When I was 20, I thought I was just starting to find my independence — building my career, making plans for the future, figuring out who I was. But the relationship I was in at the time took all of that away.
What began as love quickly became control. Then fear. Then violence.
Over the months that followed, I endured physical assaults, strangulation, sexual violence, and even attempted drugging. If I hadn’t escaped when I did, I truly believe I wouldn’t be here today.
At first, I tried to reach out to friends for help. Some didn’t believe me. He was charming, manipulative — the kind of person who could make others see only what he wanted them to see. Others tried to help, but he found ways to cut me off from them. He made me block their numbers, stop seeing them. Eventually, I was completely isolated.
Still, there was one friend who refused to give up on me. He picked up the pieces more times than I can count, sometimes literally saving my life.
After months of abuse, I finally went to the police. Two officers took my statement. One of them looked at me and said, “He wouldn’t do this for no reason. What did you do?”
In that moment, I walked out of the station.
The next morning, the Intimate Partner Violence (IPV) Unit called. This time, I spoke with women who understood. They listened. They believed me. They helped me begin the process of holding him accountable and connected me to therapy through victim services. I still see my therapist to this day, more than a year and a half later.
That second call from the IPV Unit changed everything. It reminded me that not all help looks the same, and not every person who wears a badge understands trauma. But there are people out there who do.
I share my story because I want others to understand what it really means to support a survivor. Sometimes we already know how bad it is. We know we should leave. But it’s not that simple. There are layers of fear, manipulation, dependence, and shame that keep us there. What helps most is knowing that someone believes us. That someone will pick up the phone.
And to the professionals who respond to survivors — please, be trauma-informed. The way you respond in that first moment can decide whether someone ever reaches out again. For me, that second chance came because someone listened with compassion. Not everyone gets that.
Healing is hard work. It’s a long, uneven road, and there are still days when the memories hit hard. But I’ve learned that while the trauma wasn’t my fault, the healing is my responsibility.
And I want every survivor to know: You are not alone. Life does get better. Keep believing in your strength — and know that there are people who believe you, support you, and stand with you.