Stronger Through Courage

Courage, patience, and hope are beautiful things once seen. I was young, alone, with no family, and in search of love. My parents were not mentally there for me as I was growing up, and I had no adult role model to look up to. Searching for a partner, I went out often and finally met the man who would become my husband. At the time, he was exactly what I thought I had wanted. I had no idea what was to come. Through the beatings, bruises, questions, and hurt, I finally found the hope and courage through 10 years of painful patience.

Sitting anxiously in the doctor’s waiting room, keeping my head down, arms crossed, I could feel the thumping of my heart beating fast. My palms were sweaty, and I knew the question the doctor would ask. “Where did those bruises come from?” I was a few months pregnant and there for a regular checkup. My husband would grab my arms as tight as you would hold onto a balloon in the blowing wind while he beat me. My arms were cold and had multiple blue and purple bruises, from top to bottom. What was I going to say? So many things raced through my mind while waiting for a knock on the door. It was so cold in the patient’s room that I had goose bumps. The time had come, the question had been asked, and I simply stated, “I was moving and carrying boxes up and down the stairs. That’s what caused the bruises.” There was no response from the doctor, we simply moved off the subject and the baby was the focus. I had succeeded in covering up what I silently wanted everyone to know.

It was a warm sunny day where the sun would kiss your skin and provide that comforting hug. I loved days like this. They would put a smile on my face. My husband, myself, and our new baby were in the car getting ready to run an errand. I can’t remember where we were going, but I remember the blows that I took that day and the prayers that were made. After people started to notice the bruises on my arms, my husband decided to go another route. One that no one would know of or could see and question. I was sitting in the back seat, parked on the side of a busy street, when the warm hug from the sun slowly began to fade while he overshadowed me. It was a cold shadow, which made my body shiver. Water filled my eyes, my heart started to race. I knew what was coming. His fist connected with my head and everything became a blur. The world started spinning like a ride at the carnival. Then one blow, right after another. As my head flung backwards, out of the corner of my eye I could see a young couple walking by on the sidewalk. I just prayed and prayed that they would make that phone call to 911. I knew they had to have seen what was going on. But they kept walking, made no phone call, and once again this incident passed with no change.

Eight years later and I was waiting. Now with two kids and living a couple hours away from the city, I had hoped that things would change. Things did change, but not the way I had prayed and hoped for. While the beatings continued, they lessened. I now would also have to sleep with my purse next to me. He would disappear with all of our money and car for days at a time. Sometimes his absence would give me relaxation. It would allow me to breathe, be myself and not live in fear daily.

After a week of being gone, he arrived home one early morning. I was sitting on the living room floor, playing with the kids, when he walked in the front door. I could tell something was not right. His eyes were huge, he did not blink, and the room stood still. My body began to get cold, my heart started racing, and I held the kids as tight as I could. He started to say things that didn’t make sense. Talking to family members that had passed on. I suspected this was due to his drug use, that he had been up for a week straight, and was now hallucinating. He instantly became angry and started towards the kitchen. I was so nervous I began to shake. As my body trembled, I held onto the kids and went straight for the front door. The door was locked. And in a panic, shaking, scared, all I could think about was saving the life of my children as I could hear the kitchen knife drawer opening. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him come around the corner with a knife in hand. I quickly managed to unlock the door and ran over to my neighbor’s house. I could barely talk as I tried to explain to her what had happened and told her to call the police. I was cold, hurt, and shaken.

That day, after 10 years of mental, physical, and emotional abuse, I found the courage to stand up for myself and my children. This feeling of hope came over me. I was overflowing with so many emotions. I felt like a butterfly that was just freed from their cocoon, no longer tied down, feeling like I was in a straitjacket daily. After feeling locked up in a prison for so many years, I was finally free. I could see the rainbow, glowing with so many bright colors of hope. Today was the day that I had been hoping, praying, and waiting for so patiently. I knew that I still had a long journey to go, courage gave me the key to get out, and now I could start healing.

Tara Perez is a student at Tohono O’odham Community College. Editor’s Note: If you or someone you love is the victim of domestic violence, there is help. Contact Stronghearts Native Helpline at 1-844- 7Native