My sister's experience taught me to speak up and reach out to end the cycle. By Samantha Phillippi. I'm writing this article for Mother's Day, to honor my sister β a single mom who doesn't get enough acknowledgment. My sister is a God-given best friend: Through thick and thin, you can always count on your sister to have your back. I have hers, too β in ways that I couldn't have imagined when we were little.
I am three years older than my sister. I have always looked out for her and have tried to make sure she is safe. When we were little girls, we would play Barbies, choreograph dances to the Spice Girls, and giggle late at night in each other's beds until we were told "lights out.
Brute reality crashed in on those nostalgic memories her first year of college. She came home on break, and her once-unshakable stature crumbled as she confided in me that her boyfriend had recently abused her. A few months later, she revealed that she was pregnant. The following March, my adorable niece was born, and the birth was a catalyst for positive change for my sister; she got a good job and was embracing being a single parent. But even as my sister works hard as a single mom trying to make ends meet, she is also a survivor of domestic abuse.
As a result of the violence, she was hospitalized with a severe concussion and contusions on her legs, arms and face. I was stunned.
This time, it hadn't happened to someone on the news; it had happened to my baby sister. My family's world was about to change. I slept next to her every night, because she didn't feel safe. The hurt and despair took my sister, who is the strongest person I know, and broke her down. Our family watched over her physical injuries until they healed, but that was only the beginning of the emotional trauma my sister has to recover from.
