Shortly after my ex-husband moved out, texted me from ALDI. I had locked his keys in his truck and needed me to help. By the time I got there he had called a friend who was coming to help. But for 10 minutes he sat in my car in the rain reminding me why I had asked him to leave.

Once his friend got there, I went into the store to do my own shopping, since I was there. I figured I should get some… what was it called? Oh god, it’s so easy, why can’t I remember? It’s the red stuff the kids put on their food because I’m a terrible cook and everything tastes bland. They tease me about it. Come on, I know what it is. It’s a staple. I’ll look in the sauces, I know it’s a sauce of some kind.

I wandered around the store in a fog, unable to remember anything from my list. My list was still on the fridge because I forgot about it when I saw my husband’s text. The red stuff? Who knows. Wait. I know what the bottle looks like! It has to be here. I finally found it next to the mustard. Ketchup.

This is the energy I found myself in again last night. I wandered the grocery store looking for stuff to make enchiladas. I had a sudden craving for them earlier when coming home from a day out with the kids. They’re 18 now, so I dropped them off and told them I was going to the store.

Aldi is about a mile from my house, so not a lot can happen between my house and the store. But half a mile from the store, there was a woman sitting in the grass in a small field next to the storage place. Dozens of cars drove by her. I turned around and doubled back to see if she needed help. A gold jeep had stopped and someone was talking to her.

I was at the stop sign waiting for my turn to turn when they pulled away. She had turned them away. Her hair was a mess, and from the opposite corner of the street I could see her face was swollen. She had no coat and I knew she was in serious trouble. My car told me it was 45 degrees out. She would be very cold soon if she wasn’t already freezing. It looked like she hadn’t been there long, but it wouldn’t take long in this weather.

I turned and pulled up into the grass and parked. Walking cautiously to her, I sat down in the grass with her and offered, “I don’t want to bother you, but do you need anything? It’s cold out here.” I treated her like she knew what she was doing and in total control of the situation. I noticed her right ear, speckled with blood wanting to surface (I looked this up later, it’s called Petechiae). Someone had hit her, hard. I acted as if she was waiting for a friend to pick her up. Her car had broken down somewhere and this was a meeting spot.

She told me she was fine, in that voice that says of course she’s not okay but she wants me to go away. “OK, good, I just wanted to make sure.” She noticed a police car at the stop sign and panicked. She grabbed my hands and begged me not to say anything to him. She made me swear not to tip him off. I nodded with the best smile I could find, “Of course, we’re just friends having a chat in the grass, not weird at all.” A slight wink to put her at ease and I turned to the officer.

He got out of the car and came over to ask if she was okay. I stayed quiet other than to tell him, “My butt’s cold, but that’s all.” I kicked myself for that one later. He was compassionate, and understanding. If she didn’t want the help, he wasn’t going to force it. He mentioned a passerby had called them. He said he was only doing his job, but should she change her mind and decide she wanted help, he would come right back.

When he left, I got up and went back to my car. I grabbed a blanket from the backseat I had put there for winter, for the kids, and for emergencies. Then swiping the box of tissues from the front, I went back to her. I wrapped the blanket around her and set the tissues in front of her. I sat down again, “Here, take this, it’s so cold out here and you can use this while you wait for whoever left you here.” I acknowledged the reality of her situation hoping it would bring her out of her shell to tell me more.

It was getting colder, and I was beginning to see her situation unfolding. I took a deep breath and made myself comfortable. Whatever cold I felt was nothing next to what she was up against if she didn’t get out of here before dark. I asked her name. She told me, saying, “I’m an attorney. I know what to do.”

“Of course you do, wow, I never got so far in life, a lawyer… that’s impressive! You must be so smart and disciplined.” She looked up and into my eyes, stunned. It was like no one had said anything kind to her in decades. She burst into tears. I touched her knee softly, asking if it was okay that I do it. She cried harder and asked for a hug.

“Oh gosh of course, that I can do.” I held her tight until she was ready to let go. She smelled like she had just come from the salon. I noticed her nails recently done, in different colors, but missing a couple on each hand. She had fought back. Her toes too, each painted a different color and scuffed badly. She had no shoes. I asked her about this.

“He has my car. He has my phone, and my shoes. They’re Uggs, you know, they’re like boots.” I asked her what kind of car, cautious of the fact that whoever had done this to her could be back. I kept a peripheral eye on the road, visible for about 15-20 seconds in each direction. I mentally assured myself I could get back to my car before he was a threat to me, if I had to. For now I was focused on her.

She asked me to call her phone. He would have it. He would come back for her if I called. I tried. He didn’t pick it up. She asked me to send a text. I asked her every step of the way to tell me what she wanted me to say. I knew it was important for her to make as many decisions as possible. I couldn’t do this for her. I offered her the phone to try again herself. Someone answered, but insisted she had the wrong number. She began to get angry (she needed to be angry), “This is my phone! I’ve had this number for 15 years, it’s my number, I should know it!”

She recited her phone number while reading it on the screen, gasping at the one wrong digit. She quickly ended the call, embarrassed. I did my best to comfort her as she tapped in the correct number. But again, no answer, no response to text. Defeated, she wiped her eyes and I decided I needed to take a break myself and regroup.

I’m taking a break writing this because comments are pouring in on TikTok and instagram right now. So many other women are telling similar stories. I need to rest my heart and come back to this. For those who’ve had this kind of nervous system upset, there are emotional flashbacks here. It’s PTSD. Sitting there with her, talking about it afterward, it all brings back what happened to me and I need a break.

And because I have done so much work to heal, I knew I needed to take a break from her too. I wasn’t going to be able to help her any more if I didn’t take care of myself. So I told her I was going to go do my grocery shopping and come back to check on her. “If he comes back before I do, keep the blanket. You have my number now, you can give it back to me tomorrow.” Still treating this like a friend who’s cold and nothing more, I got up and went to the store.

The same thing happened again that happened five years ago with the ketchup. I couldn’t think of what to get. Despite having a shopping list in my phone now, I hadn’t noted anything on it. This trip had been an impulsive one. I wandered around for a few minutes, but recognizing my dissociative state, I decided to head back to the car. I rested in the car for a few minutes, assessing my own mental state, deciding I could handle this. I drove back toward the storage place.

When I pulled up, I saw nothing but the box of tissues sitting in the grass. I thought he must have come back for her, but pulled around the corner and parked to make sure. As I made a move to get the box of tissues, I saw the colorful Mexican blanket of mine off to the side behind a small haystack. She was lying down against the mound, wrapped up like she was going to sleep there. My heart broke and I rushed to her side.

“Oh, honey, you can’t sleep here, it’s too cold, and it’s getting dark.”

She shivered and began crying again, “I just want to go home, I want my bed, I want to go home.” I fought back tears and sat down with her again, as close as possible without infringing on her autonomy. “I’m so tired of being beat. I just want to be at home. I want to go home.”

I can’t be sure she said this out loud. In the moment, it felt like a little girl telling me all of this, nothing like the woman I had left a few minutes before. This voice was filled with fear and defeat. I was losing her. I decided to offer her my phone again. She sat up and tried to call and text again, but again with no response. It was at this point she began to shiver harder and in her body for the first time since we met, she was feeling cold. I tried again, “Why don’t you come sit in my car for a minute. We don’t have to go anywhere, I’ll wait with you and you can get warm while you wait.”

She finally agreed to this help and came alive in the car. She gushed at how warm it was. I had cranked up the heat and turned on the heated seats I thought had been such a luxury when I picked out the car. In the warmth she began to get clearer in her mind. She told me a little more about what she was up against. I understood why she didn’t want the officer to get involved. I asked her if she would like me to take her home.

“I don’t live here, I live in [that other town],” about 20 miles away. How had she ended up in this little field 20 miles from home, beaten and barefoot? She worked not far from where we were, so she knew the area well enough. She agreed to let me take her to someone she knew in her town. Darkness fell just as we left the city and we spend the next 20 minutes talking about life and kids. She’s my age, has a kid the same age as mine. She’s in college hours away. She moved here recently, doesn’t know anyone but this man, and people who know him.

I don’t know if she was safe there, but it was all I could do. And it was safer than below freezing temperatures in a field overnight. I was so grateful she finally let me do something for her. I called a TikTok friend who’s been through this too and she let me tell her the whole story on the way home. I’m grateful for her friendship too.

I hugged my kids and looked around at my warm safe home, grateful again. I was able to get us out of that toxic situation of ours five years ago. No one called the police or insisted I go to a shelter. They listened to me and let me process what was happening in my own time. I have a safe home because I made it that way.

If you ever find yourself in a position to help a woman in this situation, go slow. Take your time, stay quiet, and let her lead. Pay attention to your own triggers and take care of yourself while you listen for her to tell you what she needs. Don’t listen to her words alone, but listen to her body language. Listen to what she’s not saying, and listen to your intuition as your subconscious will tell you what to do next. Trust yourself, and let her trust herself.

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