I would like to consider myself a creative person. The writing experience to me has been a wonderful way of expressing that. This class has brought me to levels of exploration in thinking I didn’t know I had. For many of us, learning is a process in which we make mistakes. A huge part of learning to me is about reflecting and revising. This class gave me a chance to experience this in a way that was tangible.
Often when I would write on my own accord it would be with little structure. In this case often times throughout my experience of this course I began forming a plan. Instead of just letting ideas flow, I started to write down the points that needed to be addressed. Giving an agenda to the words and ideas that were coming to mind.
During the process of brainstorming, I would generally use the approach I had in the past and let my ideas form and dictate the direction I was attempting to go. This was the most exciting part of developing my paper. I found when brainstorming that I could come up with an idea from my theme because it was genuinely a part of me as an individual. A good example of this was from my 3rd essay ” The Divine Mother”. My theme caused a spiral of thoughts and questions. I sat with a singular question for quite some time. That question was simply; why does a mother always represent love? From that question my thoughts blossomed into many more. Who is she to me? Who is she to other people? How is she represented in different ways? When was the first recollection of her? It was marvelous to unravel.
When I was pre-writing for this paper, I chose to gather my questions first and answer them. Then to arrange them in order of importance. Logically of course it wouldn’t make sense to answer the question of the different examples of motherly love and divinity if I had not answered the question of who she was and why I was writing about her. This pre-writing process gave me a deeper understanding of the importance of structure. I remember it feeling like a light switch when I was writing my third essay on why my teachers and professors had always emphasized the importance of this. For me the structure of this way writing my questions down and then labeling them numerically for the order of importance and when to address them.
The drafting my essays was probably the most difficult part of writing for me. I am not the type of person that can sit still for a long period of time. It was abundantly clear because of this; the drafting and pre-writing stages was overall critical. I had frequent frustration in writing because of this lack of ability to sit down and just continue to work with no break. I used my third essay as a good example of this because I was able to sit down and freely write without stopping during the drafting phase. It was mostly because I had a genuine outlook on the end result of my paper.
I chose to look at receiving feedback as a tool to see what I didn’t see. The benefit of having a broader perspective than my own. After all I would know better than anyone the message I was attempting to convey. But how would I know from a reader’s perspective how it was being received unless that way shared with me. I tried compare what was being said by my peers and revise accordingly. It truly helped me especially with my first paper “A New Life”. This was my memoir. Created from pure emotional energy. Because of that it was difficult for me to see that paper had lots of structural issues.
With peer reviews, and feedback, it was a lot easier for me to dissect my own words and truly refine what I intended for it to be. Especially gaining a deeper understanding of how someone else is receiving my work. I would often read the reviews and then re-read my own work several times to see if I could apply a new approach with what was said to me.
A New Life
I had just pulled into the gym parking lot with my daughter. I was already stressed from the day and still worried about what the rest of the day would bring me. As I grab the duffle in my passenger seat, I reach for the door handle to make my exit and entrance. The gym is my escape at this point. I practically live there 7 days a week. I go even when I’m exhausted. Right now, anywhere would be better than being home. I feel a vibrating sensation in my left pocket and the sound of my ringtone chime plays through the speakers of my car via Bluetooth connection. The sinking feeling in my stomach is eminent. The ringtone is specific for him. There is so much irony in that song. For a moment I pause and wonder how I even put that ringtone on my phone for him. What a facade. As my toddler chatters over the sound of the incoming call I answer with an insecure ” Hello,” my voice is shaky.
“Where are you,” He replies.
“I am at the gym of course.” I turn to put the duffle bag in my hands down and winced from the searing pain in my ribs from two days ago. At this point I live with pain. The pain and aches are a constant reminder of what my life really is. Trying to recover from abuse and stay functioning so no one knows is all I’ve known for four years. I am slowly deteriorating. I am scared. Because I know this grand lie is becoming unsustainable.
“You need to come home, there is no milk” He bursts at me. In my gut I could feel him in a foul mood, and I knew if I went home the same thing would happen again. Who knows how long it will take him to get out of his blackout rage this time.
“I had planned on grabbing milk when I left the gym.” My tone is always low, as to not raise anymore escalated emotions. It’s like detonating a delicate bomb. Learning to dance an elegant ballet around the eggshells of rules I had in order to appease him.
“Do you have money left for the milk?” He was always looking for a door for an argument. I knew his patterns, his triggers, his expressions like the back of my hand. It was my greatest defense mechanism. I had hypervigilance mastered.
This morning when I opened the refrigerator door, I noticed that He had somehow managed to drink the 3 gallons of milk I purchased for our child 3 days ago. A gallon a day? This felt like another ploy for him to take it out on me. My intuition was fighting to keep us safe.
“I have the money for the milk. But if you’re asking me if it is within our weekly budget, no it is not.” I Responded. Dry. As dry as I could be to try and assert myself without causing another problem. I could feel my throat lumping up. That’s what it felt like every time I didn’t speak out. Like the words were stuck there.
I feared the day I couldn’t control it anymore, and the consequences if I did make that mistake. Like 2 nights ago. It was looping and playing over and over again in my mind. Our daughter has asthma and this particular week she wasn’t feeling well. Symptom flare ups. Of course, I had already spent countless hours caring for her and getting her well all on my own. She is my world. I would do anything for her. I slept on her floor all week. That was what I always did. Because He couldn’t handle the responsibility of waking up when she needed her parents. He would rage and get angry. It was better if I slept that way so she wouldn’t wake him up. Just me. Worn out me. I think I was running on 4 hours of sleep that day. He came home in a seemingly normal state of mind this day. But he said today I didn’t make him enough dinner. I asked him if he wanted me to make him one of my high protein- shakes because I was going to go to the gym. Inside my emotions are telling me hurry up and get out of the house. ” Yeah, but make sure you don’t mess it up”.
I go to the kitchen and start to pour it into the shaker cup. I feel his looming presence behind me. Watching over my neck. “If it was going to be a shake like that, I could have done it myself, I want it made in the blender.” My shoulders tense, and I am now treading cautiously. It’s pretty routine for him to make his presence known. How he likes things especially. It gives me tremendous worry that I may mess something up. I proceed to pour the shake I started making, into the blender. My worry is causing my hands to shake. I squeeze past him standing with his arms across the doorway. My kitchen is narrow. Just enough space for one person to stand in and cook. But it doesn’t stop him from putting himself where I need to move. I know he is waiting for me to make a mistake.
I grab the ice from the freezer and return to throw half the ice in the blender with the shake I have yet to finish. OH God, I just can’t wait to get out of this house! I turn on the blender. It makes a funny popping sound. I look up and swallow hard. He looks at me and I can see the fury building in his own throat. I try again; the blender makes the same abstract noises. I reach for the blender, to investigate the noise. My hands are not steady. I pour the chunky concoction into its original shaker container so I can determine the sound. The ball from the protein shakers pours out and I feel a tear drift down my cheek. I know the war I am about to endure. I turned on the blender with a plastic shaker ball inside.
It doesn’t take long for us to both determine that I have made a mistake. You would think a mistake like that would be as simple as starting over. For the average loving family, it would be. I place my hands in front of my face to defend the incoming blows. I feel my body being wracked with fists. I drop to the floor in full fetal position. I wonder how long this one is going to last. They have been getting more and more frequent. More and more violent. More and more tolerated.
In the scuffle somehow, I’ve managed to make it to the living room. It wasn’t by walking. I’ve been staring at the floor for the duration of his unleashed anger. I look up to see the top deadbolt locked is closed. He did this out of pattern. To eliminate the chance for me to run without him catching me. I feel him pick me up and put me on the couch. I remember the digital time on the clock in the kitchen, it was the last thing I looked at before he commenced. It was a strange habit I picked up. I had grown accustomed to trying to figure out the lengths of time I was receiving his violence. The clock in the living room reveals this time it was 34 minutes.
His forearms are blocking me from getting up from the big brown recliner chair. ” I think something is wrong with you,” and he continues to speak. ” I’m the bad guy to you but you never say to yourself …look what I have to put up with.” ” Go wash your face, I can’t even look at you”. I rush to the bathroom to do as I was told. I avoid looking in the mirror to see the state I’m in. Will I be able to go to work tomorrow?
The reality of being in the present conversation hits and my disassociated flashback is short lived by the booming sound of his voice. “What do you mean we are out of milk, and now we are over budget.” I feel my anxiety building in my chest. I know I can’t keep letting myself be treated this way. I know I deserve better. I know I should have left a long time ago.
” I bought 3 gallons of milk 3 days ago, along with the rest of the groceries I came home with. That was our grocery budget. Anastasia only has a cup of milk at night and I’m lactose intolerant, so I didn’t drink it. The milk is all gone and it was supposed to last us a week. I have no choice but to use money outside of our budget.” I feel my words come out frantically. I know this turning into an argument.
“Get home now and I’m not going to tell you again,” he spits.
“NO,” I say. Silence. The static that was once active with increasing tension has now ceased. I challenged him in return. My heart is pounding. On the rare occasion I would do this for myself it would never get very far.
“What did you just say,” He hisses to me. “Get home now. Before I drag you home.”
“I’m not coming home.” I instantly snap back. I didn’t really think about what I was saying it was instinctual. My words had a lot more energy this time. The airwave silence returns. Like the awkward crowd crickets on stage when the performer does something completely out of the realm of normalcy. We are both hit with confusion. Like the only common thing we have in the moment is where I have mustered up the strength to tell him now. We both couldn’t believe what I said. The emotions I have are overwhelming. I am trembling.
“What did I tell you”, he breaks the silence “come home now or I’ll drag you up these stairs”. The fear rushed through my body, but it was matched with adrenaline. This time I was escalating my voice, and it was my anger that was quickly spiraling out of control.
“I told you no. I AM NOT COMING HO…” I can’t finish my thought this time.
“I’m coming to get you. Keep that same energy when I get there.” My toddler is starting to cry in the backseat. I know she can feel my emotions. I can’t let her grow up thinking this is all okay. I feel my protective instincts kick in.
“You won’t do any of that. Before you make it here. I will be long gone.” I hang up the phone. I never did that. I learned that lesson the hard way with him before. But this time was different. This time I knew I meant everything I said. I didn’t know where I was going. A hotel, a parking lot. All I knew is I couldn’t be a sitting duck and wait for him to make it to where we were.
I was so frantic I remember the smoke from my tires leaving the parking lot when my light finally turned green. The smell of burning rubber filling my nostrils. I wonder briefly, who might be watching and what they might be thinking. I can feel my heart beating in my throat.
My phone is ringing. The obnoxious ” I love you” sappy song playing through my speakers over and over again. I ignore it. I keep driving. Far away from where I am. Far away from where I was. Far away from who I used to be. I realized I am driving on autopilot. Not really paying attention to my surroundings. Tears start to trail down my cheeks leaving hot burning trails of stifled emotions on the path to completion.
“Momma, are you okay?” The sweet little voice in the back of my car brings me to self-awareness. I quickly wipe my face.
” I will be baby girl, mommy is okay.” I wasn’t positive if I was going to be okay. But in the face of fear, for her I would do anything. Even use my own body to protect her.
I found the backroads through Dartmouth. The Winding roads to nowhere. As I am driving, I remember the last time I talked to my dad. My Father and I had parted ways because he kept having confrontations with my…. what is he to me now? My baby daddy. That was kind of funny. He had several altercations with my child’s father. He had told me that He loved me, but he had to step away because of the dynamic between the two of them. I remember feeling like I didn’t want to be a burden to him. To bring all of my baggage emotional and physical to his house. But I remember mostly his last words. ” My door will always be open for my daughter.” Remembering what he said had given my heart a spark of hope in that moment.
My parents never liked him. For good reason. Maybe they could see something in him I couldn’t. Like their years of experience had given them the ability to determine that he had something off about him. Something I couldn’t see when I was wearing rose colored glasses. In the beginning it was different. He knew everything to say. Now I stay out of fear. What if my parents don’t forgive me? I would find it hard to forgive me. But if I knew my child was out there hurting there is nothing I wouldn’t do for that little girl in the backseat of my car. It had been four years since my mother, and I had spoken and two years with my father. I had no contact with anyone to the previous world I knew before him. He threatened to take her away from me. To destroy my life without him so I couldn’t move on. He even controlled my finances at this point. Where would we go? What would we do?
At this point my knuckles are white gripping my steering wheel. I am halfway through Westport. Still driving the back roads like I know them like the back of my hand. My phone has probably rung 30 times. I answer. If I hear that stupid song one more time, I will throw my phone out the window. All means of communication gone. I don’t say a word. I put the phone in my lap, and I let him scream. After some time, I put the phone to my ear. I can make some sense of what he is saying.
“I’m going to throw all your clothes across the front lawn.” I realize my daughter and I have absolutely nothing but the clothes on our backs and my gym bag with flip flops and a towel. None of that matters right now.
“Throw it out”, I respond “Do me the favor.”
” Are you stupid”? I Do not answer this question. I won’t give that the time of day. The insults of character stopped hurting a long time ago. “Come home now!” His tone is changing. I hear anger but this time it is mixed with fear. I am still not responding. “Do you think you’re safe? Do you think I can’t get to you?”
The inevitable retaliation pours forth from my lips. Words I have never been able to understand how I could utter them in such a manner to anyone. “I AM NEVER COMING HOME.” I felt the veins in my throat bursting. I am screaming at him this time.
“Think about what you’re doing”, this time his tone is quiet.
“I don’t need the time to think about it. You’re miserable and I can’t imagine spending another minute of my life in your company. I hate you. I wish I never met you,” the authenticity felt great.
“I’m going to shut off the service to your phone.”
“Shut it off.” I hang up. Tears pouring down my face. I never thought I would have the courage to say what I said to him that day. I am driving up 177 towards Tiverton. Towards my dad’s house; sanctuary. At least now I didn’t have to throw the phone out of the window.
I am numb. I look up as I am driving the long winding road to a destination that seems so far away right now. There is a sign that says, ” SMART MOVE”. I throw my head back in laughter at the irony of the sign. Would this be God’s way of showing me that I was making the right choice for myself. To this day I still believe in that.
I make it to my father’s house. The familiar sound of the gravel driveway helps me breathe out a sigh of relief. We are safe. My father would keep us safe. I ring the doorbell. I remember saying to myself out loud as I was walking to the door. “Please be home… please be home… please be home.”
My heart is pounding. I can feel my pulse behind my eyes as I develop a migraine from clenching my teeth. My daughter is next to me nervous. She doesn’t remember this place. We haven’t been here enough for her to remember it. All of that is about to change. My stepmother opens the door and greets me with the first warm embrace that I have felt for 4 years. I burst into tears again. This time it feels like joy. “What happened….” I dive into this story with her for the first time, realizing that it was already my past.
Today I am writing this paper sitting in front of my fireplace. In the apartment that I have with just my daughter and me. We are warm. Holding each other as the night fades into the morning. Into tomorrow. We have faced many battles since this day. I can honestly say that the day I chose myself was the day that everything else fell in line it was honestly and truly a “SMART MOVE”.
On February 5th, 2025, I received notice from the DA of a conviction against the father of my child. I thought it would be an honor to tell you all a part of my story. It is triumph. It is freedom. The memory of this no longer hurts. Full of so many wonderful things. We have a new life now. The people I am surrounded with in my life love me. I have peace when we walk into our home. I am working towards a better future every day. The momentum hasn’t stopped since the day I drove away from that parking lot. Like a phoenix from the ashes, I rise.
The Divine Mother
Who is the Divine Mother? She is represented across the world in many ways. To me she was always the representation of the Blessed Mother Mary. Is it because of my heritage that I perceive her this way? I was raised catholic. But who was she to me? Growing up I had a fascination with her image. She was a spiritual super-hero. The type of love that all mankind was in need for. In the Bible Mary is depicted as a graceful figure. Truly pure of heart. She was so divinely pure that she is guided by God himself. She stayed by her son’s side even through the darkest hours. John 19: 26-27 Jesus seeing his mother and John, said to His mother,” Woman, here is your son,” and to his disciple said,” here is your mother.” From that time on John took Mary into his home. Mary watched her only son die on the cross according to scripture. We understand her to be devoted. A genuine representation of the word Agape. As I was diving into the concept in history of the divine mother, I began to realize that this theology is much larger than my unique perspective of the Virgin Mary.
The word Agape is a Greek word. It means love. But this word represents love on a divine scale. Pure self-will and sacrificial love. Unconditional love. The history of the divine mother is beyond the scales of time, and what the bible tells us. I began to search for the first representation of the Divine Mother. One of the earliest representations of the divine mother that I came across in my studies was Gaia. Mother Earth herself. Gaia is a Greek goddess. I found this ironic that the word agape is Greek, and mythology tells us that Gaia is the mother of all things. Love. But what else does a mother represent? She was a source of life itself. Chaotic destruction that made room for the rebirth of something else. A depiction of raw power.
Throughout history one thing has remained constant. That feminine energy has always been revered as sacred. She is depicted as fertile and strong. There are lots of depictions of the divine feminine energy being a deity of reproduction and fertility. They often depicted an emphasis on the reproductive organs of the female anatomy. Showing a consistent theme in honoring a woman for the love and nurturing that she often brings. I wanted to also understand the differences in feminine energy. If Gaia represented destruction as well as reproduction, were there other deities and female energies that showed different characteristics? And if so, what were they?
In Hinduism the Goddess Kali is depicted as a savage. The goddess herself defeated the demons that threatened mankind with her pure rage and fury. When we reflect on the images of this deity she is showed with a decapitated head, blood red eyes, a tongue that hangs from her mouth to devour her enemies and a scythe. In this light we can see she is not the typical representation of love and nurturing. Yet ironically this goddess also is depicted full of motherly love. In the contrary to her savage nature, we understand that she became furious. As we examine this further the understanding is that she was protecting her children with rage and destruction. Hell, hath no fury like a women scorned as they say.
With the power of great destruction also comes great healing. Looking past the concept of ancient deities the theology of the divine feminine and mother is really a way to take a look into ourselves as a well. Into our own subconscious minds and how we as people represent the Divine mother. Across culture and history, we understand there is an innate presence of love depicted when it comes to the Divine mother. More people are opening their perceptions to this concept. The constraints of religion and conformity are no longer limiting us. We have more freedom in our present time to be to practice this understanding.
I am a mother. When someone asks me to describe who I am, often it is the first thing that I label myself with. I am many other things as well. I am full of humor. I am hot headed. I am hard working. The roots of my actions revolve around being a mother. My job as a mother has been ultimately self-sacrificing. Full of moments where my patience has had no other option but to surpass my fury. Where I chose to be present and learn, contrary to my disposition before and motherhood knowing everything. Showing love even in the moments that don’t always feel easy. In researching the divine mother, I found that this understanding of who she is lives on every day through you and me. There are many great differences in who she is to everyone. But I found one profound truth that the divine mother is always a representation of love.
“Works Cited”
Patrick Paul Garlinger, PhD. “The Rise of the Divine Mother.” Medium, Spiritual Tree, 18 Nov. 2020, medium.com/spiritual-tree/the-rise-of-the-divine-mother-8346f6cbe5e.
“Kali.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 10 Apr. 2025, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kali#Origins.
ManaTitta. “Mother – a Poem on Mother ….. – Letterpile.” LetterPile, 2012, letterpile.com/poetry/Mother-A-Poem-on-Mother.
Karageorgi, Stella. “The Divine Feminine: 8 Ancient Forms of the Great Mother Goddess.” TheCollector, www.thecollector.com/divine-feminine-ancient-art/. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.
“Bible Gateway Passage: John 19:26-27 – New International Version.” Bible Gateway, www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+19%3A26-27&version=NIV. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.
Stay Together for the Kids?
Raising children is the most difficult and rewarding job I have ever experienced. In a world that is already difficult to raise a child, one would imagine that any added stress is not only unwelcome but potentially devastating. When I imagined having children growing up, I never imagined that the reality of what I actually being a parent would be like. There are nights when you do not sleep. There are times when you need the sound of silence desperately but all you can hear is the sound of your child crying and you’ve already exhausted every avenue of what could potentially be wrong. The “booboos” and boogers. The tissues for tantrums. But in spite of that all the parental chaos it is most undeniably filled with the greatest rewards. The joy of your child’s first steps. The overflow of joy the first time” your baby says, “I love you”.
It would be an easy argument for me to say that raising a child is indeed difficult. I drew inspiration from my personal experiences as I often do. I chose to investigate the validity of my opinion regarding the matter of the age-old question, is it better to stay together for the kids? I know many of us have heard both sides of the coin regarding this argument. Should we stay together and make it work or are we better apart? What are the consequences of both of these choices? If I am speaking frankly and again, I often do, I will always side with the side of separation.
My daughter and I are representations of the repercussions of staying together for too long. What toxicity manifests into. I knew for a long time that the relationship I had with my child’s father was more than in shambles. The only lingering fiber of the rope that was the Alvarez family was me holding onto the hopes that my daughter would be raised in a home with 2 parents. In hindsight I was gambling with my child’s future. But at the time I was desperate to give her a real family. One that wasn’t broken like mine. Our family was already broken and although this sounds like doom and gloom it was the truth. How could I raise child when I was so stressed I didn’t have the capacity to give my daughter the love and affection she needed. Our case was an extreme case where there was abuse involved. I am so happy that my daughter managed to make it out of that house without physical harm. But the lingering effects of her being a first-hand witness to trauma is so prominent. My side is of course biased, but not without facts.
So, what are the statistics regarding the question, is it better to stay together for the kids? After reading an article on Parents.com written by Wayne Parker I was able to understand some of the consequences of both sides of this argument. I remain firm with my choice of separation being better. The cons of divorce do not outweigh the cons of staying together. I will agree with Parker when he points out that children who come from divorced families are more likely to grow up in poverty and are also at a higher risk to engage in riskier behavior. But the opposing that staying in a toxic and high conflict family is more likely to give you self-esteem issues. They also are going to develop difficulties establishing long term relationships. In addition, they are likely to have a harder time regulating emotions and trusting other people. In support of my argument Parker also states the ultimately it is better for children to witness two divorced parents who adapt to co-parenting.
In my own personal I know that I grew up as many children did in a dysfunctional home. I can remember being told that I was lucky to have both of my parents together. It was not the case as I can remember it. Because there were many issues amongst my parents, I remember really feeling like my own needs were on the back burner. I grew up with a debilitating people pleasing complex that I had to unravel in some intense therapy. I know in hindsight my parents were absolutely doing the best that they could offer at the time. In retrospect if they had made a decision to separate sooner, it would have allowed space for them to potentially mend their relationship. They chose to stay married even though their family and stability was crumbling at the foundation. I too went down a path of self-destruction. Statistically speaking children with a divorced family have a higher tendency to seek self-destructive activates and ” engage in dangerous behavior “. Speaking from experience my parents stayed together and I started ” engaging in dangerous behavior “. I am grateful for the things I have learned and the journey I took to heal these things. But speaking from my own perspective as a mother, I am striving to heal them now, so she doesn’t have to do that on her own later.
In the midst of researching the materials for this paper I had a thought present itself to me. If the question of staying together for the children would present itself at all, is the situation already in a position where the relationship dynamic is compromised? Meaning if the relationship in question was healthy, would that question present itself to begin with? The truth about every relationship is that they require work. Invested energy as a currency. The return is the bond you then partake in with the person in which you would be examining the relationship. If I had left the father of my daughter sooner, would I have had the capacity to stop the negative effects from progressing to a place where amends was not an option? I know undoubtedly the answer would be yes. An article from Psychology Today written by Dona Mathews Ph.D. expresses that although the ideal situation would be to stay together and provide long term stability for your child’s development, in a toxic situation that is a short-term solution. The long-term effects on a child who remains at least with one parent in a stable environment is overall better for the child’s development.
We have all heard of the phrase “monkey see, monkey do”. When your children are developing, they learn how to be adults through the behaviors and actions that we exhibit. It is fair to say that we know that during the time our children are learning it is important that we give them good examples on how to become people. Unfortunately, this isn’t always the case the cycle of ongoing damage continues if the pattern is not changed. It is innately developed in us to be on our best behavior in front of our children. This is why is it easy for us to use discretion as far as what we say in front of them. Of course we wouldn’t want for them to repeat it. But would we want for them to repeat the cycles of our negative choices or poor relationship habits? Of course not! As parents we envision the future of our children to be bright and abundant. It is more likely that a child who witnesses dysfunction and or abuse that they will also repeat that cycle.
Most research shows that children take on average 1 to 2 years to recuperate from the effects of separation. On the contrary, the effects of staying in a situation that isn’t healthy for the parents, or the child can have lifelong results. If I am proud of anything that I have passed on to my daughter from my own experiences, it is that I taught her that standing up for yourself is something to be proud of. That if you are being mistreated it is absolutely okay to advocate for yourself and if your words do not work, you do not allow that person to have access to you. Abuse is a term that is widely used. But Domestic violence and abuse can be classified to something as simple as the silent treatment in which we have all used. But the minute you can classify an action as abusive should be the minute you no longer tolerate the behavior. For yourself and for the future of your children. If you do not have children, then at the very least, I believe you should ultimately love yourself enough to know that you deserve to be happy and healthy.
In summary to this question, I respect that the best short-term results would be to try and make amends and stay together for your children. Children require stability. But after analysis and researching the long-term effects of this decision and in addition adding input from my own personal experiences it is to me undeniably better for separation to be the outcome. In order for a parent to be present as the best version of a parent that their child deserves, they have to be able to be happy and healthy. The benefits of a child being raised in a peaceful single parent home far outweigh the short-term benefits of staying in an unhappy situation for the sake of temporary stability. I stated before that my daughter and I are the result of staying in a toxic situation for too long. Although this is true, the same is true to say we are also the example of being a whole but small family. A family that is healing from what was and moving forward into what could be. We have lots of love in our home which is everything we didn’t have before. We have each other. I give my daughter the best example of a mother that I can give her. I am firm in my decision. I’m sure it would be true for many that if this question ever presents itself… it is because somehow our subconscious minds are speaking to the authentic part of your soul in knowing the separation is inevitable and likely for the best. My argument comes from a place of passion. The temporary pain and loss my family felt in the separation is now filled with the joys of stability and trust.
Works Cited
Parker, Wayne. “Is Staying Together for the Kids Ever the Right Decision?” Parents, Parents, 16 July 2024, www.parents.com/should-you-stay-together-for-kids-1270800.
How Unhealthy and Abusive Relationships Impact Kids – Today’s Parent, www.todaysparent.com/family/parenting/how-unhealthy-and-abusive-relationships-impact-kids/. Accessed 8 May 2025.
Matthews, Dona. “Should You Stay Together Only for the Kids?” Psychology Today, Sussex Publishers, www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/going-beyond-intelligence/201905/should-you-stay-together-only-the-kids?msockid=33a07f611aae6abe2af970951b876bfd. Accessed 7 May 2025.
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