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Month: October 2023

October 2023

Believe Me

“I have a black eye.” “He was raging at me.” “He threw me up against the bathroom door with his hands around my throat and another hand over my mouth.” “He pushed me over our kitchen counter, holding his hands over my mouth and throat.” “I was in my car trying to leave and he came out and dragged me out of it and threw my things all over the street.” “My dad came trying to help me. He punched my dad. He has multiple bruises and possibly a broken nose.” I can’t show you a picture of our client
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Fear and Finances: Part 3 in a series on Domestic Violence

Kirsten’s life tragically ended in violence.  I continue this series by looking at another, and all too common, form of domestic abuse. It seemed reasonable in the beginning – supportive even. He said he would handle the finances once they moved in together.  He earned a bit more than her so she trusted that he would be fiscally responsible. When they joined households, they also joined finances. She provided all of her accounts, passwords, and trust. “Why did you spend $123 at Target?” he demanded to know.  She recited her purchases confused over his anger. “You need to follow the
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Emotional Entrapment: Part 2 in a series on Domestic Violence

“You are so stupid!  Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to load a dishwasher?” He roared.  She stared at him in disbelief as tears welled up in her eyes and shame slammed into her with the force of his words. “Oh Christ. That’s disgusting! Don’t you dare cry.  You are so ugly when you do that.” It was the third time in as many weeks that he had blown up at her out of nowhere.  Calling her nasty names with a glare that made him unidentifiable. The first time he immediately feigned horror at his actions and blamed it on
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Punched In The Gut

We argue about the garlic in the guacamole. He storms outside. I stand at the bathroom mirror, my shaking hand focused on my mascara. I hear the front door open, his footsteps coming up the stairs. He opens the door, and silently pounds his fist into my gut.   “Now you can tell your friends I abused you,” he said calmly.  A feminist activist and fierce advocate for victims of intimate partner abuse, my own life had become a constant eggshell dance. I justified buying a two-dollar tube of lipstick or a lunch with a friend. I defended a night at the
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Crafting Control: Part 1 in a series on Domestic Violence

Butterflies swirled in her stomach for the first time in years when he approached her at work the first night and asked for her phone number. She had just, weeks before, amicably resolved her divorce and this new and foreign spark was a welcome balm to a heart that had been hurting for too long. He was also a divorcee and father of two boys. They connected over co-parenting as she was a new single mom to her three school-aged children. She reveled in being swept up into the object of someone’s loving affection after having been neglected in a
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