Strength - A Series by Arianna Shanks-Hill

Domestic Violence Awareness month is coming to a close, but I want to continue my series of answering questions. This particular question is fine to ask, and I’ve been asked it so many times i felt like i should just create a permanent post detailing the answer. My strength comes from a lot of different things, like the people who share their stories with me and thank me after I’ve been on stage or at an event; but my main strength comes from 15 year old me, and from the woman who raised me, which is exactly what i want to talk about. 

What/who gave you the courage to share your story? 

The Gabby Project originated as my CSI for Miss Banks of the Wabash. I called my mom and started panicking, rambling about how we had to pick a “platform” to advocate for, and how overwhelmed I felt with this idea. I kept saying I didn’t know what i was passionate about or what i wanted to advocate for. I listed off a couple things, like mental health and LGBT representation. She took a deep breath and very calmly said “Ari, you know what your platform is. You know what you need to do”. My mom has always known me well enough to guess my next move, or to guide me through a decision I felt i couldn’t make on my own. After she said it, it seemed so obvious. Of course I was going to pick domestic violence. How could I have even considered anything else? 

Shortly after that I realized that in order to effectively advocate I was going to have to come forward and start speaking about my story; something I hadn’t really done prior. There had always been a handful of people who knew about my abuse and my experiences, but I had 

never publicized it. The morning of the competition I found out I would be telling my story on a stage in front of everyone, not just to a panel of judges in a private room. I called my mom again, panicking even worse this time. She gave me the kind of pep talk only mothers can, and it did provide me with some momentary relief. However, before my private interview I was in tears again. how could I do this? Where was I going to get the courage to be so vulnerable? 

I pulled out my phone and started flipping through pictures in my camera roll, my usual trick to help calm me down and remind me of the people supporting me. I came across a picture of my mom and I, where I couldn’t have been any older than 6. It stopped me dead in my tracks. (I’ll include it in this post somewhere I’m sure, just for reference. ) my mom looked so young in the picture, and yet she looked exhausted. Happy to be with her children, but you could tell she was silently suffering. The kind of suffering that drains the life out of even the brightest people. That picture of her was the last little push I needed; she did everything in her power to get me here, and she didn’t get the opportunity to tell her story. She’d never gotten the closure she deserved, and I had the opportunity to advocate on behalf of both of us. I had to take it. 

My mom experienced domestic violence before I was even born. She found herself in an impossible situation that would’ve forced a lesser person to crumble. She never did. She fought and endured and did everything to give her kids the best life possible. 

She was the blueprint. She is where I get my strength from. She is the reason I stepped up the first time. Her strength carries me through every aspect of my life and she is the foundation of

The Gabby Project (whether she knows it or not). I’ve never seen my mom back down from anything, so I knew I couldn’t back down from sharing my story. When I didn’t have enough courage of my own to stand and speak, my mom let me borrow some of hers until I was ready. 

Some parents beg their children not to publicly speak out about their abuse. I’ve seen it happen firsthand; they become uncomfortable with the idea of causing a fuss, and would rather avoid the attention and the “embarrassment”. My mom never once asked me to be quiet. In fact, she encouraged me to speak up. 

The original push that gave me the confidence to share my story was my mom’s courage. Now, it’s the look on my mom’s face when I speak and advocate. I’ve never seen her so proud. It’s a hard feeling to explain when you see your mom tearing up when you talk. Sometimes it’s like she’s in awe of me, like she can’t believe the person I’ve grown into and the impact that I’m making. Sometimes it’s like she sees herself in me, a young girl who refuses to be broken. It’s indescribable. 

I wish I could hold her hand and stand with her every time I advocate. I wish I could bring her on stage and hug her and say “this is your story too. this is your legacy too”.