The Night That Changed Everything: A Child’s View of Domestic Violence”

Sometimes, the loudest pain is the one no one sees. This is my story — of watching my mother break under my father’s abuse, of growing up in fear and silence, and of learning, through forgiveness and faith, that even ashes can bloom again.

The Night That Changed Everything

I was seven when I saw my father strike my mother. That moment is etched into me like a scar — the sharpness of his voice, the echo of her cries, the way fear rooted me to the floor. Even now, 30 years later, that night remains painfully fresh.

His words had always cut deep, but that night, the cruelty turned physical. I realized the person meant to protect us could also destroy everything we loved.

Living Under Emotional Storms

Childhood should be filled with laughter and safety. Mine was filled with tension and fear. I watched my mother’s joy fade, her eyes dim, her spirit bend under invisible chains.

I remember sneaking into her room at night, finding her curled up, tears soaking her pillow. “It’s okay, Mama,” I whispered, hugging her frail frame. But nothing was okay. Not then, and for a long time, not ever.

Those nights shaped me. I shut my heart down, feared love, and developed a trauma I’m still working through — terrified of falling for a man like my father, cautious about trusting anyone, and always on guard.

Becoming Motherless — Forever

Eventually, my mother’s suffering became too much. She died, leaving us helpless in a home where love had been replaced by fear.

The pain deepened when we learned my father had been having an affair — the ultimate betrayal. The man who should have protected us had abandoned us completely.

Mental abuse doesn’t just destroy marriages; it steals the life out of mothers and leaves children adrift in grief and confusion.

The Wounds It Leaves Behind

I grew up careful with my emotions and words, burdened by guilt for not protecting my mother, and angry at my father for destroying our home.

Over time, I understood — my mother stayed because she loved. She hoped things would change. She believed in forgiveness. But in staying, she lost herself.

And we, her children, lost her long before she was gone.

Learning to Forgive and Surrender

For years, bitterness lived in me. I hated my father for the pain he caused. I feared men and doubted love. But I learned that holding onto bitterness doesn’t heal — it chains you to the past. I began the hard journey of forgiveness — not to excuse him, but to free myself. I surrendered my pain to God, asking Him to take control, to replace anger with peace. Forgiveness didn’t erase what happened, but it opened the door for healing. Slowly, the heaviness lifted. Slowly, I began to breathe again.

Breaking the Cycle

Today, I speak not from anger, but from healing and hope. What we don’t talk about, we repeat. Emotional abuse is real, and it destroys families just as deeply as physical violence. No child should grow up watching their mother disappear under the weight of pain. No woman should have to prove her worth to be treated with love. If you are living in silence — your voice matters. You deserve peace. You deserve to be seen, to be safe, and to be whole again.

A Life Reclaimed

I once thought my story was one of loss — and it was. But it is also one of survival. My mother’s strength lives in me — her prayers, her endurance, her quiet resilience. Though I still work through the trauma — the fear, the guarded heart, the hesitation to trust — I hold on to hope that I can love and be loved without fear. Through forgiveness and faith, I’ve learned I can’t change the past, but I can reclaim my future. I can break the cycle and choose peace — not just for myself, but for my mother’s legacy.

Your Voice Can Heal

If this story resonates with you — if you’ve lived through emotional abuse, or are still living in silence — know this:

You are not alone.

You are worthy of love, safety, and healing.

Your story matters.

We invite you to share your truth, speak your pain, and walk with us toward healing. This blog is a space for transformation — where brokenness meets grace, and silence gives way to strength.

Let’s break the cycle together.

Let’s reclaim our lives — one story, one voice, one step at a time.

“To give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;  that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.”
— Isaiah 61:3 (KJV)

And in my ashes, God is still growing something beautiful.

Your sister