But I guess, in a way, its like being a parent — as awesome as a child-less aunt can be, as truly fun-loving as an uncle or older cousin is, or as responsible and greatly needed as a trained babysitter can be — until you are a parent yourself, there is no book, course or words that can ever express what it is truly like. The hours, in the middle of the night, when baby is asleep and you KNOW you should be sleeping, but you just need to check to make sure she is breathing one last time, before closing your eyes. That sinking feeling when you’ve gotten caught up in a conversation at the park and your little one is out of sight, and you’re looking everywhere for that bright purple shirt you dressed her in, but the seconds are ticking away and you still don’t see her…. only for her to emerge from under a climbing tube, giggling and happy, without a concern in the world, while your heart slowly slips down to its proper resting place and out of the back of your throat! Until you’ve given everything you’ve got for your kid and they still want more… you just can’t quite understand the nuance of parenthood until it happens to you, no matter how eloquently I attempt to express it. I know, I thought I got it before I had mine, and then that very first day, I realized I’d never loved another human being in quite the same way before……
But I digress, this isn’t about parenting, this is about domestic violence. I am grateful for the support network of amazing women who have chosen this career path, having likely never experienced it themselves, but obviously having witnessed the outcome in some way that drove a passion for them to help end the suffering. I don’t have words of thanks enough in my vocabulary to express how truly wonderful support staff are, from shelters, to crisis lines, to groups and other agencies. The point of this post is not to knock them.
The thing of it is — until you’ve truly experienced something, good or bad, you can’t QUITE grasp on to what it means to go through it. Sure, we don’t all need to rush out and jump off a cliff to get the idea…. but somehow, there is this look in the eyes of a woman who has been through it that is just different… when I talk about pieces of my story at support groups, my fellow survivors nod and their eyes indicate looks of “I know what you mean” or “I was there too” or “wow, I thought it was only me” … The women who are running the group nod, too, but their eyes say something else, closer to “I have heard this too many times before, this is why I’m here, to help” or “sometimes I just can’t believe how horrible that must have been for you” or even “that’s so tragically sad” … It isn’t that they can’t help me. And it isn’t that they wont do everything within their position and power to get me on the right road again. There is a very important part in the healing process where we dearly need those support workers.
But when fellow survivors can reach out and support one another, I think it is a very different beast all together. I think it is deeper, somehow more meaningful on a personal level.
I love when friends without kids give me parenting advice, especially when it comes along with the qualifier “My mother says when I was a kid…” Although its not quite the same when support workers who have never experienced domestic violence help me — they are coming from years of education and experience working with other clients — its still the line “That must have been very hard for you.” versus “I can relate, I had a similar situation.”
As survivors of domestic violence, we all live our own journey; we all have our own story; no two are completely alike. We all need safe, healthy, supportive workers to help us along that journey of healing. Sometimes, though, it’s just really great to connect with a fellow survivor and share that moment of “I know!” Don’t you think?
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