Money talks..

Money, wealth and status. I think they all symbolize privilege and power. Today we live in a world where we judge, and are judged, by how much we own or can potentially own.

I stumbled upon a lil something today that totally blew my mind off. Ontario health plan covers Dr Bernstein's diet clinic but not a nutritionist!! In essence, we can pay for medication but invest in teaching how to eat properly.

I wonder if it is because no drug company makes money off nutritionists?

Where objectification and stereotypes hurt...

Objectification and stereotypes are the key accomplices of systematically institutionalized violence. By objectifying or stereotyping, we forget or overlook the bigger picture.

For example, in the case of Aboriginal Indians, the common stereotype is that they are all drunken Indians. What we forget is that alcohol was in essence brought to them to breed helplessness. How can we forget that despairity and drunkedness go together? By stereotyping, or objectifying, we narrow our vision to scrutinize only the problem. We distance ourselves from reality. We forget the cause, the history and eventually, when violence walks in, we forget humanity.

Intake process & notetaking...

The intake assessment can be used for many purposes. The form you create should tailor to the target needs of your shelter/clinic's clients. The intake process should involve, but not be limited to: risk assessment, housing assessment, safety planning, legal needs assessment etc.

Client information is always confidential. This not only means that you can not share the information with other clients, but with other unassociated parties either. Under certain circumstances, confidentiality between colleagues is ok. However, it should not not leave the office space nor be shared with other clients/victims. Just because a client shared her pieces with someone, it does not mean that they can take it from her and share it whereever they choose to.

It is often important to remember that every employee of the shelter/clinic does not need to know EVERY detail about the client. If the client is a survivor of childhood sexual violence, her intimate pieces need not be shared with anyone. Likewise, everybody does not need to know everything about her to help her. The housing worker or the parenting worker does not need to know the intimate pieces of her abuse history to help her.

Client information is often used in courtrooms. If the notes are not accurately recorded, they can harm the women. During the intake process, and counselling sessions, if it is required that you take notes, write what she says. Do NOT make judgements. If she says she has a tough time waking up, it does not mean she is lazy or depressed. Do NOT assume. Do NOT write things that are not accurate.

If the client feels bad about parenting, do NOT misquote her. Just say she is currently working on behaviorial management techniques for her kids.

As counsellors, we can often recognize trauma. But do not write down in your notes that she is traumatized. That's judgement. Her state is a result of experiences. Women often build defense mechanisms to get through situations. The 'trauma' that you may be noticing, could infact be a behaviour she may have aqcuired to get through her experiences. Do not judge it. Some clients have come from situations where they have been making financial choices between food and rent. Just because you see symptoms of depression, it does not mean you note it down. Depression in this situation could mean that the circumstances for her are tough and it's not easy for her to smile or be cheery.

If a conflict takes place during her stay at the shelter, no body else's name can be mentioned in your notetaking. If Susy has a conflict with Yasmin, do not mention each other's names in their reports.

At the bottom of it all, we have to work to empower women, not fail them systematically - over and over again. Institutionalized abuse takes place mostly right after the women leave their homes. Do not be an accomplice to violence, be an ally for peace.

When love hurts: The Story of an Abused Woman.

When violence happens in relationships, if often has a very regulated pattern. The extent of violence often changes, but the pattern is almost always the same. First its the wine and dine (honeymoon stage), then abuse, then the wine and dine again, then violence again. This is a pattern employed by abusers to reinforce trust and guilt within the victim until they loose it again. During this cycle of violence, the victim is often isolated, and slowly estranged, from her (only because i deal with women, but it happens to men as well) family. This increases the perpetuation of violence. I often wonder if this violence is a conscious, systematic effort on part fo the abuser or is this just another example of how power protects itself.

Anyhow ...!

Below is an article by Susan Mclelland on the story of Bonnie Williamson's abuse.

When Love Hurts
How one battered woman fought back and won

I was overcome with conflicting emotions when I heard the judge issue the sentence to Rob*: two years plus a day in a federal penitentiary for raping and physically abusing me for six months. Part of me felt guilt. I know it sounds crazy, but I still loved Rob and pitied him having to go to jail. I also felt rage. The sentence was too short. Will this really deter Rob from beating another woman? I also felt satisfaction. Justice, albeit not enough, had been served.

It started with romance
When I first met Rob, I had been a single mom for about eight and a half years. I have four children (then aged eight, nine, 11 and 16) and had full custody of them following my divorce from their father. My entire life was devoted to my two jobs -- security guard and store clerk -- and raising my children, trying as best I could to give them opportunities to succeed. I didn't date. I didn't have the time, nor did I want to bring another man into my kids' lives unless I was sure it was going to last.

Rob's stepmother was my youngest son's school teacher. For a year and a half she begged me to meet him, saying we would be perfect together. I hesitated because I didn't want to be set up with anyone, but her nagging eventually worked, and I agreed she could give him my telephone number.

When I first met Rob, it was electric and magical. He wined and dined me like no other man; he bought me chocolates, sent me flowers and left me little gifts on my pillow. He always touched me softly on the hand and the back of the neck. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. Even to this day, I never loved anyone as much as Rob.

The abuse begins
The honeymoon period ended the day after we were married -- six months from when we first met. He moved into my townhouse and brought his dog despite my explaining to him that we weren't allowed pets. When I came home from work, he was on the way out with the dog.

"Are you going for a walk?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I'm leaving. You won't let me keep my dog."

"Well, maybe you should have married your dog," I answered jokingly.

Rob is about six foot three and 225 pounds. I'm five foot four and 100 pounds. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up against the wall. He wore big pewter biker rings on every finger and started smashing me in the face with his knuckles. He grabbed my hands and bent them backward, breaking one of my fingers.

I was in shock. I was stunned. But I didn't leave. A few hours after the incident, Rob broke into tears and told me how sorry he was. I loved him so much, so I believed him when he said it wouldn't happen again.

But life became hell after that. For the next two months the abuse was nonstop. Rob kept me in a constant state of terror. I'm not a drinker, but he'd toss a rum and Coke in my face and say drink. He'd punch me in the stomach or kick me in the thigh if I didn't. I started walking on tiptoes around him, fearful of everything I'd say and do. But it didn't matter; the abuse continued. He dislocated my shoulder several times. He'd lift me up by the ankles and bang my head against the floorboards in the living room.

A woman of two minds
A part of me wanted to leave, but another part of me hesitated. I've since learned that most battered women put up with an awful lot of abuse before they finally leave. Somehow I felt I was partially responsible for the abuse. If I hadn't made a particular comment or if I had just sipped the rum and Coke everything would have been OK. And for the first few months Rob was apologetic after the beatings. He'd say he felt rotten and that he didn't mean to hit me so hard. He'd cry and show such remorse that I'd forget my own pain. He'd become romantic and sweet, and I'd fall in love with him all over again.

I started to isolate myself from friends and family. I didn't want them to know about the violence. I covered my facial wounds with makeup. I put on a happy face with my kids and tried to act like things were fine. They knew about the violence but didn't know the severity. I was a security guard and worked most nights by myself or just one other person. I didn't have to do a lot of explaining. When my mom wanted to see me, I'd lie, saying I was busy. I didn't want her to see my bruises. I was embarrassed.

The abuse worsens
The rapes began about two months after we were married. I was dressing into my security-guard uniform when Rob came out of the shower and asked me where I was going. He didn't wait for my answer. He threw me on the bed, sat on my stomach, pinned my arms up beside my head and ripped off my clothes. "If you want sex, wait until I get home tonight," I said. "You'll do it when I want, and how I want," was his response. It got worse after that. Rob would tie me up and put foreign objects such as necks of beer bottles and dirty washrags into my vagina. Five months into the marriage I endured beating after beating. While most of the assaults were done when my children weren't home, they did see Rob hit me near the end. I was worried that they might step in and try to protect me. If they did, they might get beaten, too. I began plotting our escape, but it was difficult. Rob had begun making threatening comments: "You can never get far enough away from me. I will always find you. If I can't have you, no one will." I felt trapped.

The breaking point
But then came the night I had no choice but to call the police. Rob had disappeared for three days. I didn't know where he was. I thought he had been in an accident and was hurt. I left messages on his truck telephone and called the police and hospitals in the area. Nobody had heard anything.

He arrived home on the third night at about 1 a.m. and immediately started screaming at me that he didn't appreciate me trying to track him down. We were in the kitchen and he grabbed the phone receiver and began to beat me in the face with it. His eyes were red and flashing like I'd never seen before. I ran to the bedroom, and he was right behind me. He picked me up over his head and threw me across the room twice. I broke my tailbone in the second fall.

My 10-year-old daughter woke up. She must have heard something and came to see what was happening. We were now in the hallway. She just stood there, stunned. Rob looked at her and got scared for some reason. He went into the bathroom to pack his things.

I found my way to the kitchen, fighting the pain from the broken bones, and called the police.

A responsibility to other women
At first I hesitated making a statement. Even after everything, I didn't want to send Rob to jail. But then a police officer said something the next day that changed my mind: "Do you think you have a responsibility to other women? Do you want this to happen to someone else?"

What I didn't know at the time was that Rob had a history of violence against women. All he ever told me was that he had been married once before. What I learned from the police was that she had been found unconscious in a pool of blood on the floor of her garage. Rob had married a second time, too, and beat that woman up. But he was never convicted of assault because I was the only one of his wives who turned him in to the police.

The police had no problem charging him. But they were honest with me: it was going to be difficult to prove spousal rape in court. I didn't care. I wanted Rob to be charged with rape. He might not be convicted, but at least the charges would be on his record. I felt I owed this much to the next woman who crossed his path.

Not alone
The police held Rob for a few days, and I moved into a counselling facility. The staff wanted me to join group counselling, but I couldn't speak in front of other people. I felt like such a fool for having been beaten up by my husband. I thought the others in the group would judge me as a failure as a mother and wife.

But then I met women just like me -- lots of women. It shocked me how many of us are out there, abused by our loved ones.

It took about a year, but eventually I looked at Rob with fresh eyes and started to connect the dots. I was finished counselling but still doing a lot of emotional healing, reading books, writing poetry and meditating. I came to realize that all the other men in my life treated me horribly -- screaming, yelling and controlling me. I saw that it began with my acceptance of this behaviour when I was a child. My stepfather sexually assaulted me from the age of seven until I ran away from home when I was 15. When you're a kid and you're abused, you think you deserve it. Unconsciously, I came to accept violence as part of intimate relationships. Affection and abuse went hand-in-hand for me.

Breaking the cycle
It took a long time for me to realize that I am a good person. I'm loyal, giving and loving. I deserved to no longer have violence in my life. But then I started to panic. Had I passed the cycle of violence onto my kids? They had witnessed me being abused, so would my boys become violent predators? Would my girls accept abusive partners like I had? Over the years I've told them that violence is unacceptable in any form. But more importantly I have showed them this is true by becoming a healthy person, dating men after I left Rob who were not abusive and learning to love myself every day.

The case against Rob took two years to wind its way through the courts. It was emotionally exhausting, particularly having to listen to Rob on the stand talking about the rapes. He said that I liked kinky, rough sex. The only way the crown could prove the contrary was by calling my ex-husband and Rob's ex-wife to the stand. My ex testified I was never into violent sex, and Rob's ex-wife testified that everything he had done to me, he had attempted on her.

At one point in the trial the Crown asked if I wanted to quit. If I agreed to let the Crown make a deal, Rob would be convicted of assault but not rape. The Crown said it was my call. It took 20 minutes for me to say no.

I remembered one of Rob's friends saying to me during the trial that I brought the abuse on myself. This made me mad. "Rob is in trouble because of what he did," I told him. "He chose to hit me on his own. Rob was charged because he chose to beat me up."

Rob was eventually convicted of everything, including rape. Part of me felt guilty, but I also felt satisfied. Justice had been served.

Moving Forward
During the trial there was a restraining order against Rob coming anywhere near me. Now I'm on my own. Thirteen years later and far away from the town where we lived together, I am still terrified of this man, even though I haven't seen him in years. Every so often I hesitate when I go to the mall alone or walk to my car. "Is he out there waiting for me?"

I may be risking my safety by coming forward with my story, but I feel it's important. There are so many women going through what I went through. They need to know they're not alone and don't deserve to be abused. There are other women, like me, standing with them, ready to open their arms and provide safety and refuge. *Name has been changed