I grew up idyllic and carefree in a valley just beyond the coal fields in West Virginia.
I heard about abuse, I read about it, I knew that it sometimes happened. That sometimes a woman would get beaten by a boyfriend or husband. I knew about rape, but it never happened in my world. It was a far off “other” thing that you only thought about when you were already sad and needed that one more gut-wrenching thought to push the tears over the brim of your eyelids.
I never would have imagined the scope and magnitude of violent acts committed against a person simply because she happens to be female.
Read the rest of this post over at A Sista’s Journey.