BROKEN ANGELS,...AND THEIR JAILERS.

Okay. So it’s the end of the day, and I have a little breathing space, or maybe I've just finally worked up the nerve to write this post. It’s been tugging at me, simmering below the surface, twitching my fingers to put down the words; but my broken heart. My bruised, aching broken heart…I've decided however that I’ll brave it, for these words have to be said, maybe in saying, enlightenment and healing will come for someone who happens on it; maybe that person would be me.

These past few weeks the media has been awash with cases of domestic abuse, and though the slant has been on physical abuse, there have been one or two accounts of other kinds as well. Reading through all that text, talking with the females around me, has caused my heart to break, to ache; for all the broken women braving it with a smile, because society tells them to. Because they have nowhere to go. Because they don’t know any better.

These men. These men who do these things. Who were they as little boys? Did they change as they grew into men? Was it always in them, but no one just noticed? Did they suffer a mental re-orientation that informed these ideals that were otherwise strange to them? That it is okay to enjoy the hurt they consciously and knowingly cause another? For they surely must enjoy it. For abuse isn't the one off action, but the repeated acts of wrong doing. And if it’s repeated, surely they must be sadistic?

My mind wonders, as I gaze on my sweet boy’s peaceful sleeping face. What kind of man am I grooming him to be? When I spank him for being naughty, and then draw him close, because I hurt for causing him hurt, no matter how deserving; am I inadvertently grooming a man who thinks that you hit the one you love, and then draw them close to explain why he hit her? When I ignore him, when he has upset me, in order to communicate my hurt, am I otherwise showing him how to be emotionally withdrawn, starving his love of attention? When I raise my voice, in anger, aware that the loud boom of my voice, strikes fear in his heart; am I showing him that authority lies in a raised voice? And instead of speaking respectfully and lovingly to her, will he instead shout her down like a serf? Tell me boy, who will you be?

Society doesn't help either. Society says as a strong woman, you must not only digest, but must enjoy digesting a steady diet of bullshit. Excuse my French. How do you explain all the negative comments that came at Tiwa Savage when she opened up about her pain? From fellow women no less! You've just disgraced your son’s father. Hello?! He did that already all by himself! Every woman is going through the same thing so shut up and stick a smile on your face. Erm… well that’s them. I applaud them, but I haven’t got, neither do I desire to have that forbearance. I’d rather my children have a father. Okay. As long as you realize that means they might not have a mother! It might be murder, from physical abuse, it might be suicide, from induced depression, or you might just LOSE YOURSELF. Becoming this insecure, cowering thing, or a twisted, bitter shadow of that beautiful girl with the bright eyes, from all the constant lies, disrespect, and put downs. In my book, all the above options are akin to death. Abuse brought on death.

I got out. I make no apologies. I make no excuse. I CHOSE. I got out. For every woman going through ANY form of abuse. It’s your life. Choose how it will be lived. Tolerate it, and smile; or choose out. Just make sure that it’s YOUR CHOICE. Don’t be coerced, manipulated, blackmailed, advised (sic), and/or threatened into doing anything against your better judgement/ intuition. CHOOSE wisely. For mothers, teach our sons’ to treasure, to love, to cherish, to respect, to nurture. Teach our daughter’s to value themselves, to demand recognition of the value. Or to walk.

I don’t advocate for broken homes, or careless single lives. I advocate happiness. In pairs, or alone.

Choose to be happy.

CHOOSE TO BE GOLDEN.

D2AGE.