Leaving an abuser is often described as the moment everything gets better — the moment the pain stops, the fear fades, and life becomes peaceful again. I wish that were true. When I finally left my abuser, I truly believed the nightmare was over. And in many ways, it was. But the fear didn’t disappear. Trauma doesn’t vanish just because the door closes behind you.
I still live with PTSD. It doesn’t define me, but it sits quietly in the background of my life. And even though healing has come slowly, life does get easier. It becomes gentler. It becomes yours again.
One day, while I was at work, my phone rang. It was my sister‑in‑law — someone who knew I was working and wouldn’t call unless it was important. I answered, and her voice was serious. She told me that my ex‑husband had been talking about harming me, and that I needed to be careful.
Her words stunned me. They hit like a wave I wasn’t prepared for. Trauma has a way of catching you off guard, even years later. And I knew in that moment that I would never trust him again — not with my safety, not with my life.
After work, I went home, sat at my laptop, and searched for counselling. I didn’t want one‑on‑one therapy anymore. I needed a group — a place where I could listen, learn, and feel less alone. When I found a program that seemed right, I wrote out everything: my history, my fears, the abuse, the threats, the years of trying to survive. I wanted to make sure the counselling would truly help me.
Because I was completely honest about what I had lived through, the counselling team contacted the RCMP. They were deeply concerned that my ex‑husband might try to harm me. And because of earlier incidents in my life, the police already had information on file.
The RCMP called me at work. I asked them to call back when I was home, and they did. I explained everything. They asked if they could speak to the person who warned me — my sister‑in‑law. I broke down and cried. She was going through similar abuse herself. I told the police I would ask her if she was willing to talk. She agreed, and they contacted her. She shared what she knew.
Eventually, I arranged counselling for myself. It was free, but I had to drive forty‑five minutes each way. The gas was worth it. Every kilometre felt like a step toward reclaiming my life.
I’m sharing this because survivors need to hear the truth: domestic abuse doesn’t end the moment you leave. The fear can return. The trauma can resurface. You may wonder when you’ll ever feel completely free.
Today, I live across from a police station in a senior home. I feel safe now. My abuser is seven hours away, but I still remain careful. That caution isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom born from experience.
If you are a survivor, please hear this:
Never let your guard down. Not out of fear, but out of self‑respect.
Your safety matters. Your life matters. Your story matters.
And if you have something to share — something that might help another survivor — consider offering your voice. You can share online, speak privately to someone you trust, or simply write in a journal. Sometimes the act of writing is enough to release the weight inside your mind.
You are not alone. You are not weak. You are not broken.
You are a survivor, and your courage continues — even on the days when fear tries to return.
Closing Prayer for Your Post
God, I lift up every survivor reading these words today. You know the fear they have carried, the wounds that still ache, and the strength it has taken just to keep moving forward. Wrap them in Your calm. Let Your presence settle over their hearts like a soft, steady light.
Where memories still hurt, bring comfort. Where fear still whispers, bring peace. And where trust feels fragile, bring patience and gentleness.
Remind them that they are not alone, not forgotten, and not beyond healing. Teach them to rest in Your protection and to feel safe in the life they are rebuilding. Strengthen their steps, quiet their worries, and surround them with people who care.
God, hold them close. Guide them gently. Restore them fully.
Amen.
