The Sun
Sunnyvale's Newspaper

With help, abuse victim flies free

By Deborah Taylor-Hollis

I have the neatest new friend. She didn't exist three years ago. Back then, she was still married to an abusive, controlling, self-centered woman-hater, taking his pain, living under his dangerous regulations. She was forced to go through labor at home, without help, even though her doctor had decided she needed a controlled cesarean delivery for her twins. At times, she had no phone, no money, and no ability to leave. She put up with his abuse, his control and his knack for conning everyone around them about what a great family man he was. She lived by his rules, with full support of their church.

When that woman started changing, moved out from under him and got a lawyer, she became a butterfly, showing her kids that women can be in charge, that all men aren't abusers and that she could change her life. That's when I met her, about seven-eighths of the way through her metamorphosis.

She grew up here, just a few doors from me and lived here right up until this spring, when she moved just far enough away that her ex couldn't park in front of the house "watching," couldn't come right into the back yard and stare at her through the living room windows, couldn't stalk her while he neglected the business that was supposed to support his five kids. He still has that business--and he hasn't paid a dime in child support in over six months.

She was just another mom at the preschool to me, somebody I didn't know except on sight. Then, one day, I saw this beauty frozen in fear, fighting back tears, and I did what my parents raised me to do. I walked up to her and said, "You look like hell. Come on outside and tell me about it." And, to her credit, she did. The old mom would have lied and avoided opening up, downplayed the tragedy she was living--like how, even then, he was waiting outside school to "follow her home" again, after a year of separation, after countless police visits, after several restraining orders.

She told me what was going on, and I believed her. For her, that was surprise, even then, near the end. Usually, people didn't. They assumed she exaggerated, she was crazy. The police were skeptical, the church dogmatic and prejudiced toward her mate, their friends incredulous and often dismissive. I believed her unless she was proven wrong, and I'm glad I did. I watched the nut case follow her daily, watched him load the kids into his car without child seats for the little ones, watched him intrude. She didn't dare start fights with the kids around. She wanted to protect them from the him they didn't see, and he knew when they were around, he had the upper hand.

Only two other close friends at school knew, but I pushed her to tell everyone--to get out from under the shadow. And they believed her, too. While she oozed through the legal system and hid from her stalker, we made calls, gave support and enjoyed this new woman coming into her own. She and I both took each other at face value that day, and I met a whole new person, one who keeps growing and getting better. Her two oldest kids, not yet in their teens, have also suffered major damage at the hands of their father. We will help them grow up safer, more secure and better prepared to evaluate relationships.

Why am I telling you this? Because, even though you may think all the people you know are "OK," even if you don't live with the raging fear, you probably have someone in your circle who isn't all right, who's walking on eggshells because of their partner. You can smile, make small talk and walk away. Or you can ask what's wrong and hope they have the courage to tell you the story. Then you can believe them. That will help more than anything else you will do. And another new person may be born. Another butterfly will soar.

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This article appeared in the Sunnyvale Sun, July 8, 1998.
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