Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Domestic violence past and present
Domestic violence, past and present
Short summary on domestic violence
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Michael Wyatt Professor Wasmund English 121 1 October 2014 How Can We Forget the Victim? A Response to Dottie Lamb My parents divorced from each other for the second and final time when I was just 8 years old. This led to my younger sisters and I being raised by our mother who, over the span of the rest of our childhood, was in and out of abusive relationships with several men before eventually remarrying the a man who showed little to no regard for the physical or emotional well-being of either my mother or my sisters and I as children. There were countless nights I stayed awake attempting to comfort my little sisters who were crying hysterically upstairs huddled together in a closet with me while our new step father physically beat our mother downstairs while berating her with verbal insults and threats that would make any grown adult …show more content…
She builds credibility of her argument by quoting an author with over 20 years of experience in the Vermont judiciary, William M. Boardman. "Hobart has shown little capacity for shame, except perhaps for trying to shame the victim." Boardman elaborates on this by saying “Hobart’s response was to re-rape the child bureaucratically by ignoring evidence and finding the alleged rapists not guilty. It was a sham of an administrative adjudication that failed to meet even a shadow of fairness, competence, or even intellectual plausibility. Hobart stands by its dishonest decision. Case closed.” Boardman’s harsh account of what happened to this girl expands on what Lamm is attempting to say happens at institutions nationwide. The reader isn’t just taking her word for at face value, he message is substantiated by being corroborated with the views of another highly respected author and pillar of our community. By building this bridge with the reader her argument is likely given more credence by most
Debated as one of the most misrepresented cases in American legal history, Dr. Jeffrey MacDonald still fights for innocence. Contrary to infallible evidence, prosecution intentionally withheld crucial information aiding MacDonald’s alibi. Such ratification included proof of an outside attack that would have played a major role in Jeffrey’s case.
As the defense has so diligently pointed out, it is indeed a sad day in the history of our judicial system when an innocent woman is sent to her death for a crime that she did not commit. I, for one, am not planning on having that momentous occasion take place today, and this is for one simple reason: Justine is guilty. While the defense has done nothing but parade Justine’s friends in front of you saying how much of a “nice person” she is, I, the prosecution, have presented you with cold, hard facts, all of which point to the guilt of the defendant.
Due to domestic violence’s widespread effects, most individuals either retain, or know an individual who retains, personal experience with domestic violence. In both my personal experience and my mother’s, I preserve three distinct experiences of domestic violence. My first exposure to domestic violence occurred when I was four years old, as my parents reached the breaking point in their marriage. I witnessed physical and emotional abuse in my parent’s marriage as they fought over their three children and their marriage. The physical abuse represents the first, and only, memory I retain of my parents being married. Because I never witnessed my parent’s happily married, it affected my childhood through making me feel as if I must pick a side. I felt that my childhood did not represent a family, but rather a continuous battle over who retained more power over us children and the resources. I deemed relationships as degrading and selfish due to the
There are no words to describe what I witnessed. No child should ever have to witness the physical abuse of one parent onto another. It was gut wrenching. It was odd, and confusing at times, as a family we had everything. During that time, we were considered upper middle class. No one would have guessed the hell that my mother endured. It affected me the most because I am the oldest and would help my mother after my father’s physical attacks on her. As awful as this may sound, my father’s death was truly the beginning of life for my mother. However, for me I believe at that time my cognitive and emotional development were affected as a result of my father’s death.
My children and I are survivors of domestic violence. It all started 21 years ago when I met my now X husband. When we first started dating, I thought I was the luckiest young woman ever. In just a matter of a month Tom was so “in love” with me that we were not only completely enmeshed in each other’s lives we were on each other’s bank accounts, he paid off my credit card debt, and then moved into my apartment
Sure enough, it was indeed the worse day of my life (12/2/2006) and my life was never the same. Everything happened so fast. It was 6 months ago that we were just moving back to DC from Augusta, GA, and a year before that we moved from Florence South Carolina, where we resided for 6 years of our lives. We moved to Florence because my mom said she wanted better for me. Nothing was further from the truth. South Carolina was not the best option, However, I learned my mom needed an escape and to start over fresh, beginning with herself. Moving to South Carolina was more than an adjustment for me. I was bullied for having an accent, being chubby, and light skin. The country people had a drawl to their voice that I didn’t understand. We were homeless initially, but my step-grandfathers sister accepted us and introduced her to this “boyfriend” that was in jail in Effingham, South Carolina. My grandfather, sister and I are still very close. Being blood relatives couldn’t make us any closer. My mom was extremely smart although we were living in someone else's home. It wasn’t for long. My mom found a great job, bought a truck, and we moved into a two-bedroom house on Bradford Street. Everything was going great,
Being a child of a broken home is more extreme than most think. Divorce at a very young age taught me to be strong, independent, and strong willed. All my life I had been daddy’s little girl, even now. After my parents’ divorce was finalized, I remember my dad picking me up every other day after school; we would go get a coke and a snack then go to the park or simply just drive around. I always felt like my time with my dad was cut short due to visiting hours and my mom would never let me stay over or even talk to him on the phone. I vividly remember a time when my mom and dad got in an
We encountered emotional abuse watching my mother get traumatized by her boyfriend. My sister and I feared my mother’s life for 10 years. He started off as a nice person then switched gradually. I remember this day as if it was yesterday when my mother was screaming, I jumped up to find her, and she was beaten and bruised. My sister and I got involved; he threw my sister over the table and me into a wall. I got up and fought until the police came to arrest him. The day he left a weight was lifted off our shoulders. We felt secure and safe that day, we no longer had to worry or fear leaving the house without our
That was the beginning. Along the way I made poor financial, academic, professional and personal decisions. It gave my family enough ammunition to never let me break out of the pattern that they had me in. It is an almost textbook example of an abusive family. Individually, each member of my family told me that my father had treated me the worst of any of the kids growing up, but no one ever stood up for me while the entire family was present. I felt completely unhinged, I was undiagnosed bipolar, suicidal, drug addict, occasionally bulimic and surrounded by people who only told me I needed to lose weight, save money, and “be content with my lot in life”. I felt crazy, and I had a gamut of health problems that resulted from being around my family because they were so stressful. (i.e., hair loss, bedwetting, bleeding for four months,
My sister and I left to live in Houston with my mother for some time, but we had a strong desire to live with my father instead. After all, his family was the only family we grew up to know in the early years of our childhood. We had no other family besides my mother in Houston. My sister was sent to live with my father at my grandparents’ house at first and I had to stay and live with my mother. Although I loved, and still do love my mother very much, I wanted to live with my father as well. My father begged my mother to let me live with him and it seemed like forever until she finally gave in. At the time, I could not understand why my sister was allowed to live with my father and I was not. It was not until a few years later that I found out the reason my mother was so hesitant in allowing me to go live with my father. It was because I am his adoptive
When I was 8 years old my family moved to Red Bluff, CA. Soon after our arrival in Red Bluff my father moved to Eureka, CA to open a Mexican Restaurant. Later we found out that he had moved to be with his other family. This was when life as I had known it ceased to exist and was replaced with an unpleasant home life. In 2004, my parent’s marriage of 25 years came to an end. However, my father had not only divorce my mother, he had divorced his children as well. We never saw him and would rarely receive phone calls. My mother took on the responsibility of raising five children on her own without a single complaint. We were never without shelter, food or clothing, but I always felt the need to help out. At the age of 16 I got my first job and
My parents got a divorce. When I was nine years old my parents got a divorce. I was super sad and depressed when it happened. My dad moved out to an apartment in Sartell. I didn't know why they separated, so I asked my mom. She said that they just didn't spend time together anymore. During that time I felt confused, sad, angry, and unhappy.
Growing up in a divorced family was the beginning of the development of my need to be a strong individual. My mother had to work many jobs to support myself and my brother. This left the two of us alone and together most of our childhood. While I know that my brother truly loved me, sometimes a teenage boy does not show a small girl the compassion that she requires. I had to frequently take care of myself while my brother was finding more important things to occupy his time with.
My older brother who was 6 at the time remembers the situation. To this point my brother has hate towards my dad because he actually remembers something him and he thought my dad would be the last person to let him down. My brother is now 21 and he still has the same feeling towards my dad. My mom remarried a few years later to my stepfather, but when she divorced him it affected my younger brother. When my mom divorced my stepfather my little brother became the worse little 5 years old. He would talk back to everyone and became angry at any little thing or person. This time the divorce had a different result. A social worker talked to every single one of us and thought we needed some therapy. My sisters and I had one therapist for the three of us. My brothers had their own therapist as well. My mom and stepfather had their separate therapist, never the same one. All our therapists weren’t in the same location so we were scheduled on different days and times. I didn 't understand the meaning of going to see a therapist if they didn’t help out at
When I was younger, my father wasn’t around most of the time and when he was there he was always arguing. Being the age I was, it was futile to attempt help my mother. My brother and I scrutinized, and that’s really all children who live through this can do. Though all of this pain was being inflicted upon us, I still loved my father a great deal and didn’t fully understand the situation, but my mindset had changed to one of great fear when I was about 7. I was in the backseat with my younger brother when an argument had broken out between my parents. I don’t exactly remember why they had started arguing, but this time was different than others. It all happened so quickly that it’s a blur, the part I remember as clear as day is when my mother