What a Bedpost Taught Me About Courage

Gentle Note:

This reflection includes personal experiences related to domestic violence. Please read at your own pace and care for yourself as you engage.

Yesterday, I banged my face against the bedpost.

I dropped something, bent forward to pick it up, and suddenly felt the blow reverberate through my face. For a few seconds, I didn’t fully register what had happened. Being me, I finished what I was doing before going downstairs to put some ice on it.

I was sure I would wake up with a black eye. Surprisingly, I didn’t. There is light bruising, and my face is painful to the touch, but the damage is minimal.

What unsettled me was how much pain resulted in so little visible injury.

And then my thoughts turned to my mother.

I wondered how hard my father’s blows must have been for her face to be blue, purple, and swollen—week after week, for nearly ten years of her life. Suddenly, I had a reference point. A bodily experience that allowed me to compare pain with pain. And it made me weep.

Because in that moment, I was no longer an adult woman in Kansas. I was seven years old again, watching helplessly as my father mercilessly beat my mother—only to apologize later and continue life as if nothing had happened.

When the Personal Meets the Public

In South Africa, gender-based violence has long been a reality woven into the lives of countless women and children. In 2019, President Cyril Ramaphosa formally declared gender-based violence and femicide a national crisis, following widespread protests after the brutal murders of several women.

Yet years later, the crisis remains.

In 2025, as South Africa hosted the G20 meetings, women once again took to the streets. Through marches and public demonstrations, they demanded renewed attention to the ongoing violence shaping their daily lives. In response, President Ramaphosa again acknowledged gender-based violence and femicide as a national crisis, framing it as an ongoing emergency rather than a resolved issue.

I did not participate in the protests. Living in Kansas, thousands of miles away from home, I felt distanced from the problem.

Today, I feel that the moment I banged my face had a sense of divine inspiration to it. It was more than just a reminder to watch where I was going while cleaning. It had to do with the truth that no one should have to endure excruciating physical pain from people who profess to love them. Love does not abuse; love protects.

It is not okay—or normal—to feel unsafe in your own home, and it is important to seek help: in your church, through local authorities, or from family and friends who have proven themselves trustworthy. I remember a story my grandmother once told me. She said that she hid a woman and her children from her husband and helped them escape to a different province because the woman was experiencing severe abuse at home. I sometimes wonder if I would ever get that involved in someone else’s life?

It takes courage to say, “No, this is enough,” when you are in a situation that makes you feel helpless. This verse comes to mind: Isaiah 41:10 — “Do not fear, for I am with you… I will strengthen you, I will help you.” This call to courage is for all of us. Those who are comfortable need courage to stand with and protect those who appear vulnerable or helpless. Those who are in unsafe situations need courage to step forward and ask for help.

Remember this: no matter who you are, God loves you deeply, and you have a divine purpose.