Changing Tides

Yesterday was such a weird day.  I woke up in a blah mood (mostly because of the weather), but nothing out of the ordinary.

We covered the domestic violence chapter in our Assessment class yesterday, and as I was listening, I kept remembering my own experiences with the ER on 8/14/05 and hoping and praying that I would be a more compassionate, more understanding, less judgmental nurse than that one I was (un)fortunate enough to have that night.  During class, I wasn't really upset, just very adamant that my classmates understood that domestic violence absolutely knows no boundaries.  There is a stereotype (thanks, Jerry Springer) that is portrayed in the media, and that stereotype is a death sentence if we as a society can't get past it. There is no one "type" of person that is a victim of domestic violence.  It could be an isolated incident, like mine, or it could be an ongoing pattern, but to have a specific picture in your head of what a victim looks like is dangerous, especially for someone who works in the health care industry. 

 

But I digress.  I was fine during that class, fine during lunch.  But for whatever reason, every single action and reaction came flooding back while I was sitting in my afternoon class. it was like a brick had slammed into my head, and I was right back where I was nearly 5 years ago. It  was absolutely astounding how much it took my breath away.

But then something awesome happened.  A classmate approached me after class, not to pry but just to make sure I was ok.  I gave her the two second version ("I'm a survivor of domestic violence, and this morning just brought it all back") and, with a smile and a hug, she told me her story.  While in some ways similar, and in some ways completely different, talking to someone else who had been where I had been, who had seen what I had seen, made the whole day worthwhile. While I had gone through counseling and had met other women who had also walked away, meeting someone 5 years later in a "regular" setting and hearing her story was like a breath of fresh air and exactly what I needed at that time.  God put her in my path, and for that I will forever be grateful.


And then, as I sat replaying the day to my husband, who has known the story since before we met, he hugged me and also said something I needed to hear. "Cait, it's like the death of your child--it's not something you ever forget, and it's not something that ever goes away, but it's something that shaped you, made you who you are." And he was so right--I hope and pray that if and when I'm ever confronted with a victim of domestic violence, I can draw on my own experiences and remember what it was like.  And I hope and pray that she finds herself surrounded with the love, faith and hope that I am so very lucky to have in my life.