If I could write a letter to me
Four years ago I went on my first emergency call with police to a domestic violence scene. One call was all it took, and I knew I was made for advocacy. At 18 years old I had already seen my first case of domestic violence at my job in a geriatric center where I literally jumped between the victim and her abuser (do not try this at home!), and knew deep in my soul that I could do this for the rest of my life. I have seen some of the darkest horrors human beings can inflict on each other. I have cried with victims as they've shared their stories from hell and fought PTSD as a result. I've held clients as they shake after a night terror or assessed injuries to determine medical care. For years I've mediated conflicts, counseled endlessly, and encouraged and empowered women to rise from the ashes. Looking back makes me wish that the 24 year old woman I am could write a letter to the 18 year old girl I was, so here are the five lessons I've learned as an advocate:
Patience will be pried from you as clients continuously flip-flop between leaving and staying with their abuser, as you agonize over the constant lack of monetary resources and manpower, and as you learn to communicate tough love with gentle encouragement. Long nights of resolving conflicts between residents will slowly teach you that this is the first time these victims have been on equal footing with and can disagree with the opposition. They are practicing, and you are assisting. You will come to know that love is never black and white, and leaving an abuser is not a simple 'pack up and move' task to be completed. Praying for patience is necessary, even when the process of learning it is painful.
The Lethality Assessment Protocol (LAP) was quite the vivid tool to use when I did presentations for the community. It's a series of 11 questions to quickly evaluate a victim's danger level, or the chances of them being killed in the near future. A yes to any of the first three questions means they are extremely high risk and should be brought in despite any financial or bed-space limitations. Having a client whisper "yes" as I asked if they had ever been choked was sobering. Some had even lost count of how many times they'd been strangled and almost killed. The slightest miscalculation or misstep in reaching out for help could cost the victim their life. It wasn't until I sat in an emergency room at 3 AM watching a woman seize in pain off the bed (in spite of a morphine drip) after her husband attacked her with a baseball bat did I start to process what I was fighting against.
There are only a handful of times I have ever felt true fear, that icy feeling that electrifies your every nerve to panic, that makes every cell in your body shrivel in terror. I felt that the day an ex-military sharp shooter threatened to kill every man, woman and child in the building until he got to his wife and kids. Not many people walk into work and examine the photos of abusers who had been lingering nearby waiting for an opportunity to strike. I strapped on my handgun every day with the clear understanding that I might be the only thing standing between an abuser and a building full of defenseless women and children. I felt that same fear as I approached vehicles in the parking lot and told the loitering driver to leave the property, wondering if this was a man who had called and threatened us the night before. I could barely move the day I stood at the front desk and watched as a drunk abuser put the full strength of his body into trying to breach the front doors, just feet from where I stood. You'll come to find that fear vanishes when the Holy Ghost guides you on what move to make and replaces fear with courage.
My favorite author Gavin DeBecker describes an exercise where you picture the most horrific thing someone could do to another person, and then realize that if you can imagine it, someone has done it. I've sat across the desk from victims as I would advise and then observe them calling Child Protective Services because they witnessed or allowed abuse to happen to their children, because for a moment it meant that they would experience a brief reprieve. I counseled a woman who found out her young child had been sexually assaulted by a young neighbor only two years older. You will quickly learn that drugs, alcohol and many other addictions numb the nightmare for these victims and their loved ones. You will judge others and their coping mechanisms less harshly.
A client came into shelter for only a handful of days and was already preparing to exit. Like so many others she came in with nothing but the clothes on her back (for most it's too dangerous to pack, so they are forced to pretend they are going to run errands and escape) and was leaving with some basic necessities and little money (as one of the first tactics employed by abusers is to drain all bank accounts to force the victim out of hiding). She was saying her goodbyes when she approached my desk, clearly hiding something in her lap as she sat across from me. After thanking me for helping her into shelter and keeping her safe, she pulled a glass tupperware bowl into view. It was full to the brim with candy, and she said she wanted to give it to me so all the staff could enjoy a treat as a show of her gratitude for our efforts. I started to cry as I realized the personal sacrifice she had made to buy that, and will always consider that to be a real-life example of the Widow's Mite.
I will forever be grateful for my time as a Victim Advocate, I will never forget a single memory of it, good or bad. If you want something to change your perspective and your life forever, this is a great way to go. Please find a way to assist at a shelter near you, whether in donations of money, food, clothing or time.
1. You will learn patience, and it will be a brutal process.
Patience will be pried from you as clients continuously flip-flop between leaving and staying with their abuser, as you agonize over the constant lack of monetary resources and manpower, and as you learn to communicate tough love with gentle encouragement. Long nights of resolving conflicts between residents will slowly teach you that this is the first time these victims have been on equal footing with and can disagree with the opposition. They are practicing, and you are assisting. You will come to know that love is never black and white, and leaving an abuser is not a simple 'pack up and move' task to be completed. Praying for patience is necessary, even when the process of learning it is painful.
2. You will only catch a glimpse into the dark caverns of abuse. You will never fully understand the demons that victims fight.
The Lethality Assessment Protocol (LAP) was quite the vivid tool to use when I did presentations for the community. It's a series of 11 questions to quickly evaluate a victim's danger level, or the chances of them being killed in the near future. A yes to any of the first three questions means they are extremely high risk and should be brought in despite any financial or bed-space limitations. Having a client whisper "yes" as I asked if they had ever been choked was sobering. Some had even lost count of how many times they'd been strangled and almost killed. The slightest miscalculation or misstep in reaching out for help could cost the victim their life. It wasn't until I sat in an emergency room at 3 AM watching a woman seize in pain off the bed (in spite of a morphine drip) after her husband attacked her with a baseball bat did I start to process what I was fighting against.
3. You will empathize with the victims' fear as abusers stalk the building and it's occupants.
There are only a handful of times I have ever felt true fear, that icy feeling that electrifies your every nerve to panic, that makes every cell in your body shrivel in terror. I felt that the day an ex-military sharp shooter threatened to kill every man, woman and child in the building until he got to his wife and kids. Not many people walk into work and examine the photos of abusers who had been lingering nearby waiting for an opportunity to strike. I strapped on my handgun every day with the clear understanding that I might be the only thing standing between an abuser and a building full of defenseless women and children. I felt that same fear as I approached vehicles in the parking lot and told the loitering driver to leave the property, wondering if this was a man who had called and threatened us the night before. I could barely move the day I stood at the front desk and watched as a drunk abuser put the full strength of his body into trying to breach the front doors, just feet from where I stood. You'll come to find that fear vanishes when the Holy Ghost guides you on what move to make and replaces fear with courage.
4. Nothing will prepare you for what you will hear.
My favorite author Gavin DeBecker describes an exercise where you picture the most horrific thing someone could do to another person, and then realize that if you can imagine it, someone has done it. I've sat across the desk from victims as I would advise and then observe them calling Child Protective Services because they witnessed or allowed abuse to happen to their children, because for a moment it meant that they would experience a brief reprieve. I counseled a woman who found out her young child had been sexually assaulted by a young neighbor only two years older. You will quickly learn that drugs, alcohol and many other addictions numb the nightmare for these victims and their loved ones. You will judge others and their coping mechanisms less harshly.
5. You will learn more from the clients than they will from you.
A client came into shelter for only a handful of days and was already preparing to exit. Like so many others she came in with nothing but the clothes on her back (for most it's too dangerous to pack, so they are forced to pretend they are going to run errands and escape) and was leaving with some basic necessities and little money (as one of the first tactics employed by abusers is to drain all bank accounts to force the victim out of hiding). She was saying her goodbyes when she approached my desk, clearly hiding something in her lap as she sat across from me. After thanking me for helping her into shelter and keeping her safe, she pulled a glass tupperware bowl into view. It was full to the brim with candy, and she said she wanted to give it to me so all the staff could enjoy a treat as a show of her gratitude for our efforts. I started to cry as I realized the personal sacrifice she had made to buy that, and will always consider that to be a real-life example of the Widow's Mite.
I will forever be grateful for my time as a Victim Advocate, I will never forget a single memory of it, good or bad. If you want something to change your perspective and your life forever, this is a great way to go. Please find a way to assist at a shelter near you, whether in donations of money, food, clothing or time.
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