You Know My Name. Not My Story.

"You know my name. Not my story."

I saw the statement above on Facebook.

My blog has generated a few Facebook friends from across the miles ~ ladies who are survivors of domestic violence like me ~ kind souls I have never met but feel a kinship through this common bond of survival.

One of them shared the quote above, and the words really resonated with me.

I worked so hard to finally share my truth, but I feel that so many people in my life that I want to know this truth find it too emotional to read my words.  So my blog sits in cyberspace generating hits from strangers around the world, and I cannot even share my own story ~ even verbally ~ to some of the people I spent so many years hiding this truth from on a daily basis.

I thought I had ended "My Silence on Domestic Violence" (to quote Dr. Phil), but have I really ended my silence if my truth is still unread even after a whole year of stories?

I carry this burden with me lately.

I think about printing out the blog and giving copies away at Christmas.  Would that be bizarre to give away stories about Mom's dying from lung cancer and my getting my head bashed into a wall a mere 9 years after her death?

But how else am I going to get people to know my truth?

The subject of domestic violence still seems forbidden to discuss face-to-face.  Is it simply too uncomfortable, or do people just simply do not want to know what happened to me?

I question it all.

Or maybe it does not matter that only a few family members and friends want to know my truth ~ and that the people that need to hear my words the most are those ladies that went through a similar ordeal and then became my friend on Facebook?

They know the real me even though we have never met.  They had the courage to survive, so they have the courage to read my story.

They know my story.

They lived my story.