Often I wonder if surviving domestic violence was worth it.

I mean, after all, I am the one with C-PTSD who couldn’t get a bogus DV charge dismissed while a guy who beat me and created a long-lasting TBI got to walk away unscathed.

My experience of surviving is that the court sees a victim who doesn’t show up (regardless of why or evidence beforehand) as proof that there was no violence. My experience of having gone through being the girl who didn’t show up was that I didn’t know there was a date to show up and even if I had, I was in no physical state to show up.

My experience of surviving is that when the boy shows up because you really didn’t do anything wrong and he’s there to fight for your honor, the court doesn’t care. Being a survivor of domestic violence means that I am legally labeled as abusive. My C-PTSD is seen as violent behavior, as evidenced by the egregious amount of times I was blamed.

Sometimes it feels like it was a farce to have survived.

What was the point of living through abuse if the world is so cruel to survivors?

Why live in a world where even people in social services (like my boyfriend’s stepmom) are victim blaming women who then willl marry victim blaming men and then say they support survivors by yelling at you that your C-PTSD is too much for them?

What’s the point? Why have survived if surviving means being punished?

I didn’t survive horrific abuse to then be further harmed by the people around me.

I read articles about women who survived domestic violence and am in constant awe of how strong they are, telling their story. It isn’t about needing to know it is abuse any more, but rather now about knowing I am allowed to tell people that my story isn’t theirs to bully or make light of just because I don’t push for the worst to be told.

Some people believe that surviving abuse means you have to tell the worst of your trauma in order for people to believe you. I see this as being partially true. In some sense, the average listener doesn’t believe that C-PSTD happens. In my experience going through the worst experiences make us better equipped to help people.

I once interviewed to be an intern for a local fire station.

The job: be a victim adovcate for familes and people experiencing various crisis situations, specfically those surrounding domestic violence.

Things were going great.

Until they realized I was a survivor of domestic violence. Then they realized I was exactly who they never wanted to hire. They would never say it, or admit it, but my forthcoming admittance that I want to support people in ways I wasn’t “triggered” them. They didn’t want to hear that someone was coming in to help people. Especially someone who would never say she was harmed by their system but you could tell she was. They hated me.

Everyone loves me as a clinician.

And when some HR departments and interview teams hear my story, they are so untrained in how to handle it. Their bias against survivors of domestic violence is exactly why the people in family services and social support are improperly trained. If they would hire people whose lived experience matched their treatment methods, it would be great.

Instead, many systems of social support exist to allow people who don’t care or who are unable to get proper training or pay to treat people who deserve better.

My argument was directly, “Don’t these victims deserve better?”

And somehow it sounded like, “Why aren’t you doing better?”

Maybe it was a little of both, and maybe they were able to look into me and see that not only did I experience severe domestic violence, but also that I was someone who had moved on and away from everything that meant and entailed. Maybe my anger is also that I would have done so much good to help these victims of violence and in crisis.

I simply wanted the system to see me for once.

My resume was amazing enough to get me through the door.

I have accomplishments that make me look really cool for 26.

But my proudest accomplishments are the moments of some of the big ones. Like when I auditioned kids for a show and one kid goes, “I’m so nervous, I forgot all the words.” And I just handed them the sets of audition pieces. It was big enough to face anxiety and bigger still to tell someone you didn’t know that you were anxious. I was happy to help.

Or when the one client I had needed a way to know if something was a delusion or a hallucination. Poor thing was freaking out. I go, “Well why not take a picture or a video and come back to it in a minute or two? It’s probably going to be accurate.” Because some of therapy is guidance and some of therapy is giving real-world, useful coping skills.

And when I was teaching summer camp and my student has a stuffed animal she carried with her everywhere. And she goes to play dodgeball with the animal. And I simply go, “Just remember, you and your stuffed animal are one person. If either of you get hit, you’re both out.” Because I know how kids be sometimes about the little ones.

Or even the best friends at the summer camp who wanted to do art instead of sports at a camp that was half arts/tech and half sports. I let them make friendship bracelets for half of the sport time if they assured me they would wear sneakers. I never told them my boss was the one saying all this, but he ultimately seemed happy with my compromise.

To me, I’d be a great victim advocate or crisis counselor.

Not because I want to deal with dumb rules and administration. But because I have so much good experience with them. I know how to talk to bosses or co-workers and my “clients” (campers) to get a compromise for things. I know how to listen to my team when they see someone might not be a good fit, even if I don’t always see it that way.

But all a lot of shelters and crisis centers hear me say is “I have personal experience with this work” and then hear my clincial prowess. The HR teams will be so impresed. They take this as really nice information, until they decide not to hire me. It may be why I end up applying to a lot of counseling agencies and getting hired with minimal qualifications.

I survived horrific abuse, but at what benefit?

It’s not like the agencies who fail victims and survivors want us working there.

I can make change and help people with trauma and dissociative disorders, but it has to be in the context of a clinical room with people who allow me to be a little quirky. It’s great that I haven’t had a clinical supervisor say I’ve been anything but excellent, but sometimes it isn’t really important. I wanted to make systemic changes.

The irony of all this?

Even when you get COT’d because of a bogus charge (we love a neighbor who gets you arrested for being in a severe panic attack; may she burn), the COT the court mandates you must use has a “Patient Rights and Polices” paper. Um? Maybe don’t give this to a clinician… just a pro tip. Because COT programs made this way don’t care.

I fought for three months to tell a COT facility that they were unethical and improperly licensed. (Yes, they were unethical for reasons aside from that.) I have worked in many improperly run facilities, and even they were at least trying to be honest about their ability to help and posture toward their clients. COT generally isn’t. It’s the truth.

The COT facility gives patient rights that state very directly, “If you are dissatisfied with your treatment, you have the right to find a provider or facility who can better address your issues.” This seems really mundane, until you see it’s a farce to all of them there.

You try explaining to a COT facility that already is improperly licensed that their paperwork states that you shouldn’t have to express why you need better care. I was told that it was a “life skills” class. I still am yet to understand what a DV diversion class achieves for anyone. I am both more traumatized every week while also more becoming more overwhelmed at my neighbor, the courts, and the police; all of whom believed that a mental health crisis is domestic violence. I say that’s abusive in its own right.

But I wouldn’t recommend telling a DA that.

You are logically sound and clinically accurate. Legally, though, they don’t like women who are fighty and right in their convinctions. Surviving abuse means knowing how to define abuse and also distinguish abuse from just a mistake/unhealthy response.

Yet patterns of behavior against survivors are allowed.

Which was where this tangent began.

What was the point of surviving abuse just to be told it’s a character defect?

Why go through living if the people in my life have to either be so willing to put up with someone like me (a victim-blaming narrative I cannot re-word) or I have to be willing to supress my passions and desire to tell my story? Why are those my only options?

Why is it: find compassionate people or hide your inner fire?

Wouldn’t you expect someone who’s survived three years of torment and severe abuse resulting in a C-PTSD diagnosis to be really, really, angry? Are we not supposed to be angry and distraught that our lives are forever changed from one series of events?

I have wanted to change this for a long time.

My heart has been alongside those misunderstood for awhile.

To fully be immersed in the duality of being the kick-ass therapist who can treat the complex trauma and disorders – and – the severely disabled woman who cannot undo the damage of having those disorders herself? It is one of the most amazing dichotomies.

I am mad that systems of power see me as violent and angry.

But I am delighted when I get the client in front of me who sees that I am a lot quirky (woo hoo autism) but a whole lot more ready to help. Because getting to be the person who someone trusts with the things that harmed them most? That’s the beauty of being a clinical counselor. I may not have it all together. I certainly don’t expect my clients to. And when they open up, slowly at first, and then flooding down instantly, I see there is just someone in front of me who wants to be seen, heard, and listened to for their words.

I hate that I survived abuse. I hate that I have to live with the effects.

I also really like the ability it gives me to not judge a client who isn’t opening up.

I really like the way surviving abuse and being a certified hot mess has allowed me to reason with some of my clients by simply saying, “This is a skill that will help, and I can’t make you do it. It’s completely your choice, you know.” To let them know I am both aware of that they hear me but also that their autonomy isn’t an issue in my counseling room.

Sometimes clients would profusely apologize for not practicing a skill or even relapsing and my hot mess hat came out and goes, “And? You’re human.”

I have never seen someone feel more therapeutically at ease.

I sometimes wish I didn’t survive.

And sometimes, I consider all the things I’ve done because of it.

And almost, just almost, there becomes a line of neutrality.

XOXO,

Dorothy B