Violence
I recently binged the limited series Maid on Netflix. It is based on one of my favorite books of the same name by Stephanie Land. It tells the story of a single mom who worked her ass off to leave her abusive partner in order to give herself and her daughter a better life. It is a damning portrait of the social safety nets in this country, the way being poor is stigmatized, and the way women have to bend over backward to prove they are being abused, especially when their bodies don’t show the marks of the scars they carry.
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month and every October I post a bunch of stats and ask people for money and share pictures of my mom and everyone is generous and kind. But honestly, my mom is a pretty “sympathetic victim”. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wasn’t being abused. It’s easy to feel bad for me and for her. She was just a nice person, trying to help her friend because the police wouldn’t do what they should have. But I wonder what the response would have been if she had been getting punched in the face every day and stayed. I wonder how many letters I would have received asking why she didn’t leave instead of the many I received sending their condolences for the tragic loss of an innocent woman. I wonder how many people would have asked me if I knew and why I didn’t do anything to stop it. If she had never had a bruise on her body, I wonder how many people would have questioned if she had ever been abused at all, even though she is dead.
My favorite podcast is called Terrible, Thanks for Asking. This is basically a podcast about emotional people with messy feelings. So, my people. You can find my Someone Dead Loves Me t-shirt and more death and feelings humor at Nora’s website
I’ll tell you a Not-So-Secret-Secret: For a while, I blamed Laurie—my mom’s friend who was subjected to horrible emotional abuse and abuses no one will ever know because she took them to her grave—for her death. This is a natural grief reaction of course. There are a lot of other people I blamed too; Laurie’s sister, the police, the shelter Laurie went to. This was all before I knew anything about domestic violence, but even afterward, it was hard to let go of that resentment. The constant drumbeat of why did it have to be my mom?
Not assigning blame to anyone is something I have to work on all the time. And that includes me. I don’t know why my mom went into a potentially dangerous situation, but I assume it was the same reason I would have for all the people I love the most—a little bit of hubris and a lot of compassion.
At the end of this, I am going to link to a bunch of domestic violence organizations that I hope you will consider donating your time or money to, but I am not going to specifically ask for that this year. What I am going to ask you to do is internalize the rest of what I am about to say.
The first time I experienced domestic violence was when my girlfriend got drunk on my birthday and punched me in the face. My nose was bleeding so much my friend took off her shirt and put it over my nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. When the police took her away, I begged them not to, I said she didn’t mean it, even as I held a bloody t-shirt on my face. I stayed with her for years after this incident.
I have been berated repeatedly. Yelled at over minor inconveniences. There were times I felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells. I have been financially threatened. I have been scared.
If you ask me why I advocate for domestic violence victims, I will site my mom. I will tell you how my mom was collateral damage in a man's violence. She lost her life. She paid the ultimate price.
Years ago, I wouldn’t have said I had experienced domestic violence and honestly, it feels incredibly uncomfortable to say so now. Emotional abuse doesn’t get the legal protections it deserves and it often leads victims to feel they are taking resources from people who “deserve” it. After all, doesn’t it seem worse to get pushed down the stairs than to be yelled at because you didn’t load the dishwasher fast enough?
The man that murdered my mom had a son around my age. I don’t know much about him. I know his dad called him after he murdered my mom. I know(?) he confessed to killing his stepmom and my mom before killing himself. And I’ve decided I want to find him. I always thought this day would come, that I would want to ask what his dad said to him, even if just because I am nosy. And so, six years after her death, I am ready to know.
I’ve talked about this a few times over the years; people always assuming if he was a decent person he would have reached out to me. That surely he was googling his dad’s name and finding the many newspaper articles with my interviews and statements. And I thought that way for a long time too. But I don’t know what his life was like. I don’t know what his dad did to him. I can’t even imagine the incredible courage it would take to contact a stranger and say “I am sorry my dad murdered your mom”. So until I know otherwise, I am choosing goodwill.
I mailed a request to the Pennsylvania State Police last week to get any police reports relating to my mom’s murder in order to maybe find out more information about him. And now I wait.
1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men will be victims of physical violence in their lifetimes. Those statistics are horrific. And they also leave out a lot.
I have raised thousands of dollars for domestic violence organizations over the past six years and I am eternally grateful for everyone who has donated. I remember every single person that has reached out to me and given money. But this year, I want to remind you of how far-reaching this is. Do not give money to me. Your community needs it. The domestic violence organizations in your community are likely struggling, especially after two years into a pandemic.
There is a line in Maid that stuck with me so much because it was something that made me gasp when I first learned it during my domestic violence training—On average, it takes a woman 7 times to leave her abusive partner. That’s 7 times of packing a bag. 7 times of finding a new place to live. 7 Times of worrying about finances. 7 times of weighing your options. 7 times of debating whether it’s better if your kid eats that night or if they see you get slapped. 7 chances of rolling the dice with your life.
Stephanie Land, the New York Times bestselling author of Maid is now happily married, with an adorable husband, several adorable dogs, and a few adorable kids. She made it. But she shouldn’t have had to work so hard and endure so much to get to where she is.
My sister Becky recently found some of my mom’s writings. I’ve always known that I got my writing abilities from her. But I can’t stop thinking of what she might have done with her life had it not been cut short.
One of her bucket list items was to write a book. I have been working so hard and will spend the rest of my life trying to cross that item off her list for both of us. Whenever I feel consumed by grief, I remind myself of something that I said to the first reporter I spoke to: I’m not going to let him steal my life too.
As always, if you or anyone you know are in an abusive relationship or think you might be or just think you need to talk, I will do anything to help you. You can reach me at: aleciapawloski@gmail.com
Some important organizations you should share resources for and give your money to:
https://www.sarc-maryland.org/
https://www.ywca.org/what-we-do/domestic-and-sexual-violence services
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