Alright. I might piss somebody off with this one, but it’s Domestic Violence Awareness Month, my entire feed is purple, and I’m seeing story after story about what somebody’s ex did to them.
And some of them are BRUTAL.
Tell those stories. Post the pictures. Tell the truth. Name what happened. Drag that shit straight into the light because abuse THRIVES in secrecy, and there is absolutely a woman scrolling Facebook right now who thinks what is happening inside her house is normal.
She needs you, but you know what else I’d love to see more of?
“Here’s what I do differently now.”
Yep. I said it. And before anybody comes swinging at me with the victim-blaming pitchfork, put it down, because I have EARNED the right to yell about this one. I have lived domestic violence, sat in the courtrooms, and been scared in my own home. I’ve made myself smaller to keep somebody else from getting bigger, and I’ve measured my words based on how I thought somebody might react. I’ve ignored the feeling in my gut screaming THIS AIN’T IT, SIS because my heart was busy trying to turn a red flag into a freaking throw pillow.
I know this life.
And here’s the part of my healing that wasn’t nearly as fun as realizing somebody else was an asshole: I had to look at me.
OOF.
Because no, I did not choose for another person to abuse me. Let’s make that abundantly freaking clear. Their hands, words, and manipulation were their choice. Their behavior belongs to THEM, but baby, some of the decisions leading up to me sitting in situations I had no business sitting in?
Those were mine, and I can say that now without hating the woman who made them. I ignored red flags. Like…BIG ONES. Not cute little maybe he’s just having a bad day flags. I’m talking Six Flags Over Jesus.
And there I’d be:
“Welllll… nobody’s perfect.”
MA’AM.
I believed apologies without changed behavior, confused somebody wanting me with somebody valuing me, and let chemistry convince me there was compatibility. I stayed because leaving felt embarrassing and I went back because loneliness made me forget why I left.
I wanted love so badly at different points in my life that I negotiated things I had absolutely no business negotiating. And here’s the kicker: I didn’t trust myself. I’d feel something was wrong and immediately put my own discernment on trial.
Maybe I’m overreacting, being dramatic, or expecting too much. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Girl, MAYBE GET YOUR PURSE AND LEAVE.
That’s one of the biggest things abuse stole from me—the ability to trust the alarm God put inside of me. And healing meant getting that back. so Domestic Violence Awareness Month looks different to me now. It doesn’t come from a place of anger and needing to be heard. It comes from a place of deep love and empathy for the women I once was.
Yes, I’ll tell you what happened, but I also want to tell you what ain’t happening again. I don’t need six months of evidence to honor a red flag anymore or need a jury of my girlfriends to unanimously vote that a man sucks before I’m allowed to leave. I don’t need to catch somebody doing something absolutely catastrophic before I can say, “This relationship is not healthy for me.”
I don’t care how attractive you are. I don’t care how good the chemistry is or how much potential I see in you. And Christian ladies, COME HERE because this one is for us:
We don’t care how many Bible verses a man can quote. Knowing Scripture and submitting your life to Scripture are two very different things.
I am watching the fruit now:
How do you handle anger?
How do you respond when I tell you no?
How do you talk about women who have hurt you?
How do you respond when you’re corrected?
Can you apologize without adding a “but”?
Are you trying to know me or acquire me?
Do I become MORE myself around you or slowly start disappearing?
Because I’ve already learned what happens when I ignore that stuff and don’t need the refresher course. And I sure don’t need another testimony that badly. God and I have PLENTY of material.
And forgiveness? We’ve got to stop butchering that word.
I can forgive you and still block your number. I can pray for you and never sit across a dinner table from you again. I can hope Jesus radically transforms your life from waaaaaay over here.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean access, grace doesn’t mean stupidity, and being a Christian woman does not require me to repeatedly volunteer as somebody’s emotional punching bag because perhaps my suffering will eventually inspire his sanctification.
NOPE.
Jesus already died for that man. Courtney Cash does not need to.
That’s the conversation I want us having this month.
Tell me your story and what they did. Tell me how you survived, but GIRL—tell me what you learned too. Tell me the boundary you have now. Tell me the red flag you won’t paint green anymore. Tell me how you rebuilt your support system, how you’re teaching your daughter what healthy love looks like. Tell me what you’re teaching your son about how a woman should be treated. Tell me how you learned to trust your gut again and how you quit confusing chaos with passion. Tell me how you stopped needing everybody else to understand why you walked away.
Because THAT is healthy awareness to me.
I don’t only want to teach you how to recognize abuse once you’re already trapped inside it. I want to help you recognize the road leading there, and if you see yourself heading down it?
TURN THE DAMN CAR AROUND.
You don’t have to crash it first. That’s what my experiences gave me: Discernment and boundaries I didn’t have before, a voice I didn’t have before, and enough lived experience to know that peace might not give you butterflies—but chaos sure as heck will.
So no, I will never accept responsibility for somebody else’s decision to abuse me, but I WILL take responsibility for what I do with what it taught me. That’s not victim blaming, y’all. That’s refusing to waste the lesson. That’s taking every horrible thing the enemy meant to use to make me smaller and saying:
Cool. Watch what God and I do with it now.
I survived it and learned from it. And now?
I’m loud enough to help the next woman avoid it.
And THAT is what Domestic Violence Awareness Month means to me.