In May of 1989, my three children and I walked into A Safe Place — the Strathcona Shelter Society in Sherwood Park, Alberta. For women and children escaping violence, it is far more than a shelter. It is a lifeline: an emergency refuge, a crisis line, and a community determined to end domestic abuse. It is the kind of place where fear finally loosens, and hope begins to breathe again.
We stayed there for three weeks while I searched for a home of our own. I eventually found an apartment in Edmonton where my children and I could start fresh. I kept working my part‑time teller’s job at the bank until September, and with government support, I completed a one‑month word‑processing course.
After that, I applied for administrative work through a temporary agency, where I soon secured a full‑time position. I continued rebuilding my life one small, determined step at a time.
Within that year, I divorced my spouse. It was not a joyful moment — I was deeply sad — and that sadness made the choice I faced months later feel easier than it should have.
As the children continued seeing their dad, things between him and me began to shift slowly. During this time, JP asked if we could try again. Even though our relationship had been very unhealthy before, I agreed.
My children’s dad said we would put the kids into Strathcona Christian Academy, and at the time, that sounded promising — like maybe things could finally change.
A pastor at the church affiliated with the Academy encouraged reconciliation, but not an immediate return. His guidance was clear: we needed counselling, time, and proper support before making any decisions.
Like many women who hope for change, I wanted to believe things could be different. Instead of following his recommendation, we got back together right away. As many women learn, hope alone cannot transform an unsafe situation.
Many things happened before this and after, but I choose not to go into detail here — not on my blog and not on Facebook. What matters most is the truth that every woman’s journey is deeply personal, and every step toward safety is courageous.
I share this to remind every woman reading: new beginnings are real. A shelter is not a sign of failure. It is a sign of courage. It is a place where you gather strength, steady your breath, and take your first steps toward safety.
If you are living in fear today, please hear me clearly: you are not alone. There are people and places ready to help you, just as they helped me.
Your future can be peaceful, healthy, and free. Every small action you take — reaching out, asking for help, choosing safety — is an act of profound strength.
You deserve protection. You deserve calm. You deserve a life where you and your children can thrive. I walked this road, and I stand with you as you begin yours.
I also want to share one more truth: this was not the last time I left. In reality, it took eighteen attempts before I finally walked away for good — and by then, our children were grown and married. I don’t say this to judge myself, but to be honest about how complicated and painful these situations can be.
I can only encourage you, ladies, not to repeat my pattern. If you leave because of abuse, stay out and do not return. The “safe” period that follows is usually brief, and the cycle almost always begins again. Your safety, your peace, and your future are worth protecting the very first time you step away.