Things happen to us. We do not understand the reasons.
I understood one thing, that I have the right not to be abused.

From the outside all looked fine but the reality was that our home was a hall of crazy mirrors. It was difficult to convince myself that I was desperate, not mad. How could I persuade outsiders that within the four walls of my house there was a war of words being waged? How could I explain that every word, every remark thrown at me was a cruel blow that inflicted upon me mental anguish?

I had no bruises, no shiner. I had no proof.
How could I express the damage done to my spirit? Where was the opportunity to articulate my pain when confronted with already-conceded answers, “You need to appreciate what you have”, “This happens in marriages”, “Accept it”, “He is a nice person. What’s wrong with you?” I begged for things to be different. I beseeched for a moment of peace and understanding. If only someone could have seen that the precarious smile hid a brittle face that was ready to crumble.
No one heard my silent plea so I stopped hoping.

I started to build a wall around me, and as years passed I piled it thicker and higher.
All I had left within the compounds of that wall were stifled sobs and dried tears.
In silence I cried. In silence the tears of frustration, shame and humiliation ran down my face.
I cried for my children whom I could no longer protect.

One day I found the courage to say “enough!” It happened when someone saw the tracks of tears on my cheeks. They asked “Why?” and then simply listened as I spoke.
Timidly at first, I said to myself, “I have the right not to be abused”. From then on, each day I stood in front of a mirror and said that sentence louder and louder until the day I could shout out loud that I was no longer an abused woman.

Marcelle Roujade

Version française sur FWIyapin

Paintings: V. DeBruyne© with thanks