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Growing Up with Domestic Abuse

This is a true story of a child growing up with domestic violence and abuse. From a young child to a woman, the cycle is described over a 38 year time span.

For as long as I can remember, verbal, emotional, and physical abuse has been a part of my life. My mother’s father had abused my mother and uncle as children while growing up along with my grandmother through out their marriage. My grandfather had never done these things to me, but it was all around me as a child. At the age of 4 or 5, I witnessed my grandfather hit and throw down my grandmother, resulting in many bruises and a broken arm. This one only one in many times that I had seen them fight, but I remember this one the clearest for some reason. He had always verbally and emotionally abused her too. I had heard it so much that although scared, I was under the impression at a very young age that this was normal in a marriage.

This too was the why my mother treated me as a child and my father whom was rarely around, was not this way with me, but was verbally, emotionally, and physically this way with my mother. At the age of 9, I witnessed my father kick my mother directly in her very pregnant stomach. They soon divorced and my mother quickly remarried the police chief of our small little southern town in Eastern Tennessee. Some may think that a Police Chief Officer would put a stop to the abuse and violence around me, but it was not long after they married that I became the main target by both of my mother and step-father for years of emotional, verbal, and physical abuse.

My stepfather had decided to move us from Tennessee to Oregon during the middle of Christmas night during my fifth grade year. At the time my stepfather had lost his job as City Police Chief and we were living at my grandparents’ house. In the middle of the night on Christmas night, a very bad argument broke out between my grandfather and stepfather. My baby brother and I were yanked out of bed and packed into a car along with what belongings that could be crammed in too. A week later, we were living in a tiny filthy apartment in Eugene, Oregon. I will never forget how painful it was to be taken away from all of my family without even getting to say goodbye. The only other cherished thing in my 10 year old world besides my family and friends, where my 2 boxes of Barbie Dolls that I pleaded to take with us the night of leaving.

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User Comments
  1. Lauren

    On December 8, 2007 at 5:44 pm

    I read your story and I really feel for you. I understand the abuse cycle I lived it my whole life also. I missed out on so many normal happy things in life because of abuse. Keep sticking with your recovery things get better for you and your family. Let me make a suggestion to you try to find a good energy healer that can work on you it changed my life for the better. I suffered from Post Traumatice Stress Disorder and I am now doing so very much better. You can get better and better. Do it for yourself and your childeren. My prayers are with you.

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