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Brook, IN, United States
Abuse doesn't stop at the court room. Melinda has shared her battles in her life and through the court room as she navigates through the legal system Bringing encouragement, insight and empowerment to those that are in a abusive relationship. She is in the process of creating a new life, speaking engagements to "Break the Silence" of abuse, while putting a face to abuse. She is currently working on writing a book about her experiences as a Survivor.View short Bio here- https://www.patheos.com/blogs/ahappymedium/2013/02/notbrokenbutbrave/

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Her tiny fists

I have seen my children in many states of emotion during their young lives. I have seen them cling to one another for dear life as they would watch in horror as their father would assault me. Their eyes would show fear, hate and disgust in a flash of a second. All well knowing that to get in between him and I could be dangerous. More then once would one of the older children try to do so. My middle daughter with her tiny fists clinched in tight little balls beating on her father's back and shoulder's on more occassions then I choose to remember. I could her her pleading and begging him to please stop, leave my Mom alone! Please Dad stop! My son would try to intervene to get her to stop as this would cause him to become more enraged.

He would choke or kick me harder, knowing that they were upset and to prove some sick point. During the assult I would try to protect them so they wouldn't get hurt, asking him, somehow to please stop, not in front of the kids. I would say let's go to our room. I would try to gain some composure. Knowing how wild and broken I must look. Holding back tears to reassure the kids I was ok.

I have so much respect for those kids, they tried so hard to protect me. They would dry my tears if they're father wasn't around. They would hug me and gently tell me everything would be ok. All were angry and sad not knowing what words to comfort me. My middle daughter sometimes getting me ice and tending to my wounds even if they were only wounds from a broken heart. Many times my oldest son watching over his baby sister as many times she would just go into a state of quiet tears and fear. I could hear him trying to ease her pain that it will be ok. The next minute he would get angry himself about the things he father did or does.

Their tiny faces so etched with fear and worry, they shouldn't have to at their age. They should be kids, running outside, playing and just enjoying their lives. Not tending to worrying about me. They shouldn't have to worry about their own physical safety. As that was an occurance that happened just as regularly... Many times I would find them huddled together praying quietly, all crying and trying to console one another.

We each had dreams of getting away. They actually had day dreams of the father they wanted. Someone that would make them laugh, someone that would like baseball and some sports alittle. Someone that fished or camped. They wanted someone that wouldn't yell or hit. Someone that wouldn't call them stupid or dumb*ss. They wanted someone to love them unconditionally and not hit me. I yearned to make their wishes come true and prayed that their Dad would turn around. As the years flew by prayers unanswered. I knew if we didn't leave soon I would be leave in a box.

My brave girl pictured in white shirt about the tender age of 3

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