Vanessa Avila

I met him in 2012. In the beginning, I never imagined that the relationship would become the darkest chapter of my life. Within a few months, his behavior became aggressive. He convinced me to quit my job and move in with him.

Slowly, he isolated me from my family and friends. I became pregnant the following year, and the abuse continued throughout my pregnancy. In 2014, I had my first daughter. Instead of being there for me, he left me alone at the hospital with our newborn and didn’t return until the next morning.

He rarely helped with the baby. He worked during the week and spent his weekends drinking and being with his friends. One day, our daughter spilled milk in the car. He became angry and dropped us off on the side of the road. I had to walk across town with my baby in her car seat to get her to an appointment and then walk to my sister-in-law’s house.

I kept going. In 2016, I suffered a miscarriage. That same year, he became so intoxicated that he shot at me. To this day, I don’t know whether he missed because he was drunk or whether he intended to scare me. I stayed. In 2018, I became pregnant again. Our second daughter was born in 2019.

The abuse and isolation continued. One night, while I was pregnant, hurting, and spotting, he chose to go out with his friends to celebrate his birthday. When we finally went to the hospital, he was drunk and more concerned about his headache than the fact that I was in labor. Our daughter was born the next day, earlier than expected because her due date had been calculated incorrectly.

He told me that if anything was wrong with her, it was my fault. I believed so many of the things he told me. I believed I was the problem. I believed I wasn’t strong enough. I believed I couldn’t make it without him.

In 2020, I became pregnant with our third daughter. During that pregnancy, I was having contractions, and he still made me drive him to another town to drop him off at a friend’s house. In front of my other daughters, he told me he never wanted these children.

When I went into labor, he was out with his friends. When he finally took me to the hospital, he sat on the couch. While I was in labor, he told the nurse to let him know when the baby was born. He didn’t hold my hand. He didn’t comfort me. The nurse did.

Our daughter was born with the umbilical cord around her neck. Instead of comforting me, he blamed me. Then he told me the baby didn’t look like him and wasn’t his. The next day, as we were preparing to leave, he told me, “Name her whatever you want. I just want to go home.”

The doctors and nurses could see that something wasn’t right. But I went home with him. That first day home, something inside me changed. I began experiencing terrifying thoughts. I was afraid I would hurt my baby. I had thoughts of suicide. I experienced overwhelming anxiety, racing thoughts, and moments when I heard voices and saw shadows. I was terrified of being alone with my children.

I was so afraid of myself that I wouldn’t even bathe my baby until he came home. The next day, I went to the emergency room. They ran test after test, thinking something might have happened because my epidural hadn’t worked properly. They eventually sent me home and told me I was dehydrated and needed rest. No one asked me about my mental health.

When I got home, I told him I couldn’t be left alone with the children because of the thoughts I was having. He told me it wasn’t real. He called me crazy. I was afraid of medication because addiction had affected my family, so I tried everything I could to get better naturally. Nothing worked. I felt completely alone.

Then I made the decision that almost ended my life. I asked him to hide the knives and the gun he kept in the car because I was afraid of what I might do. Instead of helping me, he told me to go kill myself and called me crazy. The next morning, I took my oldest daughter to school and put my two younger daughters down for a nap. I went to the car. I looked for the gun.

It wasn’t there. I sat there and cried. I had planned to end my life because I believed that if I wasn’t here, I couldn’t hurt my children. But sitting there in that car, something changed. I thought, “Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I’m supposed to be here.”

So I made an appointment with my OB-GYN for the next day. I told her everything. I told her I was having thoughts of hurting myself and my baby. I told her I was afraid to tell anyone because I had been told that my children would be taken away from me.

She looked at me and asked, “Do you believe in God?” I said yes. She asked, “Can we pray?” I told her, “We can try.”

That prayer became one of the turning points of my life. She prescribed medication and connected me with an advocate. The first medication made my thoughts worse, and I became terrified. My advocate told me to come back and kept listening to me without judgment.

Then I finally called my mom. I told her, “Mom, I need you.” My mom and grandma drove three hours to be with me. They helped with my children. They went with me to get my medication. I remember telling my mom how scared I was. She looked at me and said, “You have to say they are going to work. You have to believe you are going to get better.”

That night, I took my medication and prayed, “God, please let this work.” And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt some relief. My mind became quieter. I could breathe. I felt a little bit like myself again. I listened to worship music. I prayed. I began believing that maybe my life wasn’t over.

Then my ex came home drunk with a friend. He argued with my mom and grandma. He told them not to baby me. He called me weak, a crybaby, and crazy. My grandmother stood up for me. She told him I wasn’t crazy. Then she looked at me and said, “We aren’t leaving without you. You’re coming with us.”

That night, my oldest daughter came and lay beside me. She told me, “We can leave, Mom. I’m okay with it.” The next morning, while he was at work, I packed a bag of clothes for myself and my girls. That’s all I had. No job. No money. No plan. Just my car, a bag of clothes, three daughters, and a tiny bit of hope.

I cried the entire way out. Twice, I pulled my car over because I didn’t think I could do it. I was terrified. But I kept driving. When we left, he told me that if I wanted to be a single mother, I could take care of the kids myself. He told me nobody would want me with three children. His words hurt. I believed some of them for a while.

I turned off my phone and spent a week on my mom’s couch crying and sleeping. My mom, brother, and sister-in-law helped me take care of my girls. Eventually, I told my mom, “I can’t do this. I’m going to give the girls to his sister.” My mom looked at me and said, “I will retire right now. I will do everything I can to help you. But you are not giving up those girls. You need to pull yourself out of this hole and take care of your kids. They need you.”

Something inside me woke up. The next morning, I got up. I started applying for jobs. The following week, I got one. A month later, I had my own place. I had started with nothing. But I had my daughters. And I was alive. I never looked back. I pulled myself out of one of the darkest places I had ever been.

Today, I have no regrets about leaving. I am grateful for the handful of people who helped save my life when I couldn’t save myself. I am grateful for my mom. I am grateful for my grandmother. I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for the advocate who listened when I was too afraid to tell the whole truth.

I am grateful for the nurse who held my hand when the person who should have been holding it wouldn’t. And most of all, I am grateful to God. Because when I had almost completely lost hope, God placed people in my path who reminded me that my life still had purpose.

One prayer. One phone call. One person willing to listen. One moment where I chose to stay. Sometimes that’s all it takes to begin changing your life. Today, I am married to an amazing man who is completely different from the man I once knew. He is a loving husband, a God-fearing man, and although he isn’t perfect and is still learning how to be the father my girls need, he tries.

I am grateful that my daughters get to experience something different. They get to see love without fear. They get to see a mother who survived. And they get to see that their story doesn’t have to look like mine.

I share my testimony because I know there is another woman sitting somewhere feeling the way I once felt. Maybe she’s scared. Maybe she’s being told she’s crazy. Maybe she’s being isolated from everyone who loves her. Maybe she’s struggling after having a baby and is terrified to tell anyone what is happening inside her mind. Maybe she believes her children would be better without her.

Please hear me: You are not alone. Your thoughts do not make you a bad mother. Asking for help does not make you weak. Leaving does not mean you failed. And your worst day does not have to become your ending.

I once sat in a car believing I was going to die. Today, I am sitting here telling you that I lived. God gave me another chance. He gave me strength when I had none left. He sent people when I needed them most. And He reminded me that my life still had purpose.

If you are in that dark place today, please tell someone. Call someone you trust. Reach out to a doctor, counselor, advocate, crisis line, or someone who can help keep you safe. You do not have to fight alone. I thought I was leaving everything behind the day I drove away. Instead, I was finally driving toward my life.

This is my testimony. I survived. I healed. I found God in the middle of my brokenness. And I am still here.