Personal Narrative-Worthy Of Domestic Violence

In 1988, on a Sunday morning, I found myself waking up in a homeless shelter for domestic violence victims. I was there with my six children ,and the world looked dark and gray. I had applied for a check and food stamps the week before, but nothing had come through yet. I was feeling unloved, unheard, and not worthy of having the title of mother. I had been through a life filled with abuse and molestatio9n from an early age. Night after night I had cried myself to sleep,praying to a God I did not know. I prayed a child’s prayer hoping someone somewhere was listening to me. The day before, I went to my abusive husband’s place of work, to ask for money to take care of the children. He asked to see the baby daughter that we both adored. I complied …show more content…
I then went on a high speed chase through the streets of Norfolk, Virginia for about twenty minutes. This was very dangerous for me and my children, but I was out of my mind with fear for my daughter, and I did not care. The train tracks finally stopped me, because I could not outrun the oncoming train, so my chase had to come to an abrupt end. Arriving back at the shelter without my daughter was almost unbearable for me. After the counselor scolded me for even going around my husband, she started to pray for my daughter’s safe return. I was blessed to be in a Christian shelter, so God already had a plan for me being there. As I lay in bed contemplating how to kill myself ,the kids got ready to go on a field trip with one of the counselors. This would be the first time that I would have a break from them in months. The devil continued to minister to me after they left, about how much they would be better off without me. After all this was the third time I found myself in a shelter with my six children, with no money and no self- respect. If they were to go into foster care,t hey would have a better life, he told me. I started to feel lower and lower with each passing …show more content…
I immediately started to go upstairs. The counselor called to me and said Miss Wilkins, I think you would really benefit from going since the kids are gone. I already knew I was in hot water, so I complied with her wishes. After all I was going to kill myself, so I needed to be able to tell this God that I tried church and it failed to , I thought. The sermon that day went into one ear and out the other. At the end of the service, the pastor said, “I have a question for you. If you died today, where would you go, heaven or hell”?. I thought for a few seconds without an answer. He said, ”If you can’t answer that question, then come up to the front of the church”. For the first time in my life I got up and walked up front. I was a little bewildered with the whole question, and wanted to know what was awaiting me in the front of this church. An elderly old woman took me by the hand, and led me to a room in the back. She proceeded to tell me everything that was going on in my life, down to my daughter being kidnapped. I started to cry because I could not believe that she acted like she cared about