Crow and Flame

There is a question people often ask when they hear about domestic violence.

“Why didn’t she leave?”

It sounds simple enough.

Just leave.

Walk out the door.

Get in the car.

Make a phone call.

Start over.

Abuse is rarely that simple.

The truth is that many women don’t stay because they enjoy the pain. They don’t stay because they are weak. They don’t stay because they can’t see what everyone else sees.

Many stay because they are terrified.

Terrified of what will happen if they leave.

Terrified of what will happen if they stay.

And somewhere between those two fears, they become lost.

Abuse doesn’t usually begin with bruises.

It often begins with love.

With attention.

With promises.

With someone who makes you feel special, wanted, and chosen.

Then, little by little, things change.

The criticism starts.

The isolation begins.

The apologies follow.

The promises to do better.

The tears.

The gifts.

The declarations of love.

The cycle repeats.

Over time, reality becomes difficult to trust.

You begin questioning yourself.

Maybe I’m too sensitive.

Maybe I misunderstood.

Maybe if I were better, calmer, prettier, quieter, stronger, more patient, things would be different.

Abuse teaches people to doubt their own instincts.

To ignore the voice inside that says something isn’t right.

To accept behavior they never thought they would.

Not all cages have bars.

Some are built from fear.

Some are built from financial dependence.

Some are built from children.

Some are built from threats.

Some are built from shame.

Some are built from hope.

Hope can be one of the strongest chains of all.

Because every victim remembers who their partner was in the beginning.

Or who they believe they could be again.

They aren’t always fighting for the relationship they have.

Sometimes they’re fighting for the relationship they thought they had.

The one they keep hoping will return.

Leaving is often the most dangerous time for a victim of domestic violence.

Abusers know they are losing control.

Threats escalate.

Violence escalates.

Stalking can begin.

Harassment can begin.

The fear that was once contained inside the home suddenly follows them everywhere.

People often imagine leaving as a single moment.

A decision.

A packed suitcase.

A slammed door.

But for many survivors, leaving happens a hundred times inside their mind before it happens in real life.

They imagine it.

Plan it.

Talk themselves out of it.

Try again.

Hope things improve.

Become frightened.

Start over.

Again and again.

Until one day they find the strength to take a step forward.

And even then, they may feel completely lost.

Because leaving abuse doesn’t instantly restore confidence.

It doesn’t erase trauma.

It doesn’t rebuild self-worth overnight.

It doesn’t magically create a roadmap for the future.

Sometimes leaving feels less like freedom and more like standing in the middle of a wilderness without a compass.

You know where you’ve been.

You know you can’t go back.

But you have no idea where you’re supposed to go next.

That feeling of being lost is something many survivors carry.

The loss of identity.

The loss of certainty.

The loss of the life they thought they were building.

Yet there is something important about being lost.

When we are lost, we are no longer following the path someone else chose for us.

For the first time, we have the opportunity to choose our own.

The journey back to yourself can be slow.

It may begin with therapy.

With support groups.

With trusted friends.

With learning to trust your instincts again.

With discovering what foods you like, what music you love, what dreams still belong to you.

Small things.

Ordinary things.

Pieces of yourself that were buried beneath survival.

Healing is not a straight line.

There will be days when you feel strong.

Days when you miss the person who hurt you.

Days when you question your decision.

Days when you grieve.

Days when you celebrate.

All of it is part of the process.

If you are standing in that wilderness right now, feeling lost and unsure of where to go, know this:

Being lost does not mean you are failing.

It means you are searching.

And searching is often the first step toward finding yourself again.

Like the crow, you may carry scars from every storm you’ve survived.

Like the flame, you may feel small against the darkness.

But crows are resilient.

And flames, even the smallest ones, have a remarkable way of finding fuel.

You are not weak because you stayed.

You are not broken because you struggled to leave.

And you are not lost forever.

Sometimes finding your way home begins with believing you deserve one.