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, typical of the time, with a mother, father, three brothers, and myself. I have fond childhood memories from my early years.

When I was 11, my parents told my younger brother and me that we were going for a car ride. We were excited, thinking we might be getting new bikes. Instead, they pulled into the parking lot of an apartment building. We followed my dad to a ground-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, understandably devastated by the betrayal of her husband and best friend, turned to alcohol to ease her pain. The alcohol brought her grief and rage to the surface, and she began to project it onto me, her only daughter—first verbally, then physically. Violence and rage became my normal. Once, in a fit of rage, my mother 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 skin.

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 12 with my friend’s dog, Prudence.

This continued into my teens when I began hanging out with a questionable crowd. During this time, I met Dave, who was five 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. Relieved to escape my stressful home, I agreed to move in with him.

The day we moved in together, he grabbed me by my neck and slammed me against the wall, threatening me with what he would do if I ever tried to leave him. I had escaped one bad situation only to run into the arms of a violent man. Dave used cruel words to erode my self-worth and violence to control me. The next three years were filled with beatings, bruises, fear, isolation, dread, flowers, and promises that he would never hurt 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 birthday gift. A few months later, in a jealous rage, he killed the bunny to hurt me.

Once, the police came to our door after a neighbor became concerned for my safety. Dave stood at the door, speaking with the officers and assuring them that I was fine and there was nothing to be concerned about. They didn't ask to see or speak with me and simply left.

Animals, especially those trapped in our food system, have little to no outside protection. In Canada, farmed animal welfare standards are not laws but guidelines created and regulated by the industry itself. This means that these animals have virtually no protection. When a complaint is made, it usually results in a discussion with the farmer, and then the authorities leave. Farmed animals often become targets of workers' temper, as they project their anger onto these innocent victims—simply because they can.

As a very private person, sharing this personal experience is extremely difficult for me. I do so not for pity or revenge, but because it has given me a deep understanding of how animals might feel when they are trapped, dominated, and hurt by humans. I see the parallels between their experience and mine: the fear, the psychological and physical pain, the uncertainty, the powerlessness, and the lack of concern from the outside world. This is the sad reality of their “normal.”

A young pig at slaughter resembles an innocent human child.

My experience with domestic abuse has revealed striking similarities to how farmed animals are treated. Both situations involve the mistreatment of the vulnerable, the powerful exerting control through fear and violence. Just as victims of domestic abuse are often trapped and unable to ask for help, so too are farmed animals confined and silenced. Both endure suffering and degradation at the hands of those who view them as powerless. This parallel has deepened my empathy and strengthened my resolve to advocate for those who cannot, whether they are human or nonhuman animal.

I don’t regret my experiences; I’ve learned deep lessons from them and believe they have made me who I am today. Emotional and physical trauma have taught me strength and self-worth—the opposite of what they were meant to do. These experiences 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.