Getting Stronger Every Day Supportive Friends And Education Opportunities Helped Bambi Quinn Start A New Life

I grew up in a violently dysfunctional family. When I was 10 years old I witnessed my father’s suicide.

I compensated for my tortured childhood by getting into one abusive relationship after another. At 22, I found myself a single mother, pregnant again, in the hospital with multiple stab wounds and a miscarriage.

Today I am miles away from that horrible day in the hospital. I’ve learned that tragedies don’t have to defeat me. They can make me stronger. This fall I will begin taking Ph.D. classes in criminal justice at Washington State University. Finally, at 37, I’m able to give back to society.

On the day of that miscarriage, 15 years ago, I took an important step away from domestic violence. I have never been physically abused since then.

Although I spun a lame story about falling down the stairs with a pair of scissors in my hand, both a physician and a nurse guessed the truth. They pleaded with me to get help.

Thanks to their concern, I turned to a male friend for support and my violent boyfriend wound up in jail.

The story seemed to have a fairytale ending. I married the man who had been my knight in shining armor. He had helped me to stand straight again, became close to my daughter, and I was certain he would save us from all the pain and sadness of the world.

But like most fairy tales, that fantasy was too good to be true.

My savior-husband was never abusive. He simply refused to work. We had a baby together, but three days after she was born, I went back to work. By the time she was a year old, I was working three jobs to support our family, swallowing illegal stimulants to stay awake and alcohol to go to sleep. I’d married a nonviolent man, yet I managed to become a victim again.

When I left the marriage, I felt a complete failure. I hit such an emotional low that I don’t even remember much of that year. I lost my marriage, all three jobs and my two children. My mother took custody of my older daughter, and my husband took my younger daughter.

At 27, I attempted suicide. I took a bottle of pills, and waited for the pain to end. But a friend found me and took me to the hospital. I began therapy and started to put my life in order.

Eventually, my ex-husband returned my younger daughter to me. A friend nagged me endlessly and I not only found a job, I entered school again.

This turned out to be the decision that saved my life. I enrolled at Heritage College, a private school in Toppenish, Wash. Approximately 65 to 70 percent of the students are women; many are single mothers. There I was surrounded by women whose lives were very much like my own.

At the college, the faculty redirected my thinking. I couldn’t contemplate killing myself, I had papers to write.

My instructors expected nothing less than my best. When I failed, they expected me to take responsibility for my mistakes and then go on. Their attitude helped me to recover from my childhood. Finally, I discovered that failure didn’t have to be accompanied by beatings. I began to forge a brand-new sense of self-esteem.

I completed a bachelor’s degree in interdisciplinary studies with a split minor in psychology and computer science at Heritage College, and went on to Washington State University for a master’s of arts degree in criminal justice.

I’d be lying if I said my education came easily. That time was filled with sleepless nights, strong willpower and maternal guilt. My daughter and I lived from one check to the next, and relied on public assistance during the leanest times.

But I’ve discovered that whenever I didn’t know an answer, I could pick up a book and read.

I attempted to regain custody of my older daughter, but she was in her teen years and unwilling to move and change schools. She and I are on good terms; she’s 18 now, living on her own, and doing well.

This summer I’ve been teaching a computer science class back at Heritage College. I wish I could bundle up every woman who has been a victim of domestic violence and drag her there. At this school, women like me succeed.

Just recently, I talked with a returning student about her fears.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You feel like you’re old and you’re ugly and like everybody here is so much smarter than you.”

That woman just cried. I’d hit her feelings exactly, because I’d had the same ones myself. Suddenly, she began to feel better, and I felt stronger, too.

Today I have come to terms with my father’s suicide, and now I think my dad is watching over me. I have this faith that God has an ultimate purpose for my life.

Now I’m completing my master’s thesis. For my Ph.D., I plan to research legislation policies which will lessen trauma in child testimony, particularly in child sexual abuse cases.

I also hope to become a college teacher. I want to work with adults like me. I want to teach them what I have learned: that every time you think you’ve had all you can take, there’s just a little bit of strength left that helps you survive.

Education saved me. Now I owe it something back.

MEMO: Jamie Tobias Neely assisted with the writing of this story.