Today’s topic comes with a trigger warning. This blog post will be surrounding the topic of domestic violence. If this is something that you can not read about I completely understand and I will see you next week.
According to the NCADV:
1 in 3 women and
1 in 4 men have experienced some form of
physical violence by an intimate
partner.
On average, nearly
20 people per minute are physically abused by an intimate
partner
in the United States.
During one year, this equates to more than 10 million women and men.
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence please reach out for help. There are incredible resources out there and even if you only tell one person it can truly be the difference between life and death.
You are not alone.
Today is known in my family affectionately as ‘My Birthday.” Although it is not the day I was born, it is the day that I got a second chance in life.
Today is the 6th year anniversary of me leaving my abuser by police escort.
Six years since I came home to my family with nothing, completely broken, and absolutely terrified. Six years ago I sat on my childhood bed and told my parents everything I had been hiding from them for the past nine months. My dad looked at me and said “You do not realize it now, but this is going to be one of the best days of your life.
It will be like your birthday.”
He was right.
I share pieces of my story every year on this day in the hopes that I can be a light for someone else and to show people out there that it does
get better.
I am a survivor of domestic violence, I have a voice, and I am not a victim.
When I was younger I remember saying “the second that someone lays a hand on me I'm done.” I was the kind of person who was under the impression that it could never happen to me.
The thing about abuse is you don't often realize it's happening to you until you are
out of it.
He didn't walk up and punch me in the face to begin with. He was kind, charismatic, thoughtful, romantic, funny, and sweet. Have you ever heard the phrase you catch more flies with honey than vinegar? It's true. Sociopaths/Psychopaths are charismatic, they
lure
you in.
It's like any true crime documentary, nobody sees it coming. They blend in in plain sight.
I often tell people when I talk about my experiences, if you met him you would love him. It's true to this day.
It isn’t like terrible people come with warning labels.
It started out slow and small. Little scratches, little shoves, slightly more aggressive grabbing of my arms to redirect me. Little moments where I would come up with little excuses. He didn't mean it. He didn't realize. He's upset, it's not like he knew what he was doing.
It then escalated to the point where there wasn't denying it to myself, but the mental manipulation makes you feel like you have earned it. He only did that because I talked back. I mean he's right I shouldn't have my cousin's number in my phone, he's a man. He's only doing it because he loves me.
He was
gifted
at hurting things. He would hurt me, he would hurt others, and he would hurt animals. As he got
better
at
hurting, I got
better
at
hiding.
If you knew me during that time, you probably had no idea what I was going through. Those experiencing domestic violence are gifted at hiding it. We are trained to protect our abusers. We are trained that nobody will believe us. We are trained that it will get worse if we tell. We are trained that they will find out we told someone.
On May 12th 2017, he locked me in his basement. This wasn't new, this wasn't the first time. He was mad because he stole my dads truck to drive without a license while I was asleep and when I woke up I asked him where he was. He pushed me into the basement and locked me in there for hours for asking a question. I was screaming. I was angry.
I was done.
My screaming went on for so long he let me out of the basement and told me he had called the police on me. He told them I was the aggressor so he wouldn't get in trouble because people could hear me. Not only did he call, but his neighbor did as well. I am grateful to her calling for me. The police showed up and watched as I packed all of my belongings. I didn’t speak to them or him, I cleaned my things up, I took all of the items I bought for him, and I cried and drove away.
The thing that's the most wild to me about that day is that
I vacuumed. While the police waited for me to leave, I vacuumed. I was so
scared
about leaving the house a mess and what he would do if I did, that I vacuumed.
I vacuumed.
At first I didn't want to share my story. I was embarrassed. I was worried about what people would think about me. Who would believe me? Would they laugh at me?
I was 19. I was an honor roll student. I was elected a leader in two volunteer organizations. I was a cheerleader. I was a forensic chemistry student. I was in honor societies. I was in accelerated classes. I was working to support myself, him, and his child. I was smart. I was successful. I was brave.
I was everything he sought to
ruin.
After him I was broke. I was a college drop out. I lost all my activities. I had no job. I was lost. If I tell people, they can see how he won, what he took from me, how he beat me.
Months later I realized he won by me continuing to protect him. His actions reflect only on one person,
him.
My name is Morgan Conner and I am a
survivor
of domestic violence. My abuser's name is
Brandon. I am not his
first
and I haven't been his
last. He hurts women, children, and animals.
He is small.
He is weak.
He is pathetic.
He lost.
I feel sorry for
him.
People ask me all the time "how do you do it?" I do it because I don't give myself a choice. I do it for the 19 year old me who
fought
kicking and screaming to survive.
I don't just survive anymore, I live.
Since I have fought for me:
The thing is,
he lost when he picked me.
He thought he could bury me, but he didn't realize I am a seed.
Guess who hits harder now Brandon?
Love you more,
Morgan
Check this out Corner:
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233
You are not alone. You will survive. You matter.
is the passionate creator and driving force behind The Modest Journal. At 28 years old, she wears many hats as the owner, founder, CEO, and self-described "resident words girl."
For Morgan, words are more than just communication—they are her love language, her means of storytelling, and a source of inspiration for others. Her blog is a testament to her desire to merge her passions into a single creative outlet, aiming to bring joy and provoke thought through her words.
Whether she's impacting, inspiring, or offering a fresh perspective, Morgan hopes her writing resonates deeply with her audience.