Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 8412 GoodLifeFamilyMag.com SEPTEMBER | OCTOBER 2016 goodTO KNOW “Iam a victim of domestic violence. Up until the past year, I never placed a label on my childhood trauma or categorized what I experienced as domestic violence. After all, it didn’t happen directly to me. I just watched from underneath the closet door. My memories still impact me to this day, but I always thought what I experienced was not domestic violence because I was not hit, right? It was a secret, a secret for only my Mother and me. My Mother left when I was six months old, and my Father later divorced her because of her infidelity. From all accounts, my Mother developed a severe meth addiction shortly after, which led to a long road of bad choices. My Father, whom I love dearly, raised me with his new wife, and later alongside my half- brother and sisters. The courts allowed my Mother to take me every other weekend. The majority of the time she would never show, but when she did, I was filled with excitement to see her and also fear of what would happen when she would take me away from my Father. I would kick and scream and throw myself down on the sidewalk pleading not to go. It started when I was about five years old. I can’t recall the first time that it happened or the last, but I can recall many times in between. There were lots of drugs and plenty of arguments every time I went to see her. My Mother’s boyfriend would put me in the bedroom closet and shut the door when it was about to happen. I would cover my ears as hard as I could and close my eyes hoping that it would be over quickly, but I could still see glimpses from underneath the door. Eventually, she left her abusive boyfriend and married It Happened To Her A glimpse into the life of a 23-year-old who witnessed domestic violence as a child, held onto the secret with all her might, and ultimately found healing in sharing her story. “My mother’s boyfriend would put me in the bedroom closet and shut the door when it was about to happen. I would cover my ears as hard as I could and close my eyes hoping that it would be over quickly, but I could still see glimpses from underneath the door.”