I am also sad that, whilst I’ve only recently decided to leave home, I am clueless as to how to remove my son from this situation. I don’t have a proper home to take my son to yet. It is work in progress.

It’s sad to think that, in the array of childhood memories, fun quickly gives way to violence. Mom crying out in the shower in the middle of the night, me being pushed down the stairs, mom’s blood on the floor, my brother unconscious on the back lawn, angry beltings, chord and plank bruises on our arms, backs and legs.

Remembering it angers me. It’s hard to stay angry, though, because from an early age we were told that we had to be belted for misbehaviour.

Dad did it for our good, or that’s what he told us and what we believed to be true. I grudgingly accept that I still do think it was true, no matter how much I would like to convince myself otherwise. Simply put, I would be the first to defend my dad.

The worst part for me, a quarter of a century later, is that my son is now exposed to the very same threat.

When I recently walked out of that house I called home, I didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t pack anything, not even a change of clothes. I just walked out. I had had enough.

I know his anger at my rebellion and desertion will mean my siblings and mom will go through hell. But I will only go back when I’m ready to get my son out of that place.

As I work towards making a home I can bring my son to, it troubles me that I do not know how his day has been.

I do not know if he got a belting today. I do not know if he was ridiculed today in front of his uncle and aunties. I do not know if he was labelled today. If he was labelled, I do not know what names he was called. I do not know how much psychological damage may have been inflicted on my son to date.

Still I defend dad. I know dad loves him. He will feed him, clothe him and play with him like he always does. He will spoil him rotten like most grandparents do. But that never justifies a beating.

So I have been away from home for two weeks. Two stress-free weeks away from dad and violence. Two lonely and painful weeks away from my son.

I don’t know how long this will continue before I have a home to bring my son to. But I know for sure I am not going back.

Watching my mother put up with the violence is something I don’t like to ponder on. And at his tender age of four, I am choosing not to put my son through it.

I will not let him watch me get kicked or punched or whipped. I will not let him see me accept and live with it. He is a child who should not be surrounded by violence.

Discipline should be given with love. It shouldn’t include ridicule. And violent discipline should never be permitted.

The angry bruise on my thigh has left a black scar that is slowly fading. How much longer it will take the scars in my heart to heal.

I wonder if dad will ever again gain respect from my sisters.

It has been years since my brother talked to him. I wonder if that will continue.

I wonder about such things. But for my son, I hope it won’t be long until all of this will be like a dream.

The author, who has asked to remain anonymous, is a single mum of a four year old boy. She is a science graduate and holds a responsible professional job. In her spare time, she works on a project providing support for young pregnant women. She loves sewing, cooking and reading.