Support a Journey to Safety and New Beginnings

Help my family escape our abuser

On average it takes a victim of domestic violence 7 times to leave their abuser for good. I tried to leave many times over nearly ten years, here are just a few;

2014 before we got engaged and he begged me not to go, promising he’d stop and be better.

2015 after I had to put a queen sized bed in front of our bedroom door to protect Izzy and myself while the neighbor banged on the wall to try to get him to stop screaming.

2016 after he choked and slapped me for crying about a bunch of spilled acrylic paint on carpet to quote “calm me down” and get me to shut up.

2017 after mocking me and telling me to try to leave with no money, I started going to ASU to get my degree and get a job to be able to provide for all three kids myself, not wanting to burden anyone with being a single mom.

2018 I found out I was having a boy and feared I’d grow up to have a son who’d hurt other women like his dad hurt me, I begged him to not be in the room at birth but was not listened to. I’d stare at the statistics of how partners were in danger the most while pregnant. I held my newborn in my lap during college tests weeks later because asking for help resulted in being screamed at. I learned this after I asked him for help with isla and Isaac at one month postpartum and he threw me into a metal baby swing, permanently injuring my hip and causing chronic intense pain I still have to this day - but not letting me seek care for it.

In 2019, I cried in my parent’s basement alone, not feeling safe enough to go back to Arizona with him. I wanted to stay there. The fake personality he put on did not match the throwing of high chairs at walls, punching holes in doors, the inability to stop himself as I begged for him to stop as he raped me on the ikea couch our kids sat on together playing during the daytime.

In 2020, my worst fears were realized after just two weeks of the Covid lockdown and not even two weeks of being off of work for him when I tiredly begged for help cleaning up after dinner. After being yelled at, I decided to stop cleaning and walked away from it, putting down a stack of cards to go pick up Isaac in his high chair. I was two steps away when I was punched in the right side of my head from behind, losing consciousness while asking if he just punched me. I woke up to his hands around my throat, choking me in front of all three kids - their screams haunt me to this day. I remember blinking hard wondering if what was happening was really happening, if it was even real, as I struggled to breathe and push him off of me in any way. He held my leg down tightly, so tightly his thumb left a bruise that lasted for weeks. Trying to scream “not in front of the kids” is what saved me as I tried to get my phone to call 911. He took it and didn’t allow me to call and wouldn’t give it back until I promised I wouldn’t.

The covid relief funds ended up allowing me to escape with my three babies and my life. My birthday present to myself that year was a divorce lawyer consultation - where during covid I didn’t even feel safe disclosing abuse under the same roof.

You would think that after four years, I’d be able to restart, but it’s extremely complicated when having to even try to coparent with someone who tried to kill you.

Every bit of information about my life is a crumb to him to try to control. I “shouldn’t be working and having to have a babysitter pick the kids up from school” because “that’s all the child support is for anyway” led to him eventually convincing himself he didn’t need to pay at all starting this may - completely disrupting our life. Without any child support, I have no access to childcare which I need to have a job and to feed my growing big kids!

After years of begging him to care and hearing things like, “I forgot about the kids” when months go by without calls or threats that I had to buy all the groceries for the kids or he wouldn’t visit again.

Without including the ten page testimony that got a no contact order granted by the judge instantly, the kids experienced parental kidnapping at the hands of their father.

After saying he was moving to Boston this spring - he showed up in NYC and moved here this May after 0 communication with me about it. Before the first day of school this September, he refused to let them come home to me (I have full custody) lying boldly to them claiming that I was unsafe and my house wasn’t safe, making Isla cry and call me and beg me to come get them. He didn’t let me see them on their first day of school - ruining my favorite tradition with the kids, not even taking pictures to mark their first day - you didn’t see any this year from us, that’s why.

I’ve spent the last month fully devoting my time and life at family court being my own lawyer, advocating for myself and my babies’ safety. I’ve lost my job, pulled out the miniature amount of retirement I just started saving since he stopped paying ALL child support in May, and am using up my last pennies for a lawyer consult ahead of our first court date next week.

I hate asking for help and love helping others - a silly dichotomy that needs to stop. After working with the family justice center and safe horizons here in NYC, I’ve learned the last year and a half that I’m NOT the first and I will NOT a be the last to need help in my journey in escaping my abuser.

From the very bottom of my heart -

Thank you,

Kate