"You’ve got this, Sarah. Just one more day. Smile, hold your head high, and don’t let them see the cracks."
Every morning, Sarah whispers this mantra to herself—a quiet promise, a vow to survive. She takes a deep breath, straightens her hair, applies her makeup with precision, and ensures no bruise, visible or hidden, betrays the turmoil beneath. She’s mastered the art of masking her pain.
At home, Sarah walks a razor-thin line. Her husband’s volatile temper looms over her, unpredictable, suffocating. Every word, every gesture is carefully measured to avoid setting him off. She’s been taught to believe that staying is her duty—to keep the secret, to honor her vows, to protect her family’s reputation. And perhaps most painfully, she is financially trapped. Her money is his, their debts are shared, and her escape feels impossible.
Yet, at work, Sarah is someone else entirely.
She is the one everyone depends on—the steady, reliable coworker who lifts spirits with a well-timed joke, who lightens the mood with her humor. She excels in her role, not because it’s easy, but because she understands the value of hard work and dedication. The office is her lifeline, the one place where she can briefly escape the chaos.
Sarah’s ability to compartmentalize her struggles and maintain professionalism makes her a high performer. Her work gives her purpose, a reminder that even though her personal life is crumbling, she still has something she can control. But her success is more than just a professional achievement—it’s a small, defiant act of survival. Proof that, despite the abuse she endures, she can still rise, still matter.
But the financial chains remain.
Sarah’s bank accounts are joint, but her money belongs to him. The loans they share keep her tethered. Her credit, her future, is tied to someone who holds all the power. She dreams of leaving but wonders, "where would I go? How would I start over?"
So, she convinces herself that he will change. She believes that if she tries harder, loves him more, walks on eggshells with even greater care, maybe, just maybe, he’ll stop. But he never does.
Bruises fade. The body heals. But the words—the accusations, the insults, the belittling—linger long after the physical wounds have disappeared. And the financial devastation is even worse. With no savings, no independent assets, no way to prove her stability, how can she possibly rebuild?
She often tells herself, No one will believe me. And too often, she’s right. Even those closest to her turn a blind eye. Some suspect but remain silent. Some see but choose not to intervene. Others believe the charming, charismatic version of her husband—the one he presents to the world.
And in a twisted way, part of her feels obligated to protect him. If she exposes the truth, she admits failure—failure to keep the peace, failure to change him, failure to live up to the expectations drilled into her since childhood.
But silence helps no one. Sarah learned that the hard way.
Sarah survived. But many don’t.
Her story isn’t unique. It’s the reality for so many. One in three women will experience severe intimate partner violence in their lifetime. One in seven will suffer physical injuries inflicted by a partner. And men are not exempt—one in ten men experience severe intimate partner violence as well.
These numbers aren’t just statistics. They are real people—friends, family, colleagues—carrying invisible burdens in silence.
But Sarah made it out. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t quick. But she rebuilt her life. She found love again—a love that was kind, safe, and unwavering. She built a career where she could thrive, no longer shackled by fear and control. And most of all, she found herself.
When Sarah reflects on that chapter of her life, she doesn’t ask, "why me?" Instead, she asks, "what now?" Because survival isn’t enough.
We must do more.
Not every story ends like Sarah’s. Too many never get the support they need to break free. That’s why we must stand with survivors—not just with words, but with action.
Our credit union’s community service project is dedicated to helping victims and survivors of domestic violence—especially by helping them break the financial chains that keep them trapped. And the most remarkable part? This wasn’t my idea. The staff brought this proposal to me. They saw the problem, and they wanted to help.
This is why our community service project matters. We’re helping survivors open their first independent accounts, rebuild their credit, and gain financial literacy to regain control of their lives. Because we know that sometimes, the key to leaving isn’t just courage—it’s financial independence.
Because we are not just financial institutions. We are advocates.
And that’s what makes us different.
The truth is, I am Sarah. And this is the hardest article I have ever written. But it’s time to stop hiding behind the smile. My mission in life is to help all people—even if they are still hiding.
