Learning to Live Without Fear

It was 1:30 on an ordinary Monday afternoon. The young woman with red-rimmed eyes kept turning to look out the second-story window at the street below.

“Are you sure he doesn’t know I’m here?” she begged, her voice tentative, breathy. “Are you sure he can’t find me?”

On her lap, a fussing toddler overdue for a nap rubbed his eyes.

“Yes,” replied the counselor for the battered women’s shelter. “I’m sure he can’t find you.”

She knows. On her first day working at the shelter, the counselor couldn’t find the place, even with directions. Employees are instructed to never write down the address, anywhere.

The entry interview was soon over; the woman and her two children had just become the shelter’s newest temporary residents. They joined four other mothers, with five children among them, who currently live there.

The new family’s departure from their home had been so hasty--the woman had brought nothing but a bottle of Similac, her purse and the clothes they had on. That’s not uncommon at the shelter.

“In fact, it’s the norm,” said a counselor, who--like most people at the shelter--asked to remain anonymous. Donated clothes, pajamas and shoes are stored in closets, in boxes marked “Small-Chico,” “Medium-Medio,” and “Large-Grande,” for adults and children.

“When an abused woman enters the shelter, her entire world is turned upside down,” said Judy Jenkins, the new manager of the three-bedroom shelter operated by the Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence in Ventura County. A former Pasadena police officer, Jenkins most recently supervised the domestic violence advocacy caseload for the Ventura County district attorney’s office.

Life in a shelter is a life suspended, put on hold, halfway between a painful past and an uncertain future. Most residents remain for about 30 days at a time.

Sometimes the shelter is so full that two mothers and their children must share a bedroom crammed with bunk beds and cribs. Snug, maybe, but safe.

As many as five stressed-out, newly single-parent families try not only to coexist, but to support each other. Suddenly thrown together in a strange house, everyone must learn to work together, eat together and sleep together.

The coalition’s shelter is one of two serving battered women in Ventura County. They are nearly always full.

Because of the necessity for extreme caution, details about shelter operations--even what city the shelter is in--is kept secret except to those who use them and the staff and volunteers who provide assistance. So allowing a reporter to visit recently provides a rare glimpse into the aftermath of spousal abuse.

The Strength to Leave Home

Though the interview was over, the mother in her late 20s still hesitated to go downstairs, where her grade-school-age son had already found another child to play with. The boy had also discovered there were neat toys for children in this house, even if it was new and strange. At least, no one was yelling.

But the woman said descending to the first floor made her feel more vulnerable to the street, and thus, to her volatile husband, who, she was sure, would come barreling into the driveway any minute to “get” her. Just like he’d often said he would.

She had believed him when he told her that if she ever tried to leave, he would kill her.

That was why it had taken her so long to make that first phone call for help. Until then, it had seemed somehow better to stay put even if it meant enduring an occasional beating.

All the women in the shelter tell a similar story. It started with a push or a shove if the house wasn’t cleaned the way he wanted, if she wasn’t back from the store in time, or if it wasn’t the “right” dinner.

Then came a slap on the face. And any attempt to fight back usually earned a punch or two. That was followed, usually a couple of hours or days later, by an apology and a pledge that it would never happen again.

But it always did.

Then the thing that most often propels panicked mothers to finally flee happened--her husband began to hit her in front of the children. Maybe he’d start to hit the children next, which was enough to make the mother finally dial the hotline after her husband left the house.

“A lot of times, you’ll see that getting slugged in front of the kids is the last straw,” said Dee Corona, a senior deputy district attorney who supervises the sexual assault/family protection unit for the Ventura County district attorney’s office. “Like, they themselves aren’t important enough, but their children are.”

Corona’s staff annually reviews about 2,500 misdemeanor and felony domestic violence cases for prosecution.

She said she thinks the mother’s instinct is a good one.

“The harm that comes from children watching their dad hit their mother goes on for generations,” Corona said. “It gets passed on and on and on. That’s why mothers have to put a stop to it.”

It is misdemeanor child abuse to expose children to domestic violence between parents. An abusive parent can receive six months in jail plus three years of probation for beating the spouse in front of their children.

Breaking the Cycle

Sue Nayfack, the shelter manager who preceded Jenkins, said the facility houses 200 mothers and children each year, with a typical ratio of five women and seven children at any one time. Nayfack and Jenkins agree with Corona about the “learned” nature of abuse.

“Very often, batterers grew up watching their dads batter their mothers,” Nayfack said. “The statistics say that 85% who witness battering become batterers themselves. But anecdotally, I find it’s nearly every one of them.”

Sandi White, the shelter’s child advocate, said she has developed two modest goals for children at the shelter.

“I hope that by the time they leave they’ve learned, one, the ability to recognize and express their feelings, and two, that hitting is not OK. You express anger other ways.”

Otherwise, she said, they’ll become adults who either batter or expect to be battered.

“Children and mothers have to learn that it’s a right not to be hit.”

Shelter counselors say they put as much emphasis on helping the children as their mothers. White meets with family members on their arrival.

“The kids are always scared and confused,” she said, “and they’re very quiet at first. I ask them why they’re here.

“ ‘Mom brought me,’ they’ll say.

“I say, ‘Do you know why your mom brought you?’ I might look at mom and say, ‘Mom, you brought them here to be safe, didn’t you?’ ”

Too often, White said, mothers believe that not talking about the problem--the hitting, the yelling--is a way of protecting their children.

Bad idea, White said emphatically. “These kids need to open up and start to talk about what they have always assumed anyway.”

In an abusive household, an older child often tries to assume the adult role, because the mother is just trying to survive. It’s difficult to be a nurturing parent when experiencing domestic violence, White said.

“By now, the home is usually a mess. And now the kids are seeing dad hitting mom, and they think, ‘Why should we do what she says?’ ”

In contrast, bland routine reigns at the shelter. That’s deliberate. The children and their mothers need the stability of such a schedule.

Life here is as predictable as possible for people going through a bad time. There are curfews even for mothers: You can go out, but be back by 6 p.m. so the family can have dinner together and the parents can attend seminars in the evening.

Even in the play room, every toy gets put back in its place each evening. There are specific sleeping times, television times and eating times for the children.

“It’s good for kids to depend on things being the same,” White said. “Here, there’s no yelling or spanking. Just timeouts and withholding privileges, like TV.”

Getting on Their Feet

Though the shelter at first looks and feels like any of thousands of California tract houses, a closer inspection of the L-shaped kitchen, dining and living rooms reveals that it’s a house lived in by more than just one big family.

There are several couches, a huge, slightly scuffed dining table with enough chairs to seat a family reunion, plus a breakfast counter and a couple of high chairs. A washer, dryer and dishwasher all seem to hum nonstop. Oversized weekly calendars are posted throughout the house, advertising the evening menu--this day it’s baked chicken--plus whose turn it is to cook, and whose turn it is to clean up.

Another calendar lists the 8 o’clock meeting: “parenting workshop”; or perhaps “house meeting” or “psychological support group.” Off the living room, a closet contains three folded playpens and a Jolly Jumper. On the dining room wall is an oversized map of Ventura County and all its bus routes. The map help mothers figure out how to use public transportation to take their children to the doctor, to hunt for a job, to keep appointments with social service workers, or to look for an apartment.

But the pay phone in the dining room stands out the most.

“The pay phone has no caller ID, and people can only call out,” explained a counselor. “No one who uses it knows the phone’s number, so they can’t accidentally give it out.”

Surviving on Their Own

Nayfack, who has a master’s degree in marriage and family counseling, said the public is generally ignorant of the existing level of spousal abuse and its devastating effects.

Despite her education, Nayfack said even she didn’t have a single class or seminar on domestic violence while in college.

Wife-battering crosses all social and economic barriers, she said, adding that, too often, the problem is ignored with the excuse that it’s the “family’s business.”

The shelter’s legal advocate said it is difficult for most outsiders to understand why a woman would stay in a relationship if she’s being battered.

She said there are three primary reasons: concern for her children’s future, such as whether she can afford to keep the children if she flees; lack of money or family and friends who can help; and personal fear, especially after the husband has threatened to kill her if she leaves.

Some victims still believe their husbands will change--that the hitting will stop if the man they fell in love with can just be made to understand.

The shelter stresses that victims need to realize there’s always a cycle of violence that doesn’t change without intervention. If a batterer is violent, the violence will almost always escalate, Nayfack said.

“In the cycle of violence, there’s the tension buildup, the explosion, then what we call the ‘honeymoon’ or less violent phase, often with remorse; then it starts again--the cycle always gets shorter.”

Once families leave the shelter, Jenkins said they have learned about available resources and how to use them, how to take a bit more control of their future and survive on their own.

But if a women needs to return to the shelter, the door is always open. “Sometimes they do go back,” said the shelter’s assistant manager. “But they always leave here a little stronger and better educated about their rights and choices.”

FYI

The business offices of the Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence, at 2064 Eastman Ave., Suite 104, Ventura, welcome donations of cash to help provide transitional housing, and items such as toiletries and underwear. 654-8141. 24-hour hotline: 656-1111. Spanish-language hotline: (800) 300-2181. TDD hotline: 656-4439. Anger Management Hotline: 656-4861.