This story was transcribed by April Cole for the Storytellers Bureau at Lumina Alliance. It was told to April by Melinda Hatfield, who shares her family’s journey of loss, resilience, and breaking the cycle of violence. If you would like to share your story, please email [email protected] or call (805) 592-3324.
The Cycle
Textbook case; my father abused my mother. My sisters and I grew up with this and thought everybody did. I never talked to my friends about it and never thought to discuss it with my teachers or a trusted adult. My dad only knew what he had learned from his parents, and they both abused each other.
My father didn’t physically abuse us, but his temper was very short and verbally expressed his anger. We knew that if we crossed the line, it wouldn’t be good. We were constantly walking on eggshells. To escape the storm that was always brewing at home, we spent as much time as possible playing outside. When we were older, we escaped by going to school, working, and participating in extracurricular activities. For me personally, I would take 24, 26 units at a time just to stay out of the house. Years later, I talked to friends and learned many of them were experiencing similar situations. None of us thought we had options.
When I was about 5 or 6, a neighbor exposed himself to me. When I was 17, I was kidnapped and sexually assaulted by a stranger. I just remember thinking, this is not at all the way the world should be. Because of all the trauma I had experienced, I went through a period where I was suicidal. I kept this to myself and never sought help. Thankfully I managed to work my way out of it.
Eventually, I became a teacher, and helped a lot of young girls who were going through situations like mine. They knew I was safe, and they could tell me things that were uncomfortable to share. I found healing through helping made me stronger.
Fortunately, I didn’t end up in an abusive relationship, but my three younger sisters did. They weren’t yet equipped to break the cycle.
Dana’s Story
Dana Neece
My sisters eventually ended up in very healthy, loving relationships. My sister, Dana, found her partner later in life after an abusive 10-year marriage. She had finally found love and it was beautiful. Jeff was just a wonderful, wonderful man. They were both avid golfers, adventurous, supportive, and generous. Sadly, he died of cancer.
Dana waited five years to start dating again and met someone. My gut told me something wasn’t right, but Dana said, he makes me happy. Later on, she started letting out little bits of information—he was stalking her. He wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. I didn’t fully understand just how dangerous things had become, until the day he came into her home, shot her, then shot himself.
I never really got to grieve. As the oldest sister, I was always the protector. At that time, I was taking care of my family, taking care of Dana’s estate—I was doing it all. I feel like I really missed out on the grieving part, so I channeled my energy into helping others.
Signs of Love
Shortly after Dana left us, my husband and I walked to the post office. As we walked down the gravel path, we noticed two golf balls. There was no golf course around, certainly no reason for golf balls to be there. We looked at each other and laughed through our tears. Dana and Jeff reminded us to ‘play through’. To this day, we keep finding golf balls. Everywhere.
My son was in Joshua Tree—middle of nowhere—and he found a golf ball.
My daughter was driving down a side street in Anaheim, and a golf ball bounced behind her.
I don’t believe in God, but I know Dana is orchestrating all of this because she was so playful. It’s so nice.
One day, my whole family got a text that looked like it came from my husband. It had emojis of skis and a wine glass—two things Dana loved. My husband didn’t send that text. Dana was once again letting us know she was doing just fine and was thinking of us.
Just recently, everything in the house seemed to be falling apart. It started with the sink backing up. We couldn’t get a hold of anyone to fix it. It was just one of those days where everything goes wrong. That evening we finally sat down, turned on the TV to watch something mindless. And suddenly, Siri pops up on the TV screen. We don’t have Siri on the TV. And it says, Hope your day is going well. Once again, we started laughing through our tears.
My sister’s kitchen faucet turns on and off randomly, always when she’s thinking about Dana.
Playful things like this happen to me and other members of my family all the time.
Amends
My parents are still married. My dad finally changed his ways, but it took a long, long time. My mom and dad got married when they were 18. By the time they were 21, they had three of the four of us. Life was tough for them and obviously for us.
My mother could never leave. Like many women of her time, she didn’t have the resources or the freedom to leave. In the 60s, single women couldn’t have a bank account, couldn’t rent a home, couldn’t even get a loan without a man’s signature. The cost of childcare would have been more than her income. So, she stayed.
Recently, my mom told me my dad apologized to her. She has never spoken of how my dad treated her and mentioning the apology was a huge step for her.
On my birthday last April, my dad texted me. Without getting into details, he basically apologized for all the crap he put us through. That was a big, big deal.
I talked to my mom about it, and she said, Yeah, he’s been reflecting on that. I don’t know if it’s because he’s 87 now and thinking about the end of his life. He’s never been in therapy. He’s never talked about the abuse. He’s just… changed. My mom told me, He realized he had too much to lose. He never vocalized that to his four daughters. I have no idea why he sent that text only to me and not to my sisters.
When I tell this story, it’s hard to talk about my dad. He was such an integral part of this tragic story. Witnessing my father’s uncontrollable emotions and lack of coping skills was all we knew.
I think that’s what makes breaking the cycle so hard. When you grow up with violence, you don’t expect anything else. You don’t even realize that something different is possible.
But it is.
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