I didn't look back

Red and blue lights reflected off the walls in my living room. Three police cars were in my driveway and yard and three officers were in my kitchen. My boyfriend and I had an argument earlier in the week. Like a pot left on the stove, a discussion had sat for a week. That night the lid blew off. It didn't ramp up slowly, it seemed to erupt from nothing, without warning. I never saw it coming. I don't know what had happened that set him off. Nothing precipitated it. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me hard against the wall. Picking up a plate from the dinner he slammed it into the side of my head. Ketchup and cut up pieces of chicken nuggets hung in my hair. He slung me like a rag doll across to the floor and I sat there gripping my knees. He was growling things at me. I couldn't understand the exact words but the message was clear. I was making him look bad to other people and he wasn't having it. He flipped the kitchen table and everything on it over into the floor, grabbed his keys and left. The police were there immediately after my call. I can remember them being pretty laid back about it all. There weren't Domestic Violence Laws then, not like we have now. I was asked if I wanted to press charges. I told them no, I only needed them to stay long enough for me to get my things and get out. It was my house but I left it that night and never went back. It felt like I was running for my life. I gathered clothes and essentials for my son and I threw them into garbage bags. My mom arrived and helped load both our cars. She talked with officers and I assume she explained that my father was an officer in the next town. They came in and helped me at that point. They took some photos and made a report I think. I don't know, I never picked one up. I never went back, I never looked back. Domestic violence can happen to anyone. It doesn't discriminate. When I think back on it some 28 years ago I can instantly connect with the fear. As I packed I wasn't crying I was terrified. I didn't want to be there when he returned. We had a large gun safe filled with guns. It has never escaped me how much both our lives could have changed that night. I was not a stranger to violence in my family of origin. Somehow I had chosen to ignore the increasing control he was exerting. Physically restraining me, twisting my arm. Shoving me. Calling me names. Laughing at me, or mocking me. He was fighting to become the owner of my dignity. Going back over it afterward it wasn't just easy to piece together how it escalated it, it was predictable, so predictable. Violence, anger, toxicity between two people only grows. I don't know if it felt familiar, or if it felt like love. I hadn't known love really. Not healthy, mature, faithful love. Not even romantic love. What I knew about love at that point was control and drama. It's all it had ever been for me to that point. It was so long ago. This morning I'm writing from my comfy desk in front of the big window in my Master Bedroom. It overlooks our property and winding creek, with a little wooded area. Birds come and go. I share this home with my wonderful husband of 22 years and our youngest son. It feels picture perfect to me. I live so far away now, both in miles and in reality. I'm safe. This man has never even spoken a harsh word in my direction but he will defend me and protect me unto the ends of the earth. He loves me so much and I adore him more all the time. It was so long ago but I don't even have to close my eyes to be swept back into that kitchen. I can feel the linoleum under me and remember what it felt like huddled there and praying the police would arrive before he came back. All women have stories to tell. Mine has certainly had it challenges but it has a happy ending. As we begin our Podcast: Real Women, Real Stories I hope you will join us.