To the Ones Who Knew Me Before

There’s something impossibly gorgeous about spending time with loved ones who knew me prior to my abuse.

Those who held onto who they knew I was, even after manipulation and threats made me complicit in ripping friendships to shreds.

Those who help me believe my own experiences.

Those who treat me like I’m worthy of being forgiven.

Those with the ability to, for a moment, help me remember the carefree, joyful young woman I was before my stint in hell.

I am so damned lucky to have them.

Raise a glass.

The Curse of the Blackened Eye

For five years, my abuser did his best to torpedo every one of my relationships. I needed my social supports, which was exactly why he wanted to dismantle them.

His jealousy knew no bounds, and there was little he wouldn’t do when it came to ensuring he had me all to himself.

A few of tactics he used to isolate me included monitoring my communications, public humiliation, physical/sexual violence, and stalking.

Incurring his wrath instilled in me a very real concern for the safety of my loved ones. I became paranoid and exhausted, bending over backwards trying to appease him and avoid punishment. I was so afraid of others getting caught in the crossfire that it felt easier and safer to isolate myself instead.

After escaping that relationship and fleeing my hometown in an effort to find safety, I was heartbroken to think it spelled the end of so many relationships I hadn’t had the chance to repair.

At the time it didn’t feel like I had another option. My ex siphoned my savings, destroyed my mental health, and left me flinching at the sight of every white truck I saw. He’d leeched into my sense of safety and painted it black. Everything in me screamed to run.

Forgiveness. Can You Imagine?

In the couple of years that have passed since my move, much of my recovery has involved healing the trauma caused to my relationships during my period of abuse.

This week, I’ve been fortunate enough to spend time with several close friends who have been with me through it all. I truly don’t think I’ve laughed so much, or so honestly, since about the summer of 2015. It simply heals.

I was aware I had wonderful people in my life before, but I’ve been overwhelmingly grateful at their response and support, even from a world away.

I hope all of his victims have loved ones like that.

I hope all victims have loved ones like that.

I hope they see.

I hope one of them finally does something.

I hope this is finally doing something.

I hope it’s enough.

I’m Glad You’re Here

After years spent advocating for domestic violence victims while hiding my own suffering, I refuse to let anyone feel abandoned in their abuse or its aftermath any longer.

Trauma sucks. Recovery shouldn’t. That’s why I’m making communicating about my own experiences as normal as possible while actively calling out abuse and inequity when I see it.

My aim is to give others a safe environment in which to develop these tools so we can start making some much-needed changes together.

Support my continued writing (and help me inch my way toward my first book) by following and engaging with me on trauma and advocacy.

I’d love to hear from you!

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Veronica Wren Trauma Recovery Book Club

The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women

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