She Encouraged Me to Share on Stage
By: Liz Porter
Tags: Life Lessons, Abuse, This Happened To Me, Abuse Survivors, Self Improvement

She Encouraged Me to Share on Stage

Surviving abuse is one thing, telling your story is another

Photo by Stephen Sharp on Unsplash

Deciding on the soft pink blazer, I slid my bare feet into grey strappy sandals to pull the outfit together.

A nervous wreck, I ran back to the bathroom for the third time. That’s when I knew I’d be skipping breakfast.

It was still early, but I couldn’t trust the traffic, so I gunned it out of the driveway and took off. I considered bailing several times that morning, but Elizabeth was counting on me, and I couldn’t let her down.

Pulling into the empty parking lot for the big event, I practically jumped from the car, eager for the day to be over.

Surrounded by three-hundred co-workers and guests, I sat in the audience praying they’d run over their scheduled time. Distracted, I fumbled through my purse looking for a mint, when Elizabeth took the stage to announce their guest speaker — me!

With my heart racing, I smiled while swallowing those last tasty bits of mint. I made my way towards the stage as the audience clapped and cheered me on.

I took a deep breath, looking up from my notes on the podium to take in the sea of eyeballs and expectant faces.

Elizabeth had become a good friend and mentor since I’d started my new business venture. I owed her an outstanding debt for taking me under her wing and helping me through my healing journey.

I’m an abuse survivor, and when I met Elizabeth, I’d long since escaped that devastating situation. What I hadn’t done was heal from those ten horrific years of being mistreated.

Today, I was to share a part of my story with the audience at Elizabeth’s request. Another gigantic step towards a better version of me.

Because of my immense gratitude for her guidance, I stood, hands shaking, hoping I wouldn’t vomit.

I got started ok and cracked a joke to get people laughing.

But when my throat constricted and my voice cracked, I stopped speaking altogether. I stood in a trance, frozen in time. You could feel the tension in the room building as the audience shuffled in their seats, wondering what had happened.

That was Elizabeth's queue; she recognized my symptoms and again came to the rescue.

She slipped from the side stage and took a seat two feet from where I stood. She looked up at me with a warm smile and quietly (so only I could hear), she encouraged me to continue.

“You’ve got this Liz, just one sentence at a time. Read your notes verbatim if you have to, but do it.” — Elizabeth M.

I swallowed the bile collecting in my throat and nodded. I noticed the box of kleenex she held in her lap, wondering if it was for her or me.

My notes shook as I took another deep breath and continued my story.

Photo Courtesy of the Author

Not willing to share the gory details of my abusive past, I merely recapped my toxic relationship. I explained that my ex-husband had abused me emotionally, sexually, verbally and physically and that he’d crushed my spirit for ten long years.

I tried to help the audience understand the depth of my shame. Although I found there are no simple words to express such a deep topic fully.

That familiar feeling of being alone in my horror crept in as I spoke.

Explaining why I kept my silence and the embarrassment around my situation was the worst. I knew in my heart they’d never understand it.

Getting vulnerable in front of 300 people felt like a gigantic mistake at that moment, imagining their judgement and prying questions.

It turns out the kleenex was for both of us. Elizabeth reached up more than once to hand me a tissue as she wiped her cheeks as well.

“Remember your bible study, God is guiding you today,” she whispered.

Those twenty minutes felt like an eternity and ended with me sharing my decision to start a memoir about my journey.

My final sentences expressed my hope to help one girl understand the red flags and avoid the abuse I suffered; the effort would be worth my discomfort.

With my face flushed and the onset of a migraine promising a rough afternoon, I ran, tripping my way off stage.

Photo by Borna Bevanda on Unsplash

Blinded by running mascara and the excruciating pain in my head, I was unaware of the impact I’d had on my audience.

The entire room was on their feet, and the applause thundered off the walls.

I’d say shock was an understatement.

My complete disbelief by their reaction registered on my face as strangers reached out to shake my hand through their tears. I was hugged and patted on the shoulder. Men and women leaned in to tell me how they’d suffered at the hands of others as well.

They pushed by one another, lining up to shake my hand, thanking me for sharing my story, and then sharing theirs.

With the lineup growing by the minute, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. The room was closing in on me, and I felt queazy.

A good friend (Vicki) read my expression and looked concerned for me. She was adept at running interference because of her career as a Customs Officer, so she put her arm across my shoulders protectively. With her kleenex in hand, she whispered, “I never cry, what the hell girl! How did I not know any of that?”

My gratitude overwhelmed me as she excused us and escorted me from the hall to get water and some breathing room.

The response that day was insane.

I’d say judging from the comments and questions that continued to come my way, more than half of the audience had experienced some level of abuse in their lives.

Elizabeth came sailing in from the adjacent room to find us.

She decided to break the event early for lunch due to all the commotion I’d caused. Hugging me tightly, she told me how proud she was, “I told you sharing your story would help others, but honestly, I didn’t expect this intense reaction!”

“If you can impact that many people in one room, imagine what you can do with your book! “— Elizabeth

Vicki had to drive me home that afternoon.

I could barely hold my eyes open from the migraine by then. Grateful the day had finally come to an end, we headed down a long hall a few minutes ahead of everyone else.

That’s when my day went from exceptional to extraordinary.

A fit, well-dressed gentleman about 50 years old came running up behind us, calling my name. Neither of us recognized him as a participant at the event, but it was apparent he had something to say.

I’ll never forget him or his words.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I felt compelled to thank you for sharing your story. I’ve known that many people suffer abuse, but I’d never considered it from a young woman’s point of view.”

He swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Who was this guy? Why hadn’t we seen him all day?

Then he continued, “I’m in the equestrian business and surrounded by a rough crowd of men every day. The derogatory behaviour, looks and conversations about women are a constant in my world.”

I stood and stared, but could only nod as tears threatened once again.

“But I wanted to tell you to your face that I felt ashamed of myself after hearing your talk this morning. I’ve made a conscious decision to do better and not to tolerate the behaviour around me from others.”

“I’m sorry for your experience, but I commend you for having the strength and courage to stand up there and tell us like it is.”

“Thank you for making me a better man.”

He didn’t wait for my response, but bowed his head toward me and spun on his heel to disappear as quickly and quietly as he’d shown up.

An impact I hadn’t expected, turned out to be the highlight of my day.

The National Domestic Violence Hotline Advocates are available 24/7 at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) in more than 200 languages. All calls are free and confidential. https://www.thehotline.org/help

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I’m Liz, the self-empowered, red wine & coffee lovin’, personal growth fanatic behind this article. I’ve stopped shrinking into places I’ve outgrown, and I’m a fan of straight talk and practical solutions. That’s why I’m here to Empower, Educate and Entertain.