“Will you please tell my story for me?” she asked with a level of vulnerability that was palpable.

“I can” I said back but she could hear the question mark in my voice, wondering why she didn’t tell her story herself. 

“You see, my story is an important one. I want to share it with the world. I want to be open and vulnerable. I know that sharing it will help other people, both those who can relate and those who have never been in my shoes.”

“Your story is important” I said back. “But, why do you want me to tell it?” I asked. 

“Because, I am still ashamed of myself” she responded with a quiver in her voice. “I can’t tell my story when I am still ashamed of myself.”

“Why are you ashamed? We all have trauma and you have other trauma that you are not ashamed of” I asked, knowing that I was pushing her on a sensitive topic. 

“Because, I had a choice here. Some of my other trauma happened TO me as a child, I wasn’t responsible for it. This, I feel very responsible for because I actively had a part in creating the situation.” she said back.

“Being in an abusive marriage and staying to protect your daughters is not something to be ashamed of. Just because you married someone who turned out to be abusive doesn’t make their abuse your responsibility. You stayed to protect your daughters until you felt strong enough and safe enough to leave.” I said back with a gentle yet strong intention. 

“I know that in my mind but I don’t feel that in my heart yet. Society blames people who stay in a marriage that is abusive” she replied with a level of shame that washed over my whole body. 

“Fuck society” I whispered back to her. “I will proudly tell your story.”