My eldest daughter Nakita is almost 16 now, but 13 years ago she drew me a domestic violence picture and I can see it clearly as type this, its something that has stayed imprinted my mind.
She was going to nursery by now and I missed her so much. I would even stay close to the nursery in case they needed to phone me, although I only lived a ten minute walk away, I had to stay close.
We had a very strong bond and I could not bear to be away from her.
I developed anxiety and panic attacks around this time and it became a struggle for me.
I hid it best I could as she was thriving at nursery and thankfully despite the dysfunctional home life, she was a happy and well-adjusted little girl.
My little girl sat at our solid oak dining table one afternoon and was quite happily drawing on the sheets of white paper, she was very advanced and extremely creative, unlike me who found it hard to even draw as much as a stick man.
I was pottering around in the kitchen, the music quietly played out and it was just another ordinary day.
I had a large growing pile of pictures she had drawn for me on the worktop, when she proudly stood in front of me and handed me another.
The Domestic Violence Picture That Killed Me On The Inside
Usually I would tell her how great it was and how clever she was, but this picture touched a raw nerve and it stopped me in my tracks.
“It’s a very beautiful picture” I told her “Can you tell me who the people are”?
She stood with her hands on her hips and replied “My family”
There stood three people, a big person a little person and a tiny person.
The big person is daddy she proudly told me, as he was the boss of our house so had to be the biggest, he stood with a nice big red smile across his face.
The little person was mummy, who had blue dots on her face.
“This could not be a domestic violence picture” my inside screams.
I asked her why I had blue spots on my face and she told me the blue spots were tear drops, as mummy cried and never smiled.
I was not allowed a big red smiley face as I was sad and not happy.
The tiny person was her, thankfully she wore a big red smile.
My 3-year-old daughter Nakita had just drawn me a domestic violence picture.
Quite ironic that a three-year old child could feel my emotions and know how unhappy I was, yet my family and the few friends I had never realised or if they did they never asked me.
I gave birth to my second daughter a few months later and life resumed as normal. I would stay in this abusive relationship for 11 years in total yet its that domestic violence picture that really made me accept that children do know something isn’t right.