Sometimes the trigger is actually the answer.
“What are you going to do about it?” my father responded as I told him I was in an abusive relationship. I would be lying if I told you it wasn’t hurtful to hear this. I would also be lying if I told you I wasn’t waiting for someone else to have the answers for me, and someone else to save me. This wasn’t my first abusive relationship, but this was the first time I openly spoke up and was hoping to receive help.
When I was 19 I had just moved to Fullerton, California and continued my college education in Fashion Design. At the same time as my move I started dating a man from Utah. We didn’t want to struggle with the long distance of our relationship so he quickly decided to move in with me. Not soon after moving he stated he could not get a job due to not having a car. I was extremely naive and believed this excuse. I had a car but needed it as I was enrolled full time in college and worked two jobs. He stated he was still enrolled in Utah state online so he mostly stayed at home to complete school while I paid all of the bills. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t think this was an issue. Although I worked for my Aunt’s business as one of my jobs, I missed my family on the central coast so I would often come home for a quick 24hour trip and head back to Fullerton. My mother knew of my boyfriend, but I did not tell my father. My father assisted with only $500 of my rent (a small studio!) and I needed that assistance so I kept this information from him out of fear he would cut me off. I can recall one specific visit home I had no idea that my boyfriend hacked into my accounts and saw a male friend of mine excited that I was planning a visit to the central coast. Although there were no romantic feelings, my boyfriend got extremely jealous. He did not say a word until I returned, and that is when all hell broke loose.
**trigger warning **
Upon my return my boyfriend began to get extremely physical with me. I attempted to make him leave as his name was not even on the lease, and he refused. As I tried to call for help he grabbed me by the wrists, squeezed them and tossed me on the bed telling me to shut up. He continued to chase me around our apartment, and at one point we both almost crashed into the sliding glass door to the balcony. I can recall running from the backdoor straight to the front door to escape. He was faster than me and blocked me. He continued to physically assault me and I can recall curling myself up into a ball pulling my knees to my chest. I can’t tell you what made him stop and leave the apartment. Shortly after, I can recall the police showing up, but my boyfriend (ex after this incident!) already decided to get on a bus and leave town. The police asked me if I wanted to press charges and I said no. I was too scared to relive everything that happened and just wanted to forget the entire night.
Shortly after this incident I returned for another visit to the central coast- this visit burns so vividly in my brain. Almost as much as the assault itself. My siblings decided they were going to take me out to eat at one of my favorite sandwich shops, and tell me what bad life choices I was making. As I sat there hiding bruises on my kneecaps, wrists and arms they did not care about my assault, my story, to help me seek justice over my attacker, or hear me out. Instead my sister continued to tell me what a bad person I am and that I was on a “downward spiral” in my life. This made no sense to me as I was two semesters away from graduating in Fashion Design. I had even been offered a position to design clothing with a rapper who was signed by Kurupt- who was huge at this time.
What they also didn’t know was why I wanted to move and rushed to make this move. It wasn’t because of school. It wasn’t for my boyfriend. It wasn’t because of anyone I knew- in fact I originally moved in with a random girl off of apartments .com (that’s another wild story!) and I only met her one time before moving in.
You see, a few months prior to my move to Southern California I was raped by another man. I had only slept with one man prior to this, and that was my boyfriend of several years. Dave. He was amazing (we are still friends to this day and one of my only exes I am on good terms with). You see this man, Derrick, locked me in a room and told me not to scream or it would hurt worse. I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say… it isn’t the most traditional way of sexual intercourse. After Derrick raped me, he drove me home in his white bronco as if nothing happened. I had no idea what rape was before this. I had no idea who to turn to. So I was just quiet. That was until Derrick decided to turn to myspace (yes, I’m that old to remember myspace!) and post about how he had his way with me and twisted it saying I liked it. Our mutual “friends” laughed and continued to make fun of me online. If my friends didn’t believe me, nobody would. So I turned to alcohol. I had countless nights that I blacked out from trying to erase the memory of the rape. My drinking and lack of help got so bad that one night I researched apartments hours away and decided to move. I can recall telling my family, “in two weeks I am moving”!
I could not believe that the pattern returned when I moved to Southern California. In my mind I couldn’t accept that it did- this was supposed to be my safe escape, not a rerun.
I can recall my brother stating I was pathetic and living off of my parents. When I burst into tears saying there was a reason i was depressed and in bed, my brother showed no mercy and said he didn’t give a shit and to go talk to a therapist. This was when I continued our family’s patterns of keeping secrets to myself- even if it meant criminal activity against us.
So August of 2018 - over a decade later- when I felt brave enough to tell my father I was in an abusive relationship I thought I would get a different response. I only received, “what are you going to do about it?” as my father sat living alone in a 4 bedroom home. My mother had just passed away from cancer 4 years prior. I responded with, “I don’t know” because I was so confused why someone wouldn’t rush to tell me to move in. I had already began to stash money for an escape but it was such a low amount there was no way I could get my own apartment. Little did I know just two weeks after this conversation my father would be rushed to ER throwing up blood and given 45 days to live due to terminal cancer. It was at this point my future was already determined. I moved into my fathers home with him to become his hospice nurse and began my escape.
It has not been an easy road as I’m continuously in family court regarding this relationship I escaped from 5 years ago. I also have 0 family help while I juggle 3 children. But every day I think “what am I going to do about it?” instead of running from it. Oftentimes trauma and fear- especially from the intimidation our abusers pierce in our minds- we become silent. But what if you actually spoke up? What if you actually made a plan and did something about it?
Sometimes the most triggering questions and statements are actually a way for us to become stronger and more empowered rather than falling back into the same cycle of abuse. Now I ask you, what are you going to do about your situation?