Life Within The Shelter

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Life within the shelter wasn't what you may think of when you ponder what a woman's shelter may be like.  Maybe you've already lived in one, yours was probably different from mine because I'm quite sure there's not another place like it in the world.2

For me the day of October 3rd 2000 began with a bang.  There was lots of drinking going on in the house, lots of tension and fear.  My then boyfriend had been drinking and doing drugs {without my knowledge} and tension was building from the day before until the third.  I knew something would happen that day, I just didn't know what.  There was hitting, cursing and crying that day.  There was a loss of a relationship and almost a loss of my life.  My son was just two then.  Hard to believe he's so big now and strong, hard to remember us like that then.  We were different then, scared.  Most people considered us trash.  Most people didn't consider us decent enough to be alive.  We were hungry, dirty and homeless.  We lived with my boyfriend of the time {the father of my son} mother and brother.  The mother was in a wheel chair and the brother was addicted to drugs.  3

That's not what this story is about though, that's what brought it about.  It's funny how those people who thought of me as being nothing more than trash and disposable became to realize I could be a person of more than they knew.  I still could.  I am ever evolving, I am ever changing.4

Back then, five years ago, almost to the day, I was different.  I enjoyed the odd stares I got, I enjoyed being different.  In ways I still do, just different ways.  But still, that night, I almost wasn't any different from so many women of our vast world.  I was almost killed.  I escaped and that brings us to our story.5

Life within the shelter was a lot like what I would think jail could be like.  I have never been to jail though so I don't know.  It wasn't dark and scary like I expected though.  It was a regular house on a regular street.   Just had lots of irregular stories being told inside.  It had a nice lawn and was painted very nicely.  It had five bedrooms, two living rooms and three bathrooms.  It was interesting at best.  The first thing I noticed when we got there was the noise.  It was so noisy in this house.  This house was packed with women and children just like us.  Some had bruises, I had bruises, patches of hair was gone from my head.  My poor little one wouldn't leave my side.  I couldn't even go to the bathroom alone!  They had strict rules there that we weren't used to.  Our life had been turmoil and pain and chaos.  The shelter offered us housing but also promised us calm in our storms.  It wasn't always peaceful but it was safe.  We wouldn't be killed here.  We'd be able to sleep without keeping our eyes open watching and hoping to be safe.  Our children could and very often would, run through the house loud and fast.  I still can feel it, the vibes of that house.6

We had 7 ladies and 23 kids in our house, our "family."  We would protect each other, talk to each other, backstab each other and verbally attack each other.  We would hold each other close with one hand and push away with the other.  We would buy each other kid's toys, food and clothing and still complain about the kids.   We were lost and confused in our worlds and we didn't know how to interact with each other.  The ones who had been there longer would help the new ones, the new ones would come into the house and reinvent old fears.7

Meetings would take place 4-5 nights a week.  We had house meetings, A.A. meetings, Parenting meetings, group therapy meetings.  Then I started a children's group to help them out too.  I even started running the group therapy and kid's groups.  I did a lot.   I allowed things that others weren't {I don't know why-maybe I just fought harder for it} I was resented.  But I worked hard to move up the "Social Ladder" within the house and break the unbreakable circle.  8

Tyler, my son, had a hard time readjusting.  He cried if I had to go to court, he cried if I had to leave him.  I cried too.  Hard.  Tears would roll down my face and I'd just cry.  But we did it, we overcame it!  He had to have surgery that year due to injuries caused by his father, and I had two a year later myself.  It was a scary time, we still carry the scars of that time but our wounds have begun to heal.  We have a strong bond, somehow we learned to trust others and each other.  Tyler learned that I wouldn't leave him forever and later started school next year when he was three.  Been going ever since.  He's seven now and reads like an eleven year old and is working very hard on math.  He's been studying "regrouping" and multiplication.  I teach him that at home, the school hasn't gotten that far yet, but he knows all they are teaching so I offer him something at home that tickles his mind and makes him think.  9

He's a good boy, he went to therapy for about six months 3 times a week.  I still cry for him, I still feel guilty for him.  I always will.10

We were strong, we were lucky.  We found the right people to help us and we took that help and fought and kicked and screamed until we were exhausted but we did what we had to do.11

A lot of women {most} aren't so lucky.  People ask "Why don't you leave?"  I'm here to tell  you it's not that easy.  It's not easy to leave behind everything you have, everything you're used to and move on.  It's not easy, but if you're lucky you find out people are willing to help.12

For some women, it's just too late.  They are emotionally dead.  It's just too dammed late.13