If any of the below describes something that could happen in your relationship, whether you are married, cohabitating, or taking your privacy and relationships for granted as a couple Washington-state licensed independent clinical social workers I know did for 1567 days because they subscribed to disgraceful levels of homophobia after being trained at Seattle Counseling Service and Friends of Youth, you don’t have to put with this. Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE. If you’re Deaf like me, call 1-855-812-1001 from your videophone. If you’re using a teletypewriter, call 1-800-787-3224. Text BEGIN to 8-8-7-8-8. If you are in an emergency situation, please call 9-1-1.
On June 23, 1984, my parents married.
When I was in high school at Sycamore, I had an SMLES on November 21, 2005. My hamstrings were cut and sewn back together, my left Achilles was too.
I had to take almost a whole year off. Recently, my father told me that he thought about murdering me and then himself after a physio told him I’d never walk again in 2006 (and today, I still walk). My mother was very sick with diverticulitis. She had a colostomy, then had it reversed in September or October 2016.
She came home the day before my 16th birthday. I remember getting out of the shower to see her walk in to awe and wonder at the new tiling Dad put in!
On Saturday, I started reading McBryde Johnson’s “Too Late to Die Young”, which slowly shifted my thinking to being for to now being against physician-assisted suicide.
In the evening, I heard my parents arguing, but couldn’t hear what about. I went to the study, my room, but then heard crying–my mother!
I raced to the stairs and started to walk up up. My sister pulled me back. Our father and mother were arguing about who’d make dinner the next night.
My father had pressed on her open wound in attempting to intimidate her by getting into her face, likely.
I remember, I remember…she struggled to breathe, I remember how she said…
“𝑰 𝑯𝑼𝑹𝑻!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
How she cried.
I didn’t know, didn’t know at all what to do–should’ve called 9-1-1, but I was just a child.
At then I made the decision: I needed to go to a deaf school, so I could stay alive. And I did. I graduated from the deaf school.
And I went to Gallaudet University. On April 24, 2012, I opened a new e-mail address as I’d been locked out of my old one due to two-factor authentication and not having access to my mobile phone ending in 8806.
Very grateful to every mandated reporter who reported suspected child abuse or vulnerable adult abuse. To my mother, for never giving up on me, my sister, and my brother. And to my teachers in K-12 and beyond!
I am a survivor of domestic violence. And I am grateful I am here!
Last Updated: 2025-Jul-26
Adapted from a Facebook post originally posted June 1, 2025