My Purple Dress

To all who think I'm sharing too much information in this post, please accept my apologies up front.

Today is the Purple Dress Run. It is a "run" to raise awareness and funds for Domestic Violence. October is Domestic Violence Month - along with Breast Cancer Month. All about the girls.

I put the word run in quotes because after I signed up and paid my registration fee I discovered it was not a true run but really a pub crawl. Just like the Red Dress Run in New Orleans. Now, I enjoy a glass of wine and the occasional cocktail, but 7 bars in 2 hours is really not me. I'm not THAT big of a drinker.

But I will do what I can. I will participate.

And here is why.

I know I one of the lucky ones. I get to help. I'm not one of the ones needing the help.

Our battered women's shelter is at the end of my street. It sits on the cross street, facing my street. I see it every day as I pull away from the curb. I pass it on the way to some clients. It is ever present in my environment. But I rarely see the residents. They are sheltered - behind the brick walls and locked doors. From those that have, and would continue, do them harm.

Not long after Billy and I started dating we had one of those talks that couples have when things start to "get serious". Basically, I laid out my two ground rules - never hit me, don't cheat on me. Sounded simple enough. I felt like we could work through anything else. Billy agreed.

Months passed and we got married. Anyone who thinks the first year of marriage is a cake walk has never been married. It's tough. Constant adjustments and compromises. I can't tell you what led to a heated conversation one afternoon, but I can tell you how it ended.

I have a bit of a temper. A very long fuse, but once it goes, it's gone. I was so angry this time that I walked up and shoved Billy. Now, Billy is 15 inches taller and about 90 pounds heavier than I. I did no damage, nor was he ever in any danger from me. But he looked at me. Solemn as a church mouse. Not angry, just serious. His response "I told you I'd never hit a girl, but if you want to cross the line and act like a man, I will treat you like a man."

That stopped me in my tracks.

I had crossed the line.

We've never raised a hand in anger to each other again.

Now, some will say I chose well. I like to think that Billy was chosen for me, I just listened. The path we took to each other contained a lot of steps that were not usual along our everyday paths.

I know I'm blessed. I was raised in a household that let me know that I was loved, and worthy of being loved. I saw the example my daddy set on how to treat his wife and was told on more than one occasion that if a man didn't set me on a pedestal, he wasn't worth keeping. I knew that, as wonderful as Billy makes my life, I'd still have a good life without a man in it. A good man was a compliment to my life, not the completer.

I've never worn sunglasses or heavy makeup to work to hide a black eye. Never worn long sleeves in the summer to cover a bruise. Haven't had to lie to my friends, family and co-workers.

Nor have I lay in bed at night, praying my husband wouldn't come home. Worried that the house wasn't clean enough, or that supper would be late.

We all walk on eggshells sometimes because a loved one is in a bad mood, or sensitive, or whatever. But I've not feared that something I said or did might cost me my life.

A lot of folks in town weren't happy to discover the "run" was a pub crawl. They felt like alcohol is at the root of abuse and the organizers were being disrespectful to mix the two together. One young lady that helped put this whole thing together was, herself, a victim of abuse. Her response to the detractors - her ex was just as abusive sober as drunk.

You see, it was in his makeup, not a reaction to his circumstances or situation. Sometimes mean people are just mean. Doesn't matter.

So, while this event might not be what I initially thought it was, I will do what I can to help. Because I know how to count my blessings. They start with Billy and work their way down from there.

And I'm a believer in Karma. What goes around, comes around. I pray I never need the services of a battered women's shelter. I honestly believe I never will. That doesn't, however, mean I won't need some other type of help. And I hope the people and funding necessary are there when I do.

I don't have to see the women in the shelter or even know their names to want to help them.

That's what being a good neighbor is all about.

Isn't it?


Post Script: After arriving I determined that I was overdressed for the occasion and let the run go without me. I saw them off, cheering them all, and then came home. The registration fee was contribution enough. Next year, I'll volunteer to help but the "running" is best left to the professionals.