By Mervet Tayeh
SURVIVORS! “They are survivors,” Dania my colleague stressed to me. I insistently asked, ” but are they not considered victims at first?” Dania once again stressed, “Mervet they are survivors.” I let her words set in for a bit; I looked up at her and nodded showing her I understood, but deep down I knew I probably needed more time to internalize exactly what she seemed to be defining. On that particular evening Dania and I did an intake on a woman at Asiyah Women’s Center, (lets call that particular woman Chantel) who was fleeing a very abusive relationship. There was something about Chantel’s situation that really made me very sad, yet so angry all at the same time. First off when she first came to our center she was covered with bruises from head to toe, she looked beyond traumatized because of the abuse she endured. Chantel then ended the intake by telling us her final straw of this abuse was when her partner tried killing her last night; Chantel then pulled down her turtleneck, filled with what looked like purpura type bruises (dark purple bruises caused by internal bleeding of some sort) all along her neck. The sight of that was something I could not fathom. How can someone be able to do something like this? This was beyond inhumane. I was so enraged and saddened that this was what she has been going through for so long.
I vividly remember walking to my car on that cold night, everything seemed so empty to me, the leaves so still, the cool breeze passed me like dry, suffocating air. Thoughts of Chantel, images , and her words were racing through my mind. I was in a complete trance thinking of how traumatized she must be. I started telling myself, “Chantel is a survvv”, I couldn’t allow myself to define her that way; Chantel is…. Chantel is… “Ughhh”, I then took a long, deep breath and silenced my thoughts for the car ride home.
By the middle of the next week I began to feel more balanced emotionally; I felt like a lot of my energy had been restored, I knew I had a lot to do that day. I poured myself some coffee, and was all ready to start my day; as I was walking to my car, I could hear my neighbor Muna calling my name, “Mervet”, as I turned to respond to her I noticed she looked very sad and upset, she was usually always smiley. I walked over to her, and asked her “ what’s wrong”? Muna had watery eyes, tears streaming down her face, “Do you remember the teacher that taught at P.S. 29, her name was Jeanine Cammarata? I believe she might have taught your kids” , Muna asked. My thoughts began racing again, hmmm her name really didn’t ring a bell, she definitely wasn’t one of my daughters’ elementary school teachers, she must be a newer teacher. I looked up at Muna after being in my head for a bit, “ I don’t know her, she must be a newer teacher”, I replied. “She was a newer teacher, and my kids can’t believe this has happened to her”, Muna sobbed desperately, “her ex husband who she has been afraid of and she recently divorced, murdered her forty eight hours ago”. At that very moment I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; I began rambling, “did she ever complain about being in danger? Or dealing with a predator like that, it is not easy to take on alone and usually these women need an undisclosed location for a bit. I would have kept her in our center, until she felt safe”. Muna looked at me, “I didn’t realize where you volunteer is for women fleeing from domestic abuse, this kind of information could have helped Jeanine live, she probably didn’t have anyone to turn to, nowhere to go for help, Mervet she could have survived.”
I spent the rest of that week thinking about Jeanine, a woman I didn’t know. All I knew was her story, her ending. Muna’s words stuck out to me. Her pain, this was very real for her, Jeanine was someone very dear to her, she was her good friend. Her words, She could have survived, she could have survived this, survived this… my thoughts once again racing. At that moment a daunting yet epiphanic realization grew over me. Through Jeanine’s story I was truly able to understand the harsh,cruel reality these women deal with day in and day out. Understanding that domestic violence isn’t always obvious to spot, it’s a largely hidden crime occurring mainly behind closed doors. These women are conditioned to believe that there will never be any kind of support out there for them, they are under-resourced because their partner has full control over them. The women that end up coming to our center for an intake, they come in with some kind of hope; in spite of all of their overwhelming obstacles, they still find that little bit of courage within themselves and take this blind leap . By learning a bit more about Jeanine Cammarata’s story I got to know she too was a woman of incredible strength with a very unfortunate ending. These women were rendered powerless, and still did not break; to be able to speak out, overcome their plight, and change their fate. Well that’s resilience, and that takes incredible strength!
Fridays were usually my days to go in for any intakes. This specific Friday felt different to me, the weather was warm; there was this light breeze that embraced me, I felt protected, and hopeful. I finally arrived at the center for my evening intake. Across from me sat a woman (lets call her Sonia), she really was not making much eye contact with me; she seemed very distraught. Sonia began telling me some information about herself; she then started expressing more personal information about the abuse she’s endured, and how she wants her children to live free from this hell. Sonia wore this uncontrollable fear and anxiety on her; along with that, tears that continued to stream down her face, but Sonia dug deep that evening. “You have nothing to worry about anymore, he does not know where you are, and you are safe. We are going to get you the help you need”, I assured her, she hugged me and thanked me. Sonia sat closer to me, showing me pictures of her kids. She was expressing how dear they were to her, how happy and content they make her feel. She even began to share some candid,funny stories about her daughter. I sat there and took in her stories that made her most happy. I was listening, but also observing intently. I couldn’t help but admire her courage. That evening I wore a different lens; A lens that allowed my vision to be clear of any fog. I was able to truly see. What I saw was a woman who was beyond brave. I saw resilience, I saw incredible strength. I saw a survivor. Sonia is a survivor.
Strength doesn’t come from what you can do. It comes from overcoming the things you once thought you couldn’t. -(Rikki Rogers)
