I grew up in what I thought was a pretty loving home until I saw my father, who’s a preacher, hit my mother at the age of seven years old for the first time. It was a consistent image that would be ever-present in front of me until I was 17 years old. At that age, my mom got the courage to get a divorce. Having endured the turmoil accompanied by my parents’ tumultuous relationship, as a child, I often held an unfortunate ringside seat to the dysfunction that swarms the homes of children living amid parents whose relationships are thwarted with domestic violence.
Click here to read full article