This week, a woman who is living in fear for her life wrote to me.
She had written a story that she hoped Mamamia would publish about how she feels when her husband comes home every night. She hears his key in the lock and his feet on the steps, and she wonders if this is going to be the night that he kills her.
Her. Or her children.
She wrote that she would have to immediately delete the email after she had sent it, and for me to be very careful with responses, because if he were to see what she had written… Well, she doesn’t know what he would do. But it wouldn’t be good.
She painted a picture of a life lived in such an escalated state of stress that she had almost willed herself and her small children into a state of non-existence, to silently tiptoe through the world for fear they would do anything that might displease him.
It’s not a life at all. But when you have children, and you are responsible for them, you keep moving. Anything to keep them from harm. Anything.
There were many tragedies within that email, but one of them is that Mamamia gets so many that are similar. Every day, our submissions inbox fills with a steady trickle of stories from women who live in fear. We publish many. But we couldn’t publish them all. They would be too devastating to read, day in, day out. And those of us who are not living our lives in fear have a limit to how often we can confront that brutal reality. Even now.