V-Day: Stopping the Violence

Stories From the Belly

In my twenties one day, I found myself seated in a room of other women seeking support from each other. Looking around, I felt like a pretender. As I listened to them share their stories… a husband smashing a dinner plate over the head of a wife, a brother high on heroine stabbing his sister with a knife, a mother with ribs broken apart by her son… I sank further down in my chair wondering if these women might actually be offended that I’d even bothered to show up.

Open hand raised, Stop Violence sign painted, multi purpose conc

I didn’t really want to be at this domestic violence support group. Unlike these women, who had the scars to show what they’d been through, I didn’t have a bump on my head or a broken arm. I never spent several days in a hospital because of any injuries. My bruises were the invisible kind—the ones that leave your insides black…

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