Surviving the Darkness – Escaping Domestic Abuse:

I had already survived so much. I thought the worst was behind me. I never expected the person I loved to become the source of my deepest pain.

When Love Turns to Fear

Long before my incarceration and the legal battles that would consume my life, I faced a different kind of prison—one built on fear, control, and emotional torment. Becoming a young mother came with its challenges, but I never imagined the man I turned to for love and support would become the root of my deepest wounds.

He didn’t show his true colors at first. In the beginning, he was kind, attentive, and seemed to understand the storm I had already walked through. He came bearing expensive gifts, kept the fridge full, ensured the bills were paid—my daughter wasn't without. On the surface, it looked like love, stability, and support. But beneath the surface, a much darker reality was beginning to take root. I wanted so badly to believe in a fresh start, to trust that maybe this time, love would bring healing. I ignored the small red flags—the controlling comments, the moments of jealousy, the emotional manipulation—because I was tired of struggling alone. I wanted to believe in someone.

Living the Nightmare

It wasn’t long before the kindness gave way to cruelty. The emotional abuse crept in slowly—first through isolation, then through degradation. He took everything from me—my soul, my sense of security. Knowing who my father was, no matter where he was, I had always felt protected. But he stole that from me. After so many times of trying to run and hide, only to be found and reminded that my father couldn’t save me, it started to sink in—I was alone in the most life-or-death situation of my life. I felt like a tree whose roots had long dried up from lack of nourishment. He isolated me from my mother, my sister, and everyone important to me. He put knives to me, pointed guns at me. I walked the Bedford Highway from the Comfort Inn—naked, with my daughter, no socks, no clothes—trying to escape after he beat me so badly during my first trimester that I was coughing up balls of dark blood, his footprints left in my chest. He kidnapped me from the train station with an alleged gun in his pocket, with my four-year-old daughter and niece in tow. He held me hostage in a basement, naked and pregnant, and assaulted me for six days until I found a way to escape at six months pregnant with his child. I began to doubt my own worth. I questioned my ability to parent, to heal, to be enough. He took the cracks in my spirit and made them feel like gaping holes. The fear became constant. I wasn’t just walking on eggshells—I was holding my breath every moment, hoping not to set off another explosion.

There’s a unique kind of shame that comes with being abused by someone you once trusted. You carry the weight of silence, afraid of judgment, afraid no one will believe you. But the deepest fear? That you’ll never escape.

The Breaking Point

Not long after I got away from him—from being held hostage in that basement for six days—I made a choice. I decided it wasn’t going to be my mother charging him and me not showing up for court out of fear of what people would think. I charged him. My life was at risk, and I had already seen it flash before my eyes more times than I care to count.

Three months later, I gave birth to my second daughter. It was only a month after that I found myself in legal trouble and my children were taken—ushering in the next biggest battle of my life. I knew I wasn’t a bad mother. I was, at the time, making terrible choices without realizing the long-term impact they would have on my children.

The birth of my second daughter, who came into the world with complex health needs, made everything feel heavier. I was now trying to survive for both of my children while navigating the exit of a toxic relationship. I saw how the chaos was affecting them—especially my oldest. I couldn’t let them grow up in that environment. I knew I had to choose them. I had to choose me.

Leaving wasn’t easy. It meant risking everything. But I decided that fear would no longer dictate my life. I took the steps—one shaky, terrifying step at a time. With support from a few close confidants and a deep inner resolve, I broke free. I chose freedom over fear.

From Surviving to Thriving

Later, when the consequences of my earlier desperate decisions caught up to me, and I faced incarceration, I found myself fighting on a different battlefield—but with the same strength I had summoned to escape abuse. These two battles—being victimized in my own home and criminalized by the system—intertwined to shape my resilience, my purpose, and my calling.

Escaping was just the beginning. Healing came next. There were days I didn’t know how to move forward, but with each small act of self-care, I started to rebuild the pieces of myself that had been shattered. I found comfort in ritual—lighting candles, journaling, creating space to breathe. That’s how Intimately U was born. From a place of brokenness, I built a brand rooted in healing, truth, and empowerment.

In my next post, I’ll share how I turned my pain into purpose and found empowerment through self-care.

Join the Conversation

If you are a survivor of domestic abuse, know that your voice matters. Whether you choose to share your story publicly or hold it close, you are not alone. If you're still in an abusive situation, please seek help—there are resources and people who care. Let’s support one another through shared strength and solidarity. Use the hashtag #IntimatelyUStrong to join the conversation or share your reflections in the comments.

Together, we rise from the darkness into light.