Survivor or Victim? - When Parental Rights Supersede Safety

If I didn’t live the events that occurred in my life & had to listen to my story coming out of another individuals mouth, I wouldn’t believe anyone could endure such relentless torment.

 Yet and still, here I am.

Looking back at the inception of our relationship, I no longer wonder: Was our “love” so extraordinary, a man was willing to give up everything he had just to move in with me? 

Relocating from across town to help raise my son & our unborn daughter - a family together, under one roof. 

 Sounds like the fluff single mother fairy tales are made of, huh? 
 Or as the saying goes:

“Good things comes to those who wait.” 

Fast forward to the day several police officers were banging on my door after I dialed 911 - shirt ripped halfway off my body, pajama pants tattered to shreds, hair disheveled. When asked if I was okay, I couldn’t find words to articulate into speech. 

Due to my appearance and the fact blood was visible on my body, immediate action was taken. It was only after I saw a pair of handcuffs being placed around wrists that weren’t my own, did my voice emerge. 

A plea emitted from my mouth in defense of the very individual who terrified me to the point I contacted the authorities. In that moment I became a shell of my former self.  

Despite all I endured & how bad I wanted things to end between us, I constantly made excuses for the inexcusable. 

The 1st time I was hit was during the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Our neighborhood, Coney Island, was desolate. We went days without electricity, had to cook food before it spoiled & tend to a new born baby who ran out of milk days prior. 

While on the phone with one of his family members explaining the natural disaster we were experiencing, we realized no one would come and get us. 

Moments after the call ended, I tried to offer words of encouragement, only to be smacked to the ground while holding my 1-month-old daughter. 

Shocked my daughter’s father had the audacity to hit me in the face – instinctively I grabbed my purse and ran! 

 I only made it outside the apartment door and frantically pressed the elevator button as a man- whose face often displayed adornment began to morph into a menacing scowl- walked briskly towards me & my daughter. 

I was knocked to the ground and dragged back into our home kicking and screaming as my son watched from the corner. That day’s event was the beginning of the worst kinds of reality checks and the indoctrination of my transformation began.

As the months and years progressed, the man I thought I knew vanished, replaced with an unpredictable stranger. 

Countless beatings, belittling me in front of my children, breaking my property (he never seemed to touch any of his possessions in a fit of rage), drunken tirades, & bruises became normalcy. 

3 years later, I was elated to be hired by MTA NYCT as a conductor. Unfortunately, instead of receiving any form of encouragement or congratulations, the abuse reached a dangerous plateau. 

Jealously & rage over my success intensified to the point that he was barricaded in the house to prevent me from leaving for work. My equipment and uniforms were thrown off the terrace & the never-ending accusations of sleeping with male coworkers began. 

9 months into my probationary period I could no longer endure his mistreatment and contacted his family to come get him. 

Before his family arrived, he made sure to destroy whatever he could. He threw a heated iron with such force in my direction that had it hit me, half of my face would be unrecognizable. 

With him finally gone, I sought assistance and started counseling with safe horizon. I made strides to progress & regain everything he tried to undo in my life. 

I am embarrassed to write, my new-found freedom only lasted 7 months. He penetrated my resolve by professing to be a changed man. 

Once he was back inside the home, it felt as if he was administering severe punishment for every day we were apart. 

Statistically, a battered woman will try 7 to 8 times before she’s leaves for good. One can say they’ve had enough, yet it is the actions behind one’s words that are a true testament of character, & an abuser will be the main one testing said resolve. 

Once he was finally out of the home, he found new and creative ways to continuously inflict pain. Unfortunately, the family court system became his weapon of choice. 

Each time we’re in court, my heart is pounding, breath shallow – I am barely breathing. Tense. I try my best to sit still in confidence as nervousness and trepidation course through my entire body. 

Sitting at a table away from a man who beat & terrorized me for years. 

I attempt to verbalize why he was no longer welcomed in the home we once shared & repeatedly cut off mid-sentence, hearing him state: 

                                " I never hit her"... 

Due to negligence and the inability to garner details from both sides.  The very individuals assigned to assist in decisions for a family, when parents cannot amicably do so themselves, believed said lie without further inquiry.

Despite ACS involvement, documentation, and a slew of repeated occurrences, my experience(s) were rendered a docket # on a calendar. 

Adjournment after adjournment I was shunned & silenced, unable to speak my truth and protect my daughter from a man who had a history of violence the courts willfully turned a blind eye to. 

In a mere 3-5 minutes not only can a family’s life be severely altered, children are often placed in extreme jeopardy because parental rights supersede safety. 

 Egregiously, 22 days ago an order of protection was put into place disallowing me to see, speak or go near my own daughter. A heartless system took a defenseless child away from everything she’s known into the clutches of a dangerous abuser eradicating years of domestic violence. 

 As I strive to survive, 
I am being retraumatized by judicial practices 
that perpetuate all things insidious. 


 SILENCE IS COMPLIANCE. 

I don't know what's more horrific.

The fact these words were written 22 days after my daughter was taken away from me - currently approaching 1 year and 9 months afterward.

Rendering an opportunity to relocate meaningless.

Due to nonstop stress of being without my child & worrying how is she coping residing with an abusive male - lead to several emergency room visits  and eventually being out of work without pay.




Adding insult to a deeply

embedded injury, for the umpteenth time since October 2, 2018 - until our last court appearance on Jauuary 6, 2020 

To see my name attached to a full

stay away order of protection to keep a man whose stab wound is seared into my skin , safe - is  psychological tyranny.

If I didn't have photographs and documentation of my own abuse, and believed what Brooklyn Family Court wrote about me - instead of my own reality....

Enclosing, I'd like to reiterate: 

If I didn’t live the events that occurred in my life & had to listen to my story coming out of another individuals mouth, I wouldn’t believe anyone could endure such relentless torment.

 Yet and still, here I am.

© LaToya S. C.

Stronger
Wiser