I was mandated to attend 26 sessions of Domestic Violence Group Therapy, which turned into about 50 before I was finally released. I hated it with a flaming purple passion. Social anxiety, plus admitting to a roomful of strangers that my perfect life was not so perfect!

Something weird happened there, though. I found my voice. I was able to relate to some of those women, commiserate with some, identify with them, and learned that I was not alone. I learned to participate in a group discussion without stammering and blushing, I even *gasp* disagreed a few times.

In the end I resented the state for stepping into my life and forcing me to undergo treatment with the threat of losing my kids, but I appreciated the group and its members for teaching me that it was abuse, really, no matter how I tried to minimize it and excuse it.