Stories of Survivors
From Danger to Safety
Michelle came to Casa Myrna Vazquez (CMV) as a guest in 1993. She was a valued member of the Board of Directors of CMV who resigned to attend college full time in addition to taking care of her two children. This is her story.
When I got married I never thought that I would become an abused woman. The abuse didn’t happen overnight. It started with my husband putting me down and calling me names. We would fight about his drinking and he would say that I brought out his temper, that it was my fault. And I really believed it for a while.
After we got married, we lived with his father, and then I had two abusers. His father would watch me and follow me everywhere, checking my mail, and listening in on my phone conversations. He would tell my husband everything I was doing, day in and day out. Every time Brian would abuse me his father would say, “that’s right, tell her to get out of here.” I had nowhere to go. My family was 5,000 miles away in Ireland. I did think about getting out of the marriage, and stopping the lies to my family. But to them I was living the American dream: a wonderful husband and two kids, a big beautiful house, a loving family, money, and my green card.
The final night, the night I did leave, Brian was drunk, yelling and carrying on, and I told him I didn’t want him to sleep in our bedroom. All I remember is the kids red in the face, frantic, screaming, “Daddy, don’t hit mommy.” I don’t know how I got the strength, but I got up, and picked up my kids. I had one in each arm, and he was throwing my dresser drawers at us and saying, “Get out, get out!” I really thought he was going to kill us. I got the kids into the car and we left.
There was blood all over me, but I didn’t realize that my head was split open. I drove to a friend’s house where we called the police. They took Brian into the station and told me I could go back to the house. I was sure his father was in the house, but they said, “We didn’t see anybody. And if you have any more trouble, just call us.” When I walked into the house it was very quiet, but I knew his father was there, because everything was cleaned up. He always cleaned the mess after Brian beat me up so it looked as if nothing had ever happened. His father started yelling, “why did you put my son in jail? I’m going to show you.” I picked up the phone to call the cops but he had cut the line. He went to his daughter’s house, and for the duration of that night, they were in and out of the driveway, beeping the horns and flashing the car lights. I sat inside on the stairs with the biggest knife I could find and if anybody came into the house I would have killed them. That’s how petrified I was.
I called the Welfare office and said that I was running out of money and couldn’t go back to my husband. I was really afraid they’d take my kids away because I had been with this abusive man and now we were homeless. I had no idea there were shelters, or that anybody would believe my story. I didn’t know this kind of thing happened to other people.
The Welfare office referred my children and I to an emergency shelter, and then we went to a transitional living program. For the first time I didn’t feel like I was crazy or that it was my fault. I started to learn about the cycle of abuse and I realized that for every woman the last straw is different. But regardless of whether it’s a name, a push, a shove, or a gun, I know now that it’s all abuse.
We lived there for over a year. The staff encouraged me in believing in my dreams. Sharing my story with other women who had been through the same kind of thing helped a lot too. I also learned about different cultures, values, and norms—diversity. It has absolutely made a difference in my life. My ex-husband was a very prejudiced man. This experience just reinforced how wrong he was. It also showed me that domestic violence doesn’t just happen in one culture, or to one class, or to one color. It happens all over and it’s very real.