The Ripple Effect
I am a child of domestic violence. Most people don't know that about me. I won’t specify who or when or where, because the details aren’t important. However, I spent a large part of my childhood in a home that was terrifying. It was a home that included an abusive alcoholic that made every day feel uncertain. Let me say from the beginning, this person never laid a hand on me. This person never mistreated me directly in any way that I can recall. I witnessed the abuse of a family member for over 5 years. I was very young when it started, and unfortunately some of my most vivid childhood memories contain images violence. I don’t blame the person that I loved. That person has reasons why they were willing to accept this kind of treatment, and this story isn’t about them. That person is still a dearly loved and valued person, and that will never change. This story is about me. This is the story of the little girl hiding behind the chair in the living room. A child terrified and