My Story

Hello, my name is Amanda.

Who knew that a cute, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl born and raised right here in the heart of America was predisposed to becoming a victim of domestic violence simply because she was born in Missouri? Statistics prove Missouri to be one of the worst states for domestic violence. Keep in mind, only about half of all physical abuse incidents are ever reported to law enforcement. Personally, I reported less than one percent during my ten-year marriage.

Why? It is a difficult thing to understand, but I am going to shed light on our broken system and explain why victims stay: because our system fails victims far more often than it helps them.

Having daddy issues and an unsupportive family is a lethal combination. It creates the typical victim — a young girl who just wanted a family and a man who wouldn't leave. I did everything I could to keep the peace and keep his hands off me. When he couldn't keep a job, I worked 50-plus hours a week to pay the bills. I suspected — but could never prove — that he was abusing the kids while I worked, telling them they had better never tell their mom.

The years went on. Mom was always working and showing up alone to school events, smiling and acting like everything was okay. Her husband never participated, but she told herself he was "just a typical man," because her father had failed to show her how a home should operate.

Behind closed doors, phones were broken. He accused me of sleeping with every man in town. He tore me down, picking at my weakest spots. And then came the terrifying moments — his pupils dilated, sweat pouring down his face, pounding his chest. In those moments, I knew the next few minutes could end my life. Then, all of a sudden, boom — he would pop back into reality. Instantly, he would show remorse for hurting me to the point where I feared for my life.

I walked on eggshells, getting better and better at keeping him happy so the embarrassment of being treated like this wouldn't escape the walls of our home. The innocence being stripped from my children and the growing isolation went unnoticed by me, because surviving was all I could focus on.

Then, after years of suffering and tragically losing the only friend I had left, I could no longer handle having no one to console me. I refused to accept the physical abuse any longer. 911 was called, believing it would end the abuse and keep me and the kids safe.

Boy, was I wrong.

Nothing was done. No charges were filed. Emboldened, he learned this behavior was acceptable, and things only grew worse. With nowhere to turn and no one to help, I coped with substances he introduced to me. The substance-use coercion began — as if things weren't bad enough. The kids suffered more, and he set out to systematically destroy me: taking my family, my home, my car, my job, and even turning law enforcement against me while I was constantly just trying to pick myself back up.

He used the legal system and his money to get a restraining order granted against me based on false allegations, using my own address as his and forcing me onto the streets. Prior to being served, he slashed my tires so I couldn't leave in my own car. I was forced to leave on foot. My car was illegally towed from my driveway with law enforcement standing right there. I lost the job I had held for years. He stole my ID, birth certificate, and Social Security card, and soaked all my clothing in dirty motor oil so that even when I could return home, I had no identification needed to get a job.

He filed for divorce, set up for a friend of his to be served with my paperwork, and hired attorneys to handle his criminal charges and the divorce — all while I was left trying to find work with no transportation and no identification.

Still, I held onto hope and never stopped fighting. I was forced to depend on the generosity of people I met in my new career bartending, simply because I could walk to work and make cash tips instead of waiting on desperately needed paychecks.

But now, he has court orders preventing the sale of my home and an order granting the guardian at Litem his attorney hand picked because the original one that was appointed didn't work for his attorney. At the end of August, the home that stood through years of abuse will be lost in foreclosure. My son, my dog, and I will be left without a home or a place to put our belongings.

I constantly ask myself: was it worth leaving? The broken nose, the scars, and the bruises seem like nothing compared to losing everything I owned — everything except my son and my dog.

It is undeniable that our system is broken, and it is not designed to protect victims. You would think that living in the best country in the world, our justice system would not aid abusers in tormenting their victims over and over again. But it does.

Whatever sentence you pass on him today is nothing compared to the sentence I have endured — and the sentence my children have been forced to live through.

Thank you, Your Honor.