Fear

I have been afraid countless times. Unfortunately being afraid is not an emotion I lack. It's not uncommon for me to be on high alert as I walk in a dark alley, as I am home alone and hear a loud noise, or even when someone touches me unexpectedly. However, these momentary times when your heartbeat stops for a second are not the ones I am referring to. Tonight I will tell you about the time I felt true fear.

We've all heard of it, and some, I'm sure, have already experienced it's cold and rough grip: The mind-stopping, heart racing, time-slowing fear that flows like ice through our veins and freezes us where we stand. This fear that can so quickly penetrate every cell of our bodies and souls can be paralyzing; a lesson I was soon to learn.

I work in dangerous situations all the time with my line of work, both at the county jail and as an advocate. Perhaps I had become accustomed to the thought, or was incredibly naive about my work... either way I was not emotionally prepared for what I experienced this week.

I was working the front desk at the Crisis Center, greeting clients and studying domestic violence material for an upcoming presentation when a woman came in with her young son asking to see one of our employees. An intern took her son to keep him entertained while they worked on her case, and I continued to work on the files I was cleaning out. As I was putting some away, I was caught by the gal working the case: "Her husband has a death threat out for her, so if a man comes in asking for her I need you to keep him in the lobby, call me and tell me_________ (we determined a code that would let her know the situation), I will lock off the offices and call 911, you remain calm and out front until police arrive."

I agreed, told her I would go shut the door to the room her son was playing in so he couldn't be seen. It wasn't until I sat down that I absorbed what she had said. How in the world was I to remain composed, make that call, then go back to working without alerting him? I stared at my paperwork without comprehension as the time passed by and I tried not to jump every time someone passed the front door. A few men walked in at different times, and I must have appeared extraordinarily awkward as I tried to relax my tense body and ask in a normal tone "How can I help you?" wondering if this gentleman would actually be her husband hunting her down in his blinding rage.

As I left work later that day I breathed a huge sigh of relief and felt a load lift off my shoulders, and then it hit me-- I had just had a very small sample of what these women experience every day after they leave an abuser. The overwhelming fear, the jumpiness, the paranoia, the pressure to protect others, the uncertainty, and the exhaustion that comes of being constantly on guard against a blow that may or may not come today, or tomorrow...
 

"Why does she not leave?" This question unfailingly appears at every discussion about domestic violence I have. My answer after this week is this:

Because maybe when he comes home she gets yelled at, or maybe he calls her names, or maybe he slaps her around a little, but that's predictable, she knows what he will do when he comes home from work, because that's what he always does. This is a pattern he has followed for years. What's petrifying is the thought that all the threats he's hissed at her could come true, that he could be around the corner waiting for her as she leaves the grocery store, that he could be sitting quietly in her dark home when she gets back tonight, that he could follow her to work tomorrow... Could you handle that kind of fear? Can you possibly see why she is willing to submit to a few more punches rather than risk her life and the lives of her precious children?

I will never forget that feeling, and I have an empathy and respect for women everywhere braving that fear every moment. God bless them. I pray that God will help us to protect them.