The door was opened and we were greeted with a smile. I won’t say any names of the staff as confidentiality is so important, however we were welcomed in. There were offers of help to load some trolleys with our things from the car. I felt like I was being a huge bother and said no, so it was a little back and forth. Then we were walked to our accommodation (I knew as much as you as to where or what on we'd be sleeping) with a whistle stop tour on the way. It instantly felt that we were where we needed to be. It felt safe, it was like I'd just exhaled. I should explain what a women’s refuge is like. The refuge was purpose built, and contained 15 flats, each one mostly shared between two families. We had two bedrooms with bunk beds, a wardrobe and little side tables. On top of them were a little selection of toiletries, all arranged nicely. It's the little things that make you feel thankful and special. There was a communal kitchen and bathroom. It was basic but clean. There were basic pots and pans in each kitchen, a microwave, an oven, a fridge and a freezer and a washer. There was a small table and chairs. This can lead to issues as two women who are complete strangers, under heightened stress, with their children, have to get to know each other's ways pretty quickly. Sometimes at a refuge things come to a head and you can see women moving from one flat to another with a cart load of their things. We had a big lobby and a big communal lounge. There were three little meeting rooms where you had 'one to ones' with your support worker and they would go through practical things like where you were pratically and emotional things that were difficult at that point. There are a lot of different emotions all happening at the same time. In the midst of all this your life seems to coem to a complete stop. I remember feeling very childish at the sudden freedom and jumping down the last few stairs. I scared a woman half to death; she always scurried around the refuge, head down and permanently frightened it seems.
Practiacally there are no visitors allowed at all. You cannot give the address to anyone - even for the car park on moving day. You can only meet friends / family a mile away. If any building and maintenance work needed work we had a lady caretaker who was lovely. If anything bigger needed doing there would always be a text to let all the residents know there would be men working, the staff were so considerate. You appreciate how seriously secure it is, and don't mind the inconvenience though so everyone has inner peace. There are no drugs or alcohol allowed, and there is a 10pm curfew. Thats not because we are all so naughty - its more the staff who sleep overnight need to get some sleep.
Before I left it was becoming apparent I found myself wanting a gin and tonic around 5pm when my husband was due home. It was another reason I knew I had to leave. He was becoming literally toxic to me with bad stomach pains literally on the dot at 5pm. Having no alcohol was actually so nessecery for me - and a lot of women there. I hadn't realised it was becoming a subtle coping mechanism. The break from alcohol was very healthy for me. Practical matters which need addressing (for which you have hardly any mental capacity left) are raised, and help is given. Without the support workers you could easily get into debt through forgetting to cancel direct debits, or notify people of your change in circumstances or set up universal credit, or change your address. You are given a PO Box address as suddenly, you have no address to receive mail. It's all absolutely exhausting. The staff help massively and I would have been lost and dim without them. They can help with moving trackers placed on phones, changing passwords and they are like M15 at cutting any means of abusers finding them. Outside was so ideal. There was a Wendy house, a children’s play area, little picnic benches and tall trees so you felt secluded from the outside world. It was a little like school, and women had little friendship groups. Some women didn’t mix at all. I felt like we didn’t quite belong. We just floated between groups being pleasant to everyone. It felt a little like you were cautious. There were so many different emotions all around the building. Some women had just found out they were being housed in a new town - a new start. One lady had been there nearly a year with visas and home office issues. You’re essentially homeless, and everyone is waiting to try to find somewhere to live, or deciding whether to go back to their abuser or sleep on someone's couch. I unintentionally inflicted misery on my flat mate who had diagnosed OCD. Did I mention I have moderate to severe ADHD? The list of highly inconvenient traits are messiness, moving from task to task without completion and a general unsymmetricalness in life, to recapitulate - the exact ingredients to make OCDers (unintentionally) agitated. Lots of habits I deemed seemingly normal - turn out are not, and my flatmate is disgusted that I don’t pull sofas out every day to hoover and mop. The washer is on constantly as all her clothes and her children need to be clean clean clean! I am now questioning if I have low standards. It’s not something I dwell on for long though as I have just left my husband and am officially homeless. Something that I hadn’t expected was the support and warmth we would feel from the staff. They are all ages, all religions and the thing they have in common is you can go for help, for a cry, anything, whenever you need. It's such a conflicting time when you arrive. Everything is new and stressful. Suddenly you crave the familiarity of home. You are also experiencing a new novel feeling of complete freedom and adore the liberation of refuge. You then suddenly desperately miss your ex. You are also managing the feelings of three children. We had three child-workers who guided me through the early days. It was hard to articulate to my youngest why we had left. I didn’t want to criticise her father but equally I didn’t want to give a false account. They were there to ease the transition as gently as they could. Did you know there is a charity called *Buddy Bag Foundation. We had a carload of our things, but not everything they wanted. The charity provides a rucksack full of essentials, little toothbrushes, PJ’s, a teddy bear, book and age appropriate toys to brighten up their experience. The children were so so happy to have a bag each. It really made a difference in the first few days. I felt so touched, and so cared about by that charity - it was like we really mattered, we had support and people who understood. *Charity Registration No: 1164916
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