finally, she confided in her mother. Her mother gave her this advice, “Are you sure you’re making good meals? Are they hot enough? You need to be a better wife.”
She loved him. She stayed.
Finally, she mustered all her strength and confided in their pastor. “Wives,” he quoted, “submit to your husbands. You must try harder.”
“I kept waiting,” she told me, “for someone to knock on the door and give me permission to leave. Finally, I realized that no one would ever come to that door. It was up to me.”
Maybe I helped her, maybe I didn’t. But her words were, and are, a great gift to me. I have often thought of the strength it took for her to go against all the cultural, familial and societal pressures that told her she was the one in the wrong. I have thought what courage it took for her to realize that she deserved respect and kindness. I have held her and her children in my heart for over twenty years.
I have never experienced what she went through. But there have been times when I found myself waiting for someone from the outside to grant me permission, to fix whatever’s wrong, to heal me, to make the decision, the change or otherwise make my life better…to take charge.
In those beaten moments when I’m hoping to be rescued, I recall her velvet-soft voice as she spoke with words made of steel.
I think about this woman whose face or name I no longer recall and I send her my gratitude and my hopes for her:
I hope she is safe.
I hope that she and her children, not only survived, but thrived.
I hope, wherever she is, she realizes that love shouldn’t hurt.
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A very true post. The sad truth is that so many shelters are often full, overloaded with women trying to change their lives and live safely. Imagine what it must be like to finally get the courage to leave and discover there’s no room. Creating safe places for women and their children should be a top priority for government and social services.
I couldn’t agree more Michele. We had that exact situation too many times…scrambling to house a woman and her children in other communities. This, in turn, created even more stress as they were removed from supportive friends, family and the familiarity of their own school and surroundings. We all need to stand up to bullying and abuse…in whatever form it takes.
Bravo Colleen! We need more people like you. Of course you helped her.
Personally I haven’t been in this situation but I have heard that it is “always the fault of the woman”. It must have taken great courage for her to get out of her familial pressures and to recognize that she was a person in her own right. Let’s hope she is happy now and her children have done well.
Catherine, I believe women like her, who dare to push back against everything that they’ve been told, are the bravest women in the world. I can’t imagine overcoming such odds.
Like you, I hope and visualize her adult-children healthy and happy…and that they realize what a strong mother they have.
How true, what she said. Whether it’s abuse at the hands of another, or living in a prison we make for ourselves. What a timely message for me to read, and how wonderful you have kept her and her children in your heart. That’s how we change the world… and yes, you did help, no matter what happened after. Transition houses are like beacons on long & lonely shores and cast a beam of hope out into the darkness. Bless you my friend
Laurie, you’re right that more often than not we build our own prisons, placing each brick made of fear, guilt and social expectations; a wall that we tidily cement into place with shame. I know this one. I’ve built the odd wall myself. Not so interested in that plan any more!
I agree that it’s wonderful that there are beacons of light out there. Bright beams in the form of transition houses, ideas, empathetic friends, therapists and others who understand. Let’s keep shining our lights and breaking down those walls.
You are right: love shouldn’t hurt. It’s a crazy mixed up place to be and I’ve been there. I was told something similar to what you write, by a doctor around 1982, regarding sexual assault by my partner. For some reason I thought that as a doctor, from a respected Winnipeg family, she knew what she was talking about. She didn’t.
Your blog is timely, coming during a week when I am struggling to determine if ‘attempted murder’ is an accurate term for what happened to me and also because it is the week before December 6th, Canada’s National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women.
Thank you and other women like you who are there for us when we need you.
Oh Elinor. It is such a shame that people in positions of power are not as smart as we hope they are. We confer so much power to them, only to find that the ’emperor’ has no clothes.
I’m so sorry you had to go through such horror.
I had no idea we were coming up to the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. I will be sure to pay attention to that.
You are now one of the women who will be there for any women who find themselves in similar circumstance. Who better to empathize than you?