Who am I?
My name is Sue Parisher, and I am a domestic violence victim who has been struggling to regain control of my life and thoughts since the separation from my abuser in 2007. Eighteen years of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse left me with serious scars.
I feel that the number of times I was bruised, yelled at, or sexually violated as irrelevant to this blog site. We all have an uniqueness to our story that brings shock, sympathy, and pain to those who hear about our journey. There is no need to put my abuse on the “abuse meter” to determine how bad, really bad, or really, really bad the abuse was. Family background, values, and faith all contribute so it only seems to reason the way our abuse affects us will be different. To some of us, the yelling will be horrible, to others the physical abuse will be horrible, and to others some scale of both. But our tolerance scale is uniquely individualized. What was painful to me might be less painful to other women and vice versa. What matters is that, to each of us, our boundaries have been violated by someone.
When you pass by me, chances are you won’t notice anything physically different about me. I look like any other soccer mom, PTA mom, church member or long distant family member. My quiet and withdrawn disposition might clue you in that I am out of sorts with my world. But, many of us moms portray an overwhelmed, slightly anxious identity so with that I fit in. I am sure you won’t worry about my lack of social interaction too much.
Chances are, the rest of the world looks at me and sees what they consider a normal looking person. My mask of secrecy conceals my tormented insides from the rest of the world.
That’s who domestic violence victims and survivors are: we are sons/daughters, mom’s, sister’s aunts, cousins, co-workers, and neighbors. We are people trying to escape from our past. We are masters at secrecy and hiding our pain.
I feel that the number of times I was bruised, yelled at, or sexually violated as irrelevant to this blog site. We all have an uniqueness to our story that brings shock, sympathy, and pain to those who hear about our journey. There is no need to put my abuse on the “abuse meter” to determine how bad, really bad, or really, really bad the abuse was. Family background, values, and faith all contribute so it only seems to reason the way our abuse affects us will be different. To some of us, the yelling will be horrible, to others the physical abuse will be horrible, and to others some scale of both. But our tolerance scale is uniquely individualized. What was painful to me might be less painful to other women and vice versa. What matters is that, to each of us, our boundaries have been violated by someone.
When you pass by me, chances are you won’t notice anything physically different about me. I look like any other soccer mom, PTA mom, church member or long distant family member. My quiet and withdrawn disposition might clue you in that I am out of sorts with my world. But, many of us moms portray an overwhelmed, slightly anxious identity so with that I fit in. I am sure you won’t worry about my lack of social interaction too much.
Chances are, the rest of the world looks at me and sees what they consider a normal looking person. My mask of secrecy conceals my tormented insides from the rest of the world.
That’s who domestic violence victims and survivors are: we are sons/daughters, mom’s, sister’s aunts, cousins, co-workers, and neighbors. We are people trying to escape from our past. We are masters at secrecy and hiding our pain.
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Sue Parisher TodayDuring my early recovery, as I pondered my morning devotions, a message was placed on my heart to write. Then the message expanded to write a book. As I challenged this guidance over time, doors started opening up providing confirmation on what my heart was telling me to do.
As the flame in my heart grew confirming I was supposed to write, I kept being challenged by this one thought: if I, an educated professional was struggling with the long term effects of domestic abuse, then it would seem others were struggling also. Then I realized one out of four women in the United States experience severe intimate partner violence. Wow, what an often secret, but big platform I have a chance to impact.
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Rock Bottom and Faithless is where I share my raw recovery story as well as what I've learned through the healing process with the goal of helping others heal or better understand the road to recovery. It's also a way for me to serve this community of victims and survivors in a way that was not available to me when I needed help the most.
I plan on using earnings from the book sales to spearhead transportation support for domestic violence victims. One of the stressors of beginning to live without our abusers is our finances. Even if people are like me, educated and with a job, divorce brings changes (usually increased financial strains) to medical insurance, child-care expenses, and a whole bunch of other things.
There's a unique connection between having a job and having a car. These two are almost interchangeable; it's hard for us not living in an area with public transportation to have a job without transportation. It's hard to afford transportation without a job. So, I am looking into finding trustworthy mechanics that I can give oil change vouchers, car inspection vouchers, or the ability to replace tires so women can have safe transportation for work and their children.
Because of my work with Rock Bottom and Faithless, I now have the opportunity to provide a safe space online for those at the end of their healing process, as well as suggested safe spaces for those early in the healing process. More information on this is coming soon.