May 2008

SHOUT! Speak Out

I have to talk today. Not that it's hard for me. In fact, I rarely keep quiet! But I have to address a group of people; 758 to be exact. Just little me, alone up there, with all eyes fixed my way, awaiting my next word. Sweaty palms? No. Imagining every one in their underwear? Not me! Dry mouth? A little. Slight anxiety due to the subject matter? Completely.

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You see, I'm sharing my story today. I have done for the last 2½ years. It's not a fairytale story about meeting Prince Charming, getting married, securing a mortgage and having 2 kids. It's about spending 4 years of my life fighting to stay alive and protect my child from the hell that is domestic violence.

From the outside, I look like one of your friends. A happy, outgoing 30 year old with a beautiful 4 year old daughter. I enjoy going to the gym, I work hard toward my goals and I have an ever-expanding social network. But 4½ years ago, this was not the case. Especially the day I nearly lost my unborn child.

I recall the incident with clarity. He was on one of his rampages, accusing me of taking the garage remote that he couldn't find. He was late for the annual advertising luncheon. I was pregnant and trying to calm him down, always the consoling girlfriend trying to keep the peace, whilst he continued to play the role of controlling, manipulating, violent bastard. He had me on my hands and knees, searching for this miniscule item. My suggestion that it was in his pocket was greeted in the usual manner of a barrage of verbal abuse followed by a blow across the face that would knock me for six. I tried to pull myself up at the bathroom door. He knocked me down, grabbed me and dragged me by my hair along the floor into the bedroom cupboard. Then he continued to beat me, all the while yelling at me how useless, ugly and fat I was. I begged for my child's life, silent yelps of "please stop, you'll hurt the baby" ... then came darkness.

I awoke on the floor of this cupboard, shut in like a prisoner. It took the longest moment to open my eyes and 'assess the damage'. I didn't know if I was dead or alive. There were clothes strewn everywhere, coat hangers poking in me. Every bone ached from the repetitive beatings I had endured. Every muscle felt like it had collapsed and was failing me. I could barely breathe, my head ached with a huge bump and I struggled to lift myself up. My hand was still weakly clutching my belly, draped protectively over the little life that was fighting inside. But she did not kick. She did not move. And nor could I.

Faith was the name I had chosen to give her. So with every ounce of faith, I crawled along the floor to get help. The rest of the day I lay in a hospital treatment room, having my unborn baby monitored and nurses shaking their heads in disbelief of what sort of monster would do such a thing?' But he was not going to win. Us girls are survivors and God had given me a gift that monster was not going to take away. After hours of watching the monitor, I finally felt her move. My precious girl, fighting to stay alive. Like mother, like daughter. But what made that day even harder was that my father was dying in a hospital on the other side of town, whilst I lay in this one, praying I wouldn't lose them both.

Today, it is with strength that I will share my story. What does not kill us can only make us stronger. Fortunately for Faith and I, that is true ... just. But for the 1 in 3 women who are currently victims of domestic violence, not all of them will survive.

If you are in an unhealthy relationship, identify it, name it and start believing in your self worth. Ignite the little flame that still burns brightly inside of you and chase the better life you deserve. If I can do it, you can too. Go set the world ablaze in your fabulous shoes, girl!

May is Domestic and Family Violence Prevention month

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Rachel Kayrooz Founder & CEO, Shout! Speak Out w www.shoutspeakout.org