Thriving After Domestic Violence: A Personal Story
By Emily Wyrick
I Am a Survivor
43.5 million. That is approximately how many women in the US will experience some form of domestic violence in their lifetime. That’s about 34% or 1 in 3. I am one of the three. A statistic that used to bring me shame and fear but now gives me strength. I am not a victim, I am a survivor.
I have not told my story publicly before, and I hate to say that it is probably not something that is unique. Perhaps, this will be the message someone needs to hear in order to realize they are stronger than they believe themselves to be. It took me 8 years to believe in myself, and when I did, it was not easy by any measure.
If she could see our life now, I don't think she would believe it could belong to her, but it does.
The Abuse
Our marriage started like any other, with love. With a baby on the way. It wasn’t until our child was born that something changed.
I was not the beautiful woman anymore, but fat and worthless. I wasn’t allowed to have rest after having a child but was forced into ‘wifely duty’ in a marriage bed that physically hurt me each time. And I stayed, through the abuse and the frequent cheating, thinking my children deserved to live in a family with both of their parents.
I thought, maybe I could do something to change how I acted and reacted; that his anger and infidelity were my fault.
After my second child was born, I realized that his anger wouldn’t stay focused on me. While resting with a newborn girl in my lap, I heard a sound that chilled me to my bones. A blood curdling scream from my 3-year-old son, who came running to me holding his ears. He had picked up our son by his ears. Our son’s crime? Playing quietly with his little sister’s toys in her room. From that moment on, I knew that I had to do whatever I could to protect my child, my innocent son.
Sometimes I was successful, other times I wasn’t. No matter how many times I begged for him to leave our son alone, his fragile head would be smacked before I could get between them. He would call our son vile names that still have a lasting effect over a decade later. I would be pushed, shoved and called names almost daily. My self-worth was the lowest of my life.
As for my photography business, I wasn’t allowed to be more successful than he was. I was told that I charged too much and asked why I was leaving so often for sessions. My children would cling to me when I had to leave, begging for me to take them with me. I was called a “sh-t mom” for leaving my kids to go to work.
I felt used, disgusted, devastated and more betrayal than ever before when he celebrated our 8th anniversary by posting naked photos of me online without my knowledge or consent, asking if other men would like to take a turn with me. That same year, at the height of the Covid pandemic, my 7-year-old son was picked up by his arm and thrown to the ground, leaving bruises. I had had enough and I finally left.
The Breaking Point
I went to my family in West Virginia with both of my children in tow, seeking peace. A peace we found. Living with both children in the hills of Elkins we found happiness. A routine. For a whole month I could breathe again. My children played loudly and didn’t hide when they heard footsteps. They slept peacefully, without worrying about being called names or being hurt.
Then, a month later I was given a promise of change. He begged for us to come home and to be given another chance. And so I went. Things were better, until they weren’t.
Upon yet another military move, I thought a fresh start would make things better and would change how our family lived. Instead, we were more isolated than ever being 3,000 miles away from all of my family and my support system.
The violence and drinking got worse. His outbursts were more extreme. The shoving and pushing of me returned along with the verbal accusations of me cheating. The name calling towards both me and my son occurred almost daily.
The day that I realised was the breaking point, was when he turned on my daughter. Up until that point, he thought she was perfect. Never saying or doing anything harmful to her, even spoiling her. In his eyes, every cry she had was my son’s fault.
It was only a few days before Christmas. I scoured the internet for a light show, which was a tradition my children looked forward to each and every year, although this particular year was going to be different. It was an hour’s drive away from home and he was drunk.
Trying to put on a brave face for the kids, I ignored his belligerence throughout the light show. As we were leaving, I needed to use the restroom so I parked and ran inside, trying to be as quick as possible so my children wouldn’t be with him too long alone. Leaving the bathroom I could hear him screaming inside the car at the sobbing children.
They had asked where I went, and he wouldn’t tell them. They naturally got upset, as children do and instead of explaining, he screamed and scared them.
When I got in the driver’s seat and tried to calm the situation, he reached and shook my daughter’s car seat violently in his attempt to quiet her. I slapped him in the chest, trying to do anything to redirect his anger and save my daughter. It worked. A punch to the stomach and many vile words later, he ignored the kids. The drive home was agony.
When we got home, I wouldn’t let him remove the kids from their car seats. We stayed in the car for two hours, while I begged him to let us go to a hotel. When we eventually went into the house I stayed locked in my bedroom with both kids and both dogs scared for my life. I cried for hours coming to the realization that something needed to change.
I spent 6 months secretly planning, saving, and figuring out how to leave. Finally in June 2021, I left.
Building Another Life
It’s been 5 years since I made the terrifying leap out of an abusive marriage and became a single mother. With very little help, I did it. I escaped.
That October I was granted a Domestic Violence Protection Order (DVPO) and I finally felt safe again. While my battles were long from over, this was where I started to truly begin anew. My children and I felt peace again. I started therapy and began looking for friends.
I was allowed to hide in an office during anxiety attacks when my ex-husband called threatening to steal the children and that he would never allow me to see them again. When he would call with threats, my co-workers and boss would shelter me and reassure me. My friends supported me through calls with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) and his office when I wasn’t being supported financially and when he tried to take both myself and my children off his insurance illegally. Even his own father helped when I was in a car accident and he refused to give me the car insurance information.
These little events gave me more and more strength to grow and build my own life. I was reminded that I was strong enough, I was good enough and that I was a better mother, a better person, and a better me without his cruelty dragging me down.
A year after this process started, I brought the magic back for my children’s Christmas without any help from him, without any help from my parents. To see the difference a year of peace could bring brought me to tears that morning. My children’s elves had made our entire home snow and Santa filled our living room with the most amazing toys. My children unwrapped gifts at their pace, no yelling or being told to slow down or speed up. Just magic and happiness. This felt like my biggest accomplishment.
Today, our life looks nothing like the life we escaped. We have a little homestead where my children have room to grow, explore, laugh loudly and simply be kids. Both of my children have true friendships and they have a home where they never have to wonder whether they are safe. Most importantly, they have a Dad who shows them every day that a father’s hands are meant to hug, guide and protect his children, never to hurt them.
Somewhere along the way, I found myself again too. I rebuilt the photography business I once wondered if I could manage alone, and today it is thriving. Our days are filled with sports, animals, muddy shoes, friends coming through the door, photographs to edit, family dinners and all the beautiful ordinary chaos I once could only dream about.
I was terrified that leaving would destroy everything. Instead, leaving gave us the chance to build everything.
So when I see the number 43.5 million, I no longer feel ashamed to know I am one of them. I think about the woman I was five years ago, terrified of what would happen if I stayed and equally terrified of what would happen if I left.
If she could see our life now, I don’t think she would believe it could belong to her, but it does. There is love without fear. A husband who cherishes me. A Dad who protects our children. A home filled with laughter. A business I rebuilt. And, finally a true feeling of peace.
This experience is something that happened to me; but it is not who I am. I survived. My children survived. And together, we built a beautiful life.
Emily Wyrick is an internationally acclaimed and published photographer who specializes in capturing the tender moments of expectant mothers and the innocent beauty of newborns. She prides herself on the ability to make her clients feel comfortable and familiar, as if you’ve known each other for years. Emily is owner and founder of Fingers and Toes Photography. She is winner of the 2024 forest awards for newborn and family photography.
Spread the word
Medical Disclaimer: All content found on the HER Health Collective Website was created for informational purposes only and are the opinions of the HER Health Collective experts and professional contributors. The Content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health providers with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this Website. If you think you may have a medical emergency, call your doctor, go to the emergency department, or call 911 immediately.
