Living out loud

e. ellington, Residential Services Coordinator at SafePlace, conveys the passion, meaning, and importance she feels for providing services to survivors of sexual and domestic abuse.

“If you ask me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you. I came to live out loud.”—Emile Zola

I saw this quote on a greeting card back in 1997. It affected me deeply, though I had no clue then as to the magnitude of its implication in my life.

People ask why I do what I do. Our stories may sound different, but the trauma is the same—and it continues to be with us throughout our lives. It can either tear us apart or give us strength. I believed that the violence and abuse was my fault. When I began volunteering at SafePlace, I learned that this is not true. Today, through my work at SafePlace, I make the choice to live out loud— to let others know that the violence and abuse is not their fault.

I had always known about violence and sexual abuse, as if it had happened to someone else. In 1998, I began to have full-blown body memories of the incest, the violence, and the beatings. These memories shattered my denial and my illusion of what I had forced myself to believe for 38 years. I was so horrified by the truth of my experience that I was immobilized. It was as if I left my body and could not return. Along with this came clarity regarding my teenage and adult relationships—the put downs, being told when or if I could continue my education, where I could and couldn’t go, what I could and couldn’t do, the scissors flying across the room, the hair pulling, the slaps, being held down and forced to have sex while hearing the words “I love you.” Tina Turner said it well, “what’s love got to do with it?”

I have an intimate, personal understanding of the effects of domestic violence and sexual abuse on children. When I had my child in 1994, I felt a new sense of responsibility and I vowed to be a mom to all children. When children grow up in violence, it is not labeled as such and it becomes a way of life. My goal is that the children who come to our shelter will see that there is another way to live—free from fear and that their moms will learn how to label control as control, violence as violence, and rape as rape.

When I applied for the position of residential services coordinator, I knew that it involved more than providing a bed and food, more than ensuring the crisis lines are answered, and more than keeping the shelter clean. It’s about providing the opportunity to break free, and to begin living out loud—saying no for the first time, learning new skills, finding resources and support for a life free from violence, and stopping the cycle of violence in the lives of children. I believe that the seed can be planted and just maybe a survivor will hear that she doesn’t have to live this way anymore, that there are choices.

That’s why I do this work. It’s not just a job; it’s a passion, a way of living and believing—because violence affects us all. No one makes it alone.