Healing After Domestic Abuse

I remember the moment my life almost ended. The sound of gunfire. The sheer panic in my veins as I ran for my life. The realization that someone I once thought I loved was now trying to kill me.

He was in psychosis, lost in a state of madness that blurred the line between love and destruction. And I was his target.

This is the reality of domestic abuse. It’s not just bruises or broken bones. It’s fear. It’s psychological warfare. It’s a cycle that entraps you, making you believe that love and pain are somehow intertwined. One day he was giving me his grandmothers ring, and the very next I was being punched while driving in front of my child. It was a never ending cycle and so hard to understand what was truly happening.

I kept going back. Over and over. Because I thought I loved him. Because I believed his apologies. Because I thought if I could just be better, do better, love harder- then maybe he would change. But he didn’t. And he almost took my life. And the most shameful part? I’m not sure that him shooting at me, was one of the worst things he did to me. I still live every day with reminders of the abuse I suffered, unfortunately.

The Truth About Domestic Abuse

I’m not alone. And if you’ve been through this, neither are you.

• Nearly 1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men in the U.S. have experienced some form of physical violence by an intimate partner.

• Every day, three women are killed by their abusers in the U.S. My cousin, Hannah, was one of them.

• Leaving is the most dangerous time- a victim is 70 times more likely to be murdered in the weeks after leaving an abuser.

These are not just numbers. These are lives. These are people like me, like my cousin, like the millions of others trapped in the cycle of abuse.

I didn’t stay because I enjoyed the abuse. I stayed because I couldn’t believe he was a bad guy.

Because there were good moments, too.
Because I saw the version of him that made me laugh.
Because I remembered the times he held me, protected me, made me feel safe.

He wasn’t always a monster. And that’s what makes it so confusing. If he had been cruel from the beginning, I would have run. But he loved me—at least, I thought he did. And when someone you love hurts you, it doesn’t always register as abuse. It registers as something to fix.

I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That I could help him. That the next time would be the last time. Until I was running for my life, the sound of gunfire behind me, finally realizing that the man I had fought so hard to love was willing to kill me.

Leaving wasn’t the hardest part. Accepting the truth was.

Healing meant unraveling every lie I had told myself. It meant facing the reality that love shouldn’t hurt. That no amount of good moments could erase the fear. That staying would have meant dying.

Some days, I still flinch at loud noises. Some nights, the memories creep back in. But I refuse to let what he did define me. I know that it will never become my normal, again. God has led me to greener pastures since those dark days, and for that- I am so thankful.

Healing after domestic abuse means:
💔 Learning to trust again.
💔 Reclaiming the identity they tried to strip away.
💔 Knowing love should never hurt.

I survived. And so can you.

If you are in an abusive relationship or know someone who is, please seek help. You are not alone. You are worthy. You are strong.

📞 National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233
💻 thehotline.org