Survivor Testimonials
Survivor Testimonials and Poems
TED TALK: Leslie Morgan Steiner was in “crazy love” — that is, madly in love with a man who routinely abused her and threatened her life. Steiner tells the story of her relationship, correcting misconceptions many people hold about victims of domestic violence, and explaining how we can all help break the silence.
AN ANGRY MAN
BY: E.J.
I survived an angry man, although that was never the plan.
You cannot love an angry man; I survived his angry hands.
I tried to stand tall so he could not make me small, then I found myself sliding down the wall.
Thinking, I wished I had just been small.
As I get to my feet, the blows repeat, this time I stay on the floor, my body cannot bear much more.
So, I get up and I fight, even though I know it is not right.
I cannot ignore the urge—I let my anger surge.
I spit my blood back in your face and scream; “keep it coming, I love the taste.”
As another blow lands on my face, reality hits as I realize I can’t win against an angry man.
As I taste the fear, I breathe in the LIGHT, I know now—I will be all right.
Maybe it was not part of my plan, but I am so much STRONGER from SURVIVING that angry man.
Phoenix
By F.M.
I believe in miracles. The kind that turns blindness into sight, rate into tenderness, and death into life.
I thought we could be one of those miracles.
We stood once on an alter together and both said yes to forever. I spoke truth while he made empty promises. I believed he was send from God.
I was wrong.
He came to try and silence my voice and destroy my soul.
He twisted mercy into control, quoted love but never lived it.
He played the puppet and let the devil do the rest.
I didn’t stay because I couldn’t see the fire.
I stayed because fire was all I’d ever known.
And in the flicker of it’s familiarity, I mistook danger for safety.
We created three new souls.
Woven from threads of light and shadow, three of the only good things he gave me.
Their laughter once filled these rooms.
Their drawings hung on the fridge and walls.
Now these memories are folded into smoke.
Still, I carried them out-again and again.
Telling them, and telling myself, we could rebuild.
That the fire could be contained if I stayed a little longer.
Too many times, I led us out of the heat, only to go back in.
But that last time, there was nothing left to save.
The walls had collapsed.
The baby shoes, the bedtime books, the photos with wrinkles smiles.
All curled in on themselves, disappearing into ash.
I left the children safely outside beneath sky, wind and mercy and I walked in alone.
Not to stay.
Not to beg.
Not to pleade.
But to say: We are never coming back.
He stared back at me with those dark, empty eyes.
Unmoved, unbothered.
And in his hand, were the matches.
Now…
I am beginning to breath again.
No smoke in my lungs.
I am beginning to think clearly.
To see my life without his shadow in it.
Without his voice echoing in my head anymore.
Final words:
The fire didn’t destroy us.
We rose from it.
And now we are building a life he can’t burn down.