Thank You for Allowing Me to Share This with You

Self-reflection can be both humbling and empowering.  I've spent the better part of last two evenings examining what triggers make me run to the kitchen to find something, anything, to eat.  There are a number of them.  And, then, there's a very surprising one, as well. Maybe this happens to you, too. 

There are times when I eat for the sheer joy of it.  Not that eating makes me any happier in this situation, but that it almost acts like the piece de resistance of whatever event it is that makes me so happy.  No, I'm not saying it's the continued celebration of the event, or the reward, but it is an integral part of the actual event itself.  It's hard to explain, but if you experience this as well, you know what I'm talking about. I have my own theory as to how this particular eating behavior came about.  But that's another story. 

In my Wednesday, June 24 post I make reference to "two life-altering" events that contributed to my binge-eating, over-eating, and night-eating behaviors. One, in particular, resulted in my filing a violation-of-civil-rights lawsuit, which I won - in spades.  It was my testimony, in front of judge and 12-person jury, telling them that I had a young son, whom I would teach never to turn to a law-enforcement officer for help, that won the day. However, it did not win the night, and this is where my night-eating problems began.  As promised, I taught my son well, and he understands all facets, both good and bad, of the thin "blue line." On the balance, I've taught him to respect and work with "authority," and he is an Eagle Scout. 

I tell you all of this because, in light of the recent racial conflicts between law enforcement officials and residents of African-Americans communities, I want to explain my point further. I am not a Black woman and my "conflict" was different.  This also happened in the Northeast where I was alone, in the middle of a divorce with an 18-month-old baby, and 1,150 miles from my home state. Suffice it to say that there is one police department in Sussex County, New Jersey whose officers will never inappropriately "touch" a white woman again - an act so egregious by one of them that even the township's insurance companies (yes, there were two of them) refused to condone, honor or pay for this officer's cavalier behavior when my attorney notified them of an upcoming claim. That was fine with me, as it spoke volumes about how much trust and respect the companies had for the officers - translated: None. Later, I learned that this was not the first time this officer had taken advantage of a female DV victim. 

The residents of this sleepy little northern New Jersey, moneyed,  lakeside community will never forget my name, as when the insurance company refused to honor a claim, the awards of my lawsuit literally came out of their pockets, i.e. through the collection of township, county and state taxes. Remember, I was a single mother, alone and in a state where I had absolutely no family and no one to help me.  They were counting on this.  What they didn't count on was that I had a very strong legal background and knew all the right attorneys.  All it took was one phone call.   

This shouldn't be a ringside seat.

In the end, I did exactly what I had promised the judge and jury. With a portion of the lawsuit award, I established a state-licensed, 501(c)3, non-profit, shelter for victims of domestic violence - in another state - and "worked" it for several years.  I also made it a point to sit on every state committee whose purpose it was to shelter, care for, and educate these same victims.  I wrote weekly articles on DV and its effects on the community for our local newspaper.  I was made "Honorary this," and "Honorary that" and anytime you picked up an information brochure, whether for intrastate or national Domestic Violence Prevention Awareness Education purposes, you found my name listed under "Resources."  

Part II of this blog post will publish on Tuesday, July 14, 2015. 
Copyright © 1/1/2015 -    , CB, Bed Warrior