Women offer lessons from domestic violence
‘I don’t hate anymore, although I hated A LOT when I was younger. All my abusers, from the time I was born, conspired to steal my happiness, and they did. … I didn’t understand why I was so hated, so I hated back and I hurt inside all the time. …
“A day came when my desire for something better became the driving force in my life. I discovered that I couldn’t stay angry and concentrate on healing at the same time. It was up to me to choose my path, so I let go of the hate and began to learn to love myself.
“It’s been a long and difficult journey, filled with rivers of tears, exhausting soul-searching and hundreds of God’s angels in many forms along the way. I couldn’t have done it alone, but I’m happy to say I didn’t have to.
“Now I fill in the gaps where others lack, and have found the happiness I desired for so long – deep within myself. And in the forgiving of my abusers a massive weight was lifted from me, and I became understanding and tolerant, and able to love to a greater degree.
“I have no room for hate anymore, and I have found peace and happiness all around me. There are no more bad days. THANK YOU GOD!!!”
Ginny O’Bryen Edwards wrote the above confession and affirmation last May. It is part of why she is healing from years of being a target of domestic violence.
Ginny was one of my two “teachers” last week. The other was Marie Pizelo, a gentle spirit with gifted hands and heart for sculpting.
Over lunch, then back at The Women’s Hearth Drop-in Center in downtown Spokane, they helped me more fully understand why art can be a key skill to transforming the horrible effects of domestic violence.
October is Domestic Violence Month. In the past two years, I’ve written columns urging faith communities to own up to the unspoken presence of domestic violence in their own congregations.
Today, I want to affirm the wonderful healing power of artistic efforts in healing the deep pain caused by violence in the home.
When I first visited Women’s Hearth in early September, I was immediately struck by the artwork – on the walls in the main gathering space, in smaller rooms where women meet for classes or for small group work.
Last week, I walked in on 15 to 20 women sitting around knitting and visiting with each other. A lot of important conversations happen around “knit one, purl two.”
I also spent time with Marie looking at her many sculpture pieces sitting on a ledge the whole length of the storefront window. Marie took up hand-sculpting some years ago to deal with sexual abuse that began when she was only a year old.
The small pieces I saw tell the story of transformation. Pain, rejection, fear eventually give way to safety, personal worth, extending love to another in pain.
Marie has put together a small booklet called “The Light at the Top: Reflections on my Healing Journey (A survivor’s point of view).” On the left-hand pages are brief, free-verse poems that efficiently, poignantly describe the sculpted pieces pictured on the opposite pages. One piece has a child hiding in a corner, a silhouette of a man in a doorway. The poem: “If I cry someone might come. I won’t cry. If I need something they will be angry. I won’t need anything. I won’t ask. I won’t breathe; then they will be happy with me.”
But then another picture shows an adult figure kneeling before a boy, holding his head as he kneels. The poetic statement: “Please care that it hurts so.”
My favorite sculpture is of a woman holding two children on her lap while two other children hold onto to her.
Her verbal reflection speaks of not knowing either of her grandmothers, plus her parents dismissing her. So Marie created an image of the perfect grandma.
“She was soft and accepting, gentle, kind, cuddly, and snuggly. I wanted a grandma who enjoyed kids more than shopping, golf, or bridge. … I hope that God is like a Grandma.”
The piece is called “Grandma God.”
What a great image of God!
The kind of transforming art done by Ginny and Marie and so many other victims of domestic violence takes great courage, even if the courage is born out of great desperation at times. At some point, a person can say, “I’m not going to take this abuse anymore. I’m worth far more to God and myself than I’ve been led to believe.”
That is the moment when art born of pain becomes art moved to healing. That is the time when “the elephant in the room” is identified for what it is.
Ginny writes about that elephant. She finally identifies her own family’s elephant – domestic violence.
“… Facing the truth with courage took time and tears and sweat. I broke the bonds of secrecy, that killed the elephant.”
Thank you Marie and Ginny. You have helped my learning so much. I hope you continue to learn how God’s promise of life for you is strong and sure.