Ruth M. Glenn - Everything I Never Dreamed: My Life Surviving and Standing Up to Domestic Violence

[A] portrait of an extraordinary woman, a moving tribute to survivors of domestic violenceparticularly childrenand an urgent call to address the causes of violence in our society.

Angelina Jolie, Academy Award-winning actress, humanitarian, and special envoy for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees

Everything I Never Dreamed

My Life Surviving and Standing Up to Domestic Violence

Ruth M. Glenn

CEO and President of the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

To David, my one and only, my son, my life, whom I love fully.

And to my grandchildrenJordan, Josiah, Deontae, Jocelyn, Jocie, and Joseph.

And to my great-grandchildrenJayleen, Elena, and Ethan.

These people are the loves of my life.

And to their mothers, for the gift of themDanielle, Laura, Jennifer, and Darcie.

In 1992, when I was thirty-two years old and living in an apartment in Denver with my fifteen-year-old son, David, my husband kidnapped me at gunpoint. I had left Cedric a few months before, after years of physical violence and emotional abuse, and taken David with me. We had moved into the apartment on a Friday in late September. By the following Monday, Cedric had found us. A female friend of his had gotten my new address by going into my bank and pretending to be meID checks were a little more lax then than they are now. Shed also wiped my account clean. That morning, I had been talking on the phone with a woman from Project Safeguard, an organization that supports victims of domestic violence, through safety planning and legal advocacy, when someone started pushing the buzzer at the main door of my apartment building. I could hear it ringing through our intercom. I tried to focus on what the woman was saying. I wanted to find out about their legal clinic, I wanted information about getting a divorce. But the longer the woman and I spoke, the more she realized I was very likely in danger from Cedric. She suggested that I immediately seek an emergency protection order to keep him away from us. And then, as if on cue, I heard Cedrics voice coming through the little speaker in the hallway. David had pressed the button just to ask who it was. He knew better than to buzz his father in.

The woman from Project Safeguard called the police and said David and I should get on the floor. She kept me on the phone as Cedric demanded to be let in. By the time the police arrived, Cedric was gone, or had hidden. They escorted David and me out, and we stayed at a shelter for two nights. Shelters are invaluable to women being abused, and Ill be forever grateful for them. Everyone working there was kind and supportive. But shelters arent the cure-all people often think they are. I felt very on edge there. I knew that going to a shelter was another layer of trauma for David, after wed just fled the home we shared with his father. I managed to get a temporary protection order against Cedric. But it soon became clear that wasnt a cure-all either. It would protect me from nothing.

I had laid the groundwork for leaving Cedric very carefully. In a domestic abuse situation, you dont discuss it with your abuser. Saying youre leaving, or being caught trying to, can get you killed. Domestic violence is all about control; signaling you are about to assume some autonomy is very often the trigger for an escalation of violence and more desperate attempts by the abuser at controlling you.

Cedric was very explicit about the danger I was in. He used to say to me, If you leave, even if youre in Alaska, I will find you. Sometimes he just said, Ill kill you if you leave.

You feel damned if you do and damned if you dont. Sometimes, as strange as it sounds, the safer option for the moment is to stay.

But once Id made the decision, I worked stealthily. I had been putting aside money for months, and had opened my own checking account. Id hunted for an apartment in secret, and paid the deposit on it. The phone and utilities were hooked up and waiting for us. Cedric didnt know about any of it, but there was a slight change in the air. He could sense that my attitude was different. He suspected something was up, and he got a little calmer, though it wasnt a pleasant sort of calm: I could feel him observing me.

It wasnt just Cedric I kept it from. Id told almost no one I was leaving him. I was afraid if Cedric found out someone had supported my decision, their lives would be in danger, too. I didnt even tell David we were leaving until he got home from school that day. The two of us packed up the U-Haul Id rented and drove to the new apartment. (To protect my friends who knew, I wouldnt accept their offers of help moving.) And then I went back to the house for Cedrics 9 p.m. call. Whenever he was working double shifts at the Colorado Division of Youth Services (where I also worked), hed call me on his break to make sure I was home. I knew that if I didnt pick up the phone that night, hed immediately get suspicious. So I bought myself some extra time by racing back for the call.

And then I went to my new apartment, to begin the rest of my life.

I was on my own now, but I was far from free. Stalking and harassment are an abusers way of demanding that you think about them, that you live in fear of them; its a theft not only of your freedom of movement but also of your inner world. Over the next few months, Cedric continued to stalk and harass me. He would show up when he was drunk, or high, or agitated. He used to park in the outdoor lot or sit in the grassy yard that faced our apartment, from where he could see our balcony. He called me one day from his house and said, You think Im not watching you? Look out your window. There was actually a worn patch in the grass where he sator even slept, when he was passed out drunk.

And then came the day in 1992, when I pulled into the parking garage attached to our building. There was Cedric, standing in my assigned spot. He had a bottle of liquor in one hand; the other hand was in his pocket. As many times as Id seen him angry, this was worse. He looked possessed. I thought, I dont even know this person.

He came around to the passenger side of the car and climbed in. Drive, he said.

I said, Whats this all about, Cedric?

Just drive to my house.

Wheres David? I asked.

Listen, bitch. Davids just fine.

I tried to get him to talk to me about what was going on, but then he pulled a gun out of his pocket, and said again, Drive.

Okay, okay, I said, just dont hurt me.

I backed out of my spot and headed slowly toward the garage exit. There was a maintenance man at the garage door, fiddling with his toolbox but with an eye on Cedric and me. I clearly remember thinking he suspected something was wrong and was trying to figure out what was happening. I looked at him and tried to communicate that I was scared and needed help, that I was being taken against my will, but either I was being too subtle because I was terrified, or the man was too afraid to intervene.

Cedric told me to drive to his house, about six miles away, in Aurora. As we turned onto East Hampden Avenue, just a few minutes from my apartment, I was trying to figure out if I could jump out of the car. One of the things that stopped me was the fear that I could cause an accident that would leave other people injured. So I just kept driving, wondering how I was going to get out of this alive. I dont recall that we said much on the way, but at some point Cedric told me hed been upstairs in the apartment with David. By then, our son had seen enough to know that Cedric was likely going to go after me, which was why, as we neared Cedrics house, I saw a police car flying down the road in the opposite direction, away from us: David had called them right after Cedric left our apartment, and hed given them Cedrics home address. When they didnt find anyone there, they left for my apartment.