Beyond the Chaos: Into the Light

By Shell B

In between these pages, a thorough, in-depth view of abusive behavior is introduced. The phenomena are defined; the scope of the issue is explored from my personal and professional interpretation. 

Why are some

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sheila Burwell
• Release date: Jul 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648731310

Shell B

At this time, in my life I am retired; a mentor, advocate, and survivor of abuse, life coach, author, and freelance writer with a passion for helping women see there is another way to live outside of abusive environments. Once the option to live another way, presented itself, there was no turning back. I wanted to do more, needed to do more in spreading the 'good news'. Deep within my soul, a passion brewed to share any information I had gathered over the years, to help just one person escape the horrors of an abusive relationship. The good and not so good stuff!

Book preview

PART I

Journey to Self

Dear God, please give me strength

in this time of need. Please take

away my worry and strengthen me so I can

accomplish what is in front of me. I have

ultimate trust in you … Amen

Chapter 1

"We learn by pushing ourselves and finding what really lies

at the outer reaches of our abilities."

~Josh Waitzkin

Looking back…

My goal is to provide insight into the importance of acknowledging the effect that internal risk factors have on victims of abuse, and the impact it has on repeat victimization from different perspectives. These triggers ignite those negative thoughts of not being good enough, worthy enough, pretty enough, smart enough, not being enough, and they stem from the brokenness found in the pit of our soul. Truth is, these negative thoughts are buried so deep in our subconscious we become comfortable with accepting the feelings as being a part of who we are. However, that is far from the truth; we are so much more than what these negative feelings portray. Throughout this book, I will share the intimate moments of my past, as well as short stories derived from enriched information gathered during interviews, I had with some phenomenal women who were abused and re-victimized. I felt it was important to share this valuable information about how abusive behavior manifests in one’s life.

For years I lived a life of uncertainty and did not understand why I kept ending up in an abusive environment. I considered myself to be an attractive, smart, compassionate, and loyal woman with a whole lot of love to give. After some serious soul searching, my results showed me that I was attracted to what my mind thought I deserved: In essence, a mirror of who I was inside. Yes, you guessed it, men who were just as needy as me! You must be ready to attract a man you desire, but only if you can receive him.

Unfortunately, it took years to learn and embrace my truth. It became apparent that I needed to make some internal changes to become the person I am today. However, I had no idea of how to move forward; I’d been stuck for so long, it was my way of life. The only thing I knew for sure was figuring out how to change my future. I spent an enormous amount of time trying to fix the exterior of my being. For example, my appearance had to be perfect in my mind. I used my looks to open doors in my professional affairs, as well as my personal life. It took a little effort to get a man to notice me, but when he did, it empowered me. Once we got to this point, everything fell apart. You see, I believed if I was pretty, loyal, and attentive enough he would love my emptiness away. It is a bad frame of mind to live in; desperately seeking love without knowing how to give back is a recipe for disaster. I was a grown woman with a frightened mentality. The realization that something was wrong took years to surface, but once the reflection of my past took place, especially on my childhood, I began to understand. I had to figure out when the abrupt change took place, it was the only way to put the pieces of my puzzle together. A pattern suddenly appeared: the behavior stemmed from events that happened early in life. Believe me when I say the revelation will be astounding. One other factor that is imperative to accept is, just because you learned of the problem does not mean it will be resolved overnight.

Even though I began working toward a better me about twenty years ago, the episodes of abuse were still reoccurring in my life. Apparently, the changes that I made weren’t enough. So, my quest continued. There had to be a way to recognize the triggers so I could combat the negative thoughts.

In fact, it became crystal clear while pursuing my Ph.D. in Human Service. My decision to provide individual and family therapy led me down this path of study. Advanced Qualitative Research was one of the required courses in preparation for my dissertation. Students had to submit a final project at the end of the course. I chose to use a phenomenological inquiry for my research design. All during undergraduate, postgraduate, and in the pursuit of a doctorate, my focus was on learning more about abusive behavior toward women. During that time, I was a volunteer for a domestic violence shelter, as an on-call crisis intervention specialist. As part of a team of dispatchers whose purpose was to defuse domestic disputes, it allowed me to see intimate partner violence in a whole new light. The traumatic episodes I witnessed were horrifying. Then within no time many of these women were right back in that abusive environment. I understood the turmoil because of my repeated relationships. What propels women who have left the abuse and found safety to reenter the same situation repeatedly? The question became the central part of my case study. I needed to find a connection between internal risk factors and abuse regarding re-victimization.

Choosing to use a phenomenological inquiry as my research design allowed me to study the phenomenon of repeat victimization from a holistic and meaningful fashion. Reflecting on my own story and interviewing women who could describe their experiences from their worldview provided rich information. The results were insightful as to how powerful past traumatization can impact our daily lives as adult women of abuse. It has been proven through scholarly research that most victims who experienced intimate partner violence had endured some type of inner turmoil or traumatic experience during their childhood. For example, being abandoned and/or neglected by a loved one, or sexually violated by someone they knew and trusted. Remember one thing: even if the victims wanted to talk about their feelings, in many cases, no one was there to listen, or they did not know how to verbalize the experience. This is particularly the case during an era when people did not talk about uncomfortable issues and/or problems that occurred in the home or among the family.

I plan to share pieces of my story, and although the participants chosen will remain anonymous, the short stories are based on real-life events. Through storytelling, I will share many examples of how negative, hurtful, and confusing thoughts can become embedded in one’s psyche. In fact, most of the case studies portrayed are some of the most common in the literature.

The Early Years

"The images, scars, and victories that we live with have shaped us into the people we have become. We will never know who a person is

until we understand where they have been."

~ Bishop T.D. Jakes

The Abandoned Child

Courage is Fear Said with Prayer.

~Viola Davis

My story begins to unfold…

My earliest memories of my childhood were pleasant. I was a carefree and happy little girl, with a family who loved me. I lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn, New York, with my mom Irene, her sister Gina and husband Lou, as well as my brother Oscar and Grammy. I had my room with lots of toys, clothes, and shoes. I can remember Sunday dinners that are nothing like today; the women in my house were country girls and they threw down! Every Sunday we had a feast that left enough leftovers for Uncle Lou’s lunch the next day and dinner that evening. The meals were a variety of different meats, veggies, starches, cornbread, rolls, or muffins! The menu varied every week and consisted of down-home cooked soul food. Grammy would fix at least two dessert dishes. Uncle Lou loved himself some sweets!

We celebrated the major holidays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, 4th of July, Memorial Day, and Labor Day with extended family. The holidays were great, I got to dress up! We went to the beach, amusement parks, and took road trips. Road trips were my favorite. Uncle Lou would take the back roads where there were plenty of farms with so many different types of animals to see! We would stop along the way and pick fresh fruit to take with us to our destination. Writing on the trips was one of my favorite things to do; I would either write poems or do some journaling about the sights along the way. Those were the good ole days. Back then, children stayed in their place and didn’t get involved in grown folks’ business. We just went to school, did homework, played outside, and enjoyed vacationing. Life was good!

When I was nine years old, things changed drastically. Uncle Lou, who was the sole breadwinner in the house, was always trying to better himself and the family. He was a mechanic; his expertise was bodies and fenders. He became interested in the field while growing up in his hometown in North Carolina, watching his dad. He liked it so much, he decided to pursue a career in it when he came home from serving in World War II. He went to school and attained certification to work on cars and landed a job in the field. As the years passed, he was able to gradually move up in the company. Uncle Lou was promoted from being a general mechanic to managing his team of mechanics. Things were so good financially, he uprooted the whole family and moved us from North Carolina to New York into our very own brownstone in Brooklyn. From what I can remember, our house was beautiful and huge! Although I believe he liked where we lived, he constantly complained about not being able to park in front of the house. Uncle Lou got irritated when he had to park a block or two away from the house. At that time, finding a parking space out front was difficult. Well at least that was the discussion around the dinner table almost every night, so I took it as being the truth. When the opportunity came for Uncle Lou to purchase a home in New Jersey with the possibility of having a driveway to park his car he grabbed at the chance. It was also beneficial in expanding his own business as a mechanic. Since having a garage and driveway would allow Uncle Lou the opportunity to work on cars in his spare time, it brought in extra money to the family. At that age, I didn’t know how to feel; on one hand, I was excited at the prospect of moving to a new area, meeting new friends, living in a new home, etc.

On the other hand, I would be leaving my two best friends, Elaine, and Carol (whose nickname was Tiny). Everybody called her that because she was so little. But when she got mad you could hear her mouth in the next town. She was my protector; I feared everything and everybody. Elaine was Miss Thang; you couldn’t tell her she wasn’t cute. She wore the latest fashion in clothes, shoes, and sneakers. She was a prissy little thing, but I must admit she was beautiful. Elaine had what Black folks considered to be good hair, which she loved to wear in a ponytail high on the top of her head. She was average height for a ten-year-old. My girl was also very popular in school, which led me and Tiny to be as well, but she was the obvious star. Elaine made sure her appearance was always on point. She hated getting dirty or messing up her hair but would come out to play like she was going to a party. I never understood her reasoning, however, I tried to do the same thing. She was so funny when we would be outside playing Double Dutch and dirt got on her hands or clothes. Elaine would have a fit. Tiny would always crack jokes about her being so prissy. However, Tiny and I were the opposite of her: we had play clothes and going out clothes. We were not allowed to wear good clothes outside.

I grew up in a religious household and we went to church every Sunday. Well my auntie would make me and my brother go with her. We attended Sunday school, morning service, sometimes evening service, and come back for Wednesday midweek service. My auntie served the Lord faithfully. She was an active member of the usher board, as well as one of the head cooks during special occasions at the church. I didn’t like going to church because Auntie would make us stand in the prayer line. I was petrified. The preacher would say a prayer and then put some holy oil on his hand and slam it onto my forehead, as if he knew I had to repent my sins. Elaine’s family was more spiritual than religious, so she didn’t have to go to church. However, on a few occasions, she came with us but didn’t make it a habit. Regardless of rain, sleet, hail, or snow, Tiny and I would be sitting in those pews practically the whole day on Sundays. Some Sundays we would go home, eat dinner, and then head right back for evening service because our families were faithful worshipers. Those were my girls, and they balanced my young life; one gave me courage and the other taught me how to be a girly girl! We had been friends since forever! The idea of leaving them left me petrified.

On the day of the move, I had so many mixed emotions going on in my little head. The night before I could hear my mother and auntie having a serious discussion. For some reason, my mother didn’t want to move to New Jersey. In fact, she had rented a room in a rooming house in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn! During the conversation, auntie told her that a little girl living in a rooming house was not a good idea, and let her know that I was moving to New Jersey with them. My mother didn’t hesitate; she told her that it would be alright, and just like that, my mother signed over guardianship papers. It was the only way for my aunt to enroll me in school, and the choice gave up her parental rights. Okay being a nine-year-old child, I was so confused and didn’t understand what was transpiring right in front of my eyes. I thought leaving my two best friends was devastating, but now I’m learning there was so much more going on. My mother chose to move to a rooming house instead of going to a place where she would not only be with her kids but have a chance at a better life. Up until this time I didn’t give any thought to my actual relationship with my mother because we all lived in the same house together. But suddenly, a flood of emotions engulfed me, and I needed her to console me, take me with her, love me in a way I didn’t understand at the time. I ran to my brother who turned me away and told me he hated me. You see, Oscar was thirteen, so he understood what was happening and was hurt that he wasn’t coming with us. Uncle Lou was adamant about him not going.

He said to my brother When I was your age, I was driving school buses and giving my mama money to help around the house. You will have to do the same; it will make a man out of you.

I don’t think Oscar understood what my uncle was talking about; I know I didn’t. At any rate, he hated me and blamed me for his current situation.

It broke my heart, the pain cut deep inside. I loved and idolized my brother so much back then. Oscar was so cool. I wanted to be around him all the time. However, he did hurtful and spiteful things just to make me cry or be sad. I can remember him saying on many occasions that if I cleaned his room, he would take me to the park to play handball and/or let me watch him play basketball. I wouldn’t hesitate, I liked cleaning his room. He had so many posters of basketball players, R&B and rock groups hanging on the wall around the room. Oscar also had the latest record player with tall speakers. I would pick from the many albums and 45s he had neatly on the shelves and in racks stacked to the ceiling. I played my favorites while I danced and cleaned. Although Oscar was only 5’8, he could play some basketball. When he did take me outside with him to the playground, I used to love watching him steal the ball from the other team and make jump shots! I loved my brother with all my heart and was proud to be his sister. I was so happy at the thought of hanging out with him, that making sure his room was spotless was very important. On other occasions, when my chore was done, I would let him know and he would laugh and say, ‘thank you sucker’ and leave out the house. It made me cry my eyes out because I wanted to be around him. Even though I tried there was nothing that could be done to change our situation; deep down inside he hated me.

Adjusting to my new life was very difficult. I felt so alone. I was in this big house with just my aunt, uncle, and Grammy. I don’t remember much about Grammy except she loved to cook and bake. I think during that time Grammy was in her eighties; all she did was sit in her rocking chair dipping snuff and spitting in her empty coffee cans, looking out the window. Don’t get me wrong; even though she was up there in age she didn’t take no mess. I remember when we were living in New York and my brother would misbehave, she would grab his ear and twist it until he hollered. Oscar and Grammy were very close though, he was always near her, sitting or kneeling by her chair looking out the window and talking. I was afraid of her because she never smiled, so I kept my distance except when she made my favorite dessert: German Chocolate Cake!

I missed my mom, brother, and my two best friends. I could write Elaine and Tiny letters but that was our only means of communication. Before long the letters stopped coming and I never heard from Elaine or Tiny again. I guess we drifted into our own individual lives and went our separate ways. The separation was hard because I needed them to balance my existence, or so I thought. I had no identity. Who was I? I didn’t seem to fit in anywhere, or with anyone.

In school, I tried to make friends, but it seemed nearly impossible. For example, I was forced to dress up when attending school and that made the other kids jealous. While living in Brooklyn that’s how the kids dressed going to school. However, in my new environment, most kids dressed more casually. Designer jeans, jean jackets, and converse sneakers were the fad; that’s all the kids wore to school. I only had a few pairs of jeans and one pair of sneakers that I wore to play outside or go visiting on Saturdays. Anytime a chance came along to make a friend, I would go overboard to be liked or accepted, but I just didn’t fit in.

I looked forward to visiting my mother and brother over the summer after moving to New Jersey. However, when I saw where and how they were living, I was a little taken aback. The dwelling was a dreary looking apartment building with people sitting outside playing music; some were dancing in the streets and drinking alcohol. The atmosphere was different from what I understood. My aunt, uncle, and I proceeded to enter the building and take the stairs to the second floor. We walked the long dark hallway to my mother’s door. When we entered the apartment, it looked like a party was going on. The apartment consisted of a large kitchen and bathroom with two doors that occupied two separate rooms on either side of the kitchen. My mother and brother lived in the rooms to the left. There was an array of people in the kitchen, some standing against the wall, a few were seated around the table and others were sitting on the floor. We knocked on the door and she let us into a sitting room, which was a part of my brother’s room separated by a curtain. My mother occupied the room in the back. I proceeded to her room and dropped my luggage on the floor, then hopped up on her big bed and started watching the television on her dresser. I was so happy to be there! After Auntie and Uncle Lou left, my mother came into the room and sat down in the chair by the bed.

She looked at me and said, You know we don’t sit on the bed with our street clothes on?

It was one of my family’s rules. I gave her a look because she was sitting in the only chair in the room; did she expect me to sit on the floor? What was there to say? Grown folks’ rules were to be abided by, and I was a child. So logically the next thing to do was go shower and put on my pajamas, then I would be able to sit back on her fluffy bed. Once all that was done, I got back on the bed. I tried to talk to my mother, but the conversation was one-sided. She was quiet most of the time, so I just rambled about my new life in New Jersey. As my conversation continued, I made sure she knew how much I missed and loved her. I asked if I could come and live with her. She never once said I could stay; she would just smile and told me to ask my auntie. My mother was the baby of the family, but being told to ask my aunt didn’t sit well with me. I was her daughter, for God’s sake, not some stranger off the street. However, my opinion should have been considered, except being a child, I had to stay in my place and not question what my mother said. Nonetheless, asking my aunt was not going to happen, that sounded dumb to me.

Over the next couple of days, I learned my mother liked to party with her neighbors. In my tiny eyes, the situation looked much different; well actually, not really, because I never paid any attention to her lifestyle while living in New York. My auntie was the dominant figure in the house, and I was not privy to her way of living. So here I was watching my mother, the stranger, for the first time. She had been drinking beer on that night with the neighbors. I came into the kitchen for something to drink and she was entertaining a man at the kitchen table. They were laughing up a storm. She saw me walk into the room and called me over, introducing me to a man named Bruce. He was supposedly her boyfriend, or at least claimed to be, or better yet wanted to be. I can understand why: my mother was a beautiful woman. Mommy had flawless skin, rocked a burnt red all-natural afro, and her body was banging; 36, 24, 48, she was a brick house! I can remember walking down the street with her going to the store or running some errands and the men doing construction would whistle. Men in cars would honk their horns, saying ‘hey pretty lady’! Even some fellows who passed us on the sidewalk would try to get her to stop and talk to them. Most women would be flattered with this type of attention, but not my mother, she just ignored them.

I can remember saying, Ma did you hear that? or Did you see that guy trying to talk to you?

She would nod her head or simply say, I don’t have time for that foolishness. They better go home to their wives.

I had no clue what that meant, but it was very clear that she wasn’t interested. In fact, her so-called boyfriend disappeared just as quickly as he came; although he was one of many, no one was around consistently, until much later. She was just a free spirit, in her world. I was so proud to be her daughter. I loved everything about her, even the complexities in her life that made her make unfavorable decisions. It made me promise myself that if I ever had children, I would smother them with love and never wanted to allow them to feel unloved or alone. However, you cannot give what you have never received. At that time, I was too young to understand, and it would be years before reality reared its ugly head.

Over the next couple of years, I spent summer vacation with my mother and brother. The last visit, I was about twelve, and my stay ended abruptly due in part because the atmosphere was no longer safe. About a week after I arrived, it was Saturday night and as usual, a party was going on. After some time, the noise stopped, and it was quiet in the kitchen. I was starving. Normally there would be plenty of snacks for me to munch on; however, during this visit it seemed like my mom was rationing my food. She claimed not to have money for groceries. I gave her the side-eye. She had plenty of time to party and leave me alone in the house, so the least she could have done was have food for me to eat. Even though I was thin, skinny in fact, I could eat! And that evening I was starving. I was sitting in my mother’s room listening to my stomach growl. I could smell fried chicken calling my name. Although the party was over, I knew there was food out there, but I was afraid to go fix me a plate. There were a lot of people who came and went in the room across from my mom. One guy was always staring at me whenever I came into the kitchen. Whether I was in there fixing something to eat, getting a drink, or using the bathroom, he came out of the room and tried to talk and/or hug me. Some of the time, he would just stare at me and grab his private parts, rubbing them, saying I was pretty. He didn’t believe that I was twelve because of my height. Rob was a big man, so fighting him off was impossible if he caught me alone. I was afraid, but never mentioned this to anyone. I just stayed out of his path.

One night I was starving and noticed it was quiet in the kitchen. My mother and brother were nowhere to be found. When I opened the door, the hallway was empty, so I crept into the kitchen to find something to eat. Midway through fixing my plate, Rob walked through the door and went straight to his room. Not long after, he came back out of the room in his underwear. I froze! He came up close behind me, breathing down my neck. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He asked if I would fix him a plate. It freaked me out, but I said okay. He went and sat at the table; out of the corner of my eye I saw him grabbing and rubbing himself. I tried to ignore it. When our plates were filled, I set them down on the table. All the while he was staring at me, looking so intense like he was trying to see my soul. Finally, breaking the silence and his gaze, he said I was a little thing. I had no response and tried to take my plate and get out of there. As I reached for it, he grabbed my hand and asked if I would like to touch him. I was so scared nothing came out. He forced me down on his lap. I had on a sundress; it rose my legs and he put his hand under it, and rubbed my vagina through my panties while gyrating his penis on me. I tried to get up, but his grip was too tight, I could barely move. He spread my legs so I was straddling him backward and stuck his hand in my underwear, trying to put his finger inside me. By this time his grip was so strong, and his penis had come out the hole in his underwear. This monster was trying to sit me on top of it while touching me with his fingers. I wanted to scream, but I was so scared. Just as he had ripped my panties completely off, the door to the apartment opened, and there stood my auntie with two shopping bags full of food. She stood in the doorway for a minute in shock! The big man pushed me to the floor and ran into the room he occupied. Auntie banged on the door repeatedly, but he never answered. At this moment, I was shaking like a leaf, stuck in the same spot on the floor. The fear overwhelmed me while I lay on the floor; I was bleeding from my private parts. I tried to tell my auntie, but she insisted I get my clothes. In my mind, I thought it was my period. I ran into the room and was ready to get out of there in no time flat. Just before we were ready to leave, my brother was back, and he stood in the doorway looking at me with such hatred in his eyes. He wasn’t going with us and he blamed me. The pain in his eyes made me very sad. It hurt to leave him behind along with my mother, but for my safety, it was best. By the time we were about to leave my mother came home. She just sat at the kitchen table while my auntie ranted and raved about how she left me all alone, I’d almost been raped, blah, blah, blah! My mother didn’t open her mouth, she just sat there.

My eyes were screaming to my mom, ‘Don’t let her take me, Mommy. I don’t want to go; I want to stay with you.’

I looked from my mother to my brother and back at my mother; no one said a word. My mother stayed in that rooming house until I was well into my teens and by that time, I no longer wanted to go visit her. My heart couldn’t take any more of her rejection!

Chapter 2

Life is Change. Growth is Optional

~Author’s Thoughts

Open wounds…

The reality as a young child shows the truth of my brokenness. It is what propelled me to do an in-depth study on child maltreatment and led me to believe that if the little child within is not healed, the adult will suffer from an ongoing hunger for the unknown. As mentioned earlier, it was my primary purpose in choosing a phenomenological inquiry into the lives of women who have experienced abuse. I wanted to explore core factors that may explain why re-victimization cases are at an all-time high. During my research, I observed and interviewed various women who were housed at ‘Uplifting Spirits,’ a transitional living home for women who endured and left intimate partner violence. Through personal observation and reviewing numerous case files from a database provided by the Director of the home, I noticed a pattern of repeat victimization. My curiosity led me to learn more in-depth about the clients’ past transgressions and the viable link to internal risk factors. I realized my personal story wasn’t unique, and instead I was one of many that may be part of this spiraling intertwined web of hidden turmoil of abuse. This provides evidence that other factors of this phenomenon needed to be explored. One area that piqued my interest was further inquiry into child neglect while living in a household with both parents and suffering in silence. Here’s an example of one such story.

The Neglected Child

Chapter 3

I Did Not Ask God for a Script Today,

I’m Just Taking What He’s Given and Saying

Thank You…

~Author’s Thoughts

Thinking back to when I was amid my case study and gathering rich information from the women I interviewed, I can’t help but remember one participant, Carla James. At the time of our interview, Carla was 33 years old, and a single mother of 14-year-old twin boys, Jesse, and Jonathan. Her boys were honor roll students; Jesse played baseball and Jonathan being tall loved to play basketball. They both had bright futures and the goal was for them to attend college. Carla was lucky that her children were well mannered and even-tempered, and for the most part they never caused her any problems.

She had been