I'll hold back the tears as yours stream down (a domestic violence story)

My partner and I pull into a trailer park, spot the police cars and park near them, and notice the neighbors gathered outside talking quietly in circles, giving us wary looks. I don my 'Family Crisis Center' badge, grab my binder and we head to the trailer, as red and blue lights revolve intermittently on the outside walls of the trailer and on us. We knock and are let in by a police officer who proceeds to brief us on the situation: the husband started a verbal fight, and escalated to slamming his wife’s head into the fridge by holding a fistful of her hair, choking her son when he tried to intervene, and by threatening to kill her when he called from the jail asking for bail money. I sit on a dirty recliner listening to this woman cry out her frustration, her fears, and her despair. Her children sit nearby, quietly supporting her and occasionally rubbing her arm in an effort to console the inconsolable. Had her daughter not called the police, who called us, we might never have known what happened in that trailer that evening, and the ending to this story might have been very different.

This woman looks me in the eye, and we seem to have a connection somehow. I can see the hopelessness and overwhelming need for love in her eyes as she searches my face for some hope as she quietly says “I took his guns away and hid them at my dad’s house. He said he was going to kill me. What can I do?” We counsel her on her options, and as we stand to leave her eyes fill with tears. She seems so child-like in that moment, and she steps toward me. My training requires that I never instigate physical contact, so I am immensely grateful as she steps forward and into my arms, and clings to me like no ever has before. Little does she know that the entire visit I was doing my utmost to hold back the tears myself as I imagined myself in her place- what would I do if that were me? If my life lay in shards around me; if my husband, the man to whom I promised love and commitment who returned only abuse and fear is now locked away fuming; if my home was in shambles; if my son was lucky to be alive; if my daughter seeing something that could very well scar her forever; and if my self-esteem was damaged beyond comprehension: How could I ever begin again? How could I even make it through tomorrow? I walk out of her trailer that night with the scene and the feelings seared to my heart, and I knew I'd chosen the right profession, because I had felt that night that I was right where I belonged-standing in between the victims and their nightmares.