That was my mum. And it makes me angry, my eyes swell with tears, I could smash through a brick wall with nothing but the pure angst that cultivates inside, any time I remember what my own father did.
But I should remember, to somehow honour my mother, the lady who endured feeling the force of someone's hand, strike her beautiful, loving face. The face I know as 'home'. The face I see my own reflection in. To remember her past and never forget how much, sole consuming ore, I have for the amazing woman she is, how she raised a daughter, alone, who was oblivious to the pain she once lived, at the hand of my dad.
I feel guilt, I feel so far removed from the life my own mother once lived, that often, although it's part of my history, and the culprit is part of my gene pool, it all feels a bit like a tale from someone's else's life tapestry. It's not, but how I ache for my mother that it was.
My mum was young, from a sheltered childhood, one of three sisters.
My dad was a city lad, doing what young men do in the 80's with some jail stints thrown in for good measure.
I won't describe the attacks, I know details of few myself. I selfishly could not quite process hearing what one person had subjected 'my mum' too. It was more than I could handle as a naive teenager, the time I found out the true reason I had no memory of my father.
All those years ago, mum never knew of women's refuges, helplines, and charities.
She just ran. In the dead of night, with me as a babe in her arms. The nearest house with a light on, became a beacon of safe in the darkness that covered those streets like a cloak, running from the torture she was about to face, again, from him.
And that's how it ended. She ran. With nothing. With no one.
She was 19 years old. The same age I was busy travelling Australia after college. The age I was happy and seeing the world, all because my mum ran.
I've devled into the realms of allowing my mind to picture where we might be now had she stayed. I toss the thought quickly out, I don't even have the mental strength for that.
I'm ashamed at who I'm biologically connected to. I'm ashamed my link is so close to such a creature. But more im proud, so proud, that my mother raised a confident child, with nothing but memories of doing roly pollies round our large pink blossom tree, crabbing trips and feeling as loved and secure as any child could ever need to.
Domestic violence is real, it's happening right now, somewhere to someone.
We need to show them their beacon of light.
We need to hold up candles along the way to a life free of abuse. To show them, yes, run.
Run today. Now.
It needs to be at the forefront, the charities and refuges need exposure, all the time, as just one day that victim, man or woman, may see that article, may see that phone number. And go.
Hurtle towards a life they feel is unreachable, free from fear, control and pain.
I will only let the darkness of my families past, become a light for someone else. Raising awareness, thrusting out into the media, charities who have their arms out, waiting to help you, hug you.
My father did not win. He lost everything. A partner, a daughter and now grandchildren.
Victims of domestic violence, you have more strength than I can ever fear to have. You face your battles alone, in silence, you endure, you survive. Please. Please reach out to the hands calling to you. They are there, they won't let you go.
You are strong, you can run, you can feel safe again.
I wrote this with the pure intention of getting it plastered everywhere. Anywhere. To give it a platform. To give victims their beacon of light.
Share it, post it, copy it, I'm not ashamed to ask.
As you do, think of just that one person it could help.
My mum is now happy, healthy and the most inspiring woman I've ever known.
Everything I have I owe to her. She brook the chain. For me and my daughters.
Let's help someone else do the same.
For any help, advice or someone to talk to there are so many charities there to help, below are just a few. They also are always looking for help promoting and sharing their work as well as volunteer opportunities.