Parallels

My experience with domestic abuse and the similarities to how farmed animals are treated.

I grew up in a middle class suburban Toronto home, very typical of the time - mother, father, three brothers and myself. I have good childhood memories for my early years.

Until one day when I was 11, my parents told my younger brother and myself that we were going for a car ride. My brother and I were excited at the thought that we might be getting new bikes so we were confused when they pulled into the parking lot of an apartment building. We followed my dad to a bottom floor apartment window and peered inside. “This is where I'll be living from now on,” he said. My mind and body froze. I remember that moment like it was yesterday. We weren’t getting new bikes, my dad was moving away. He was leaving us for my mother’s best friend. Nothing was the same from that day forward.

My mother, who was understandably devastated by the betrayal of her husband and best friend, took to alcohol to ease the pain. The alcohol brought her pain and rage to the surface and she began to project it on me, her only daughter. First verbally, then physically. Violence and rage became my normal. My mother once, while in a rage, beat me with a broom while I lay curled on my bed trying to protect myself. The bruising on my arm swelled so badly that the name of the broom company could be read, embedded in my arm. The following day at school I was called to the office. The principal and a representative from children’s aid asked me about the bruising and if I needed help. I was shocked and scared. I told them everything was fine, but it wasn’t.

At 13 with my friend’s dog, Prudence.

This continued into my teens when I began hanging out with a questionable crowd. It was then that I met Dave, 5 years older than me, a good looking, funny-in-public guy. Dave pulled me away from my shady friends and showered me with flowers and an unhealthy obsession that I mistook for love. I agreed to move in with him, relieved to be leaving my stressful home behind. The day we moved in together he grabbed me by my neck and slammed me against the wall with threats of what he would do if I ever tried to leave him. I escaped a bad situation by running into the arms of a violent man. He used cruel words to try to dissolve my self worth and violence to control me. The next three years were filled with beatings, bruises, fear, isolation, dread, flowers, and promises of never hurting me again.

Scars

A stitched scar still remains on my wrist as a constant reminder of when Dave slammed me against a glass door, shattering the glass and cutting my wrist in an attempt to intimidate and control me. 

Knowing my love for animals, Dave gave me a baby bunny as a gift for my birthday. A few months later he killed the bunny while in a jealous rage as a way to hurt me.

The police once came to our door after a neighbour became concerned for my safety. Dave stood at the door speaking with the officers telling them I was fine, everything was fine, there was nothing to be concerned about. They didn’t ask to see or speak with me and left.

Animals, especially those trapped in our food system, have little or no outside protection. The farmed animal welfare standards in Canada are not laws, they are guidelines created and regulated by the industry itself - which means they have no protection. When a complaint is made there is usually a discussion with the farmer and they leave. Farmed animals are often the target of temper by workers who project their anger onto these innocent victims - because they can.

I am normally a very private person so putting this personal experience out into the world is extremely difficult for me. I share this, not out of want for pity or revenge, but because I believe it has given me a deep understanding of how animals might feel who are trapped, dominated, hurt by humans. I see the parallels between their experience and mine. The fear, the psychological and physical pain, the uncertainty, the powerlessness, the lack of concern from the outside world. The sad reality of their “normal”. 

A young pig at slaughter resembles an innocent human child.

The difference between their experience and mine is that I escaped. They almost never do. They have nowhere to go. There are laws to protect me from other humans. They have none. Their situation almost always ends up in a violent death. I don’t regret my experiences, I learn from them and believe they have made me who I am today. The emotional and physical trauma taught me strength and self worth - the opposite of what it was meant to do. They have given me the insight to recognize when someone needs help and the courage to speak up.  And that’s what I was born to do.

For the animals.

An innocent young cow filled with uncertainty at slaughter.