Mama Bear Says: The Origin Story

When the lines between worlds are blurred, Mama Bear is there with her compassion and empathy to heal our world. This is her origin story.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of domestic violence and thoughts of suicide. If these are triggering for you, please skip the story.

“You fuckin’ Bitch!” He screamed from the kitchen as I noticed the hard seat I was sitting on. My mind raced through all the things I could have done. I was never sure what would turn him into a raging monster. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought to myself. I was always so careful to do everything right. What did I do wrong now? My heart pounded in my chest as I slowly turned toward the sound of his boots stomping across the wood floor.

My mind floated back to the day when those same boots softly walking on the wooden planks outside the little jewelry store where I worked. His spurs clinking with every step. He tipped his hat with a “Howdy, Ma’am.” His blue eyes flashed at me as I stifled a giggle.

The sound of something whizzing by my ear brought me back from the daydream as the knife thudded into the hard wood of the cabin wall beside me. “You didn’t clean my huntin’ knife!” he screamed, his face inches from mine.

I cowered and thought, how did I get here? The rebel in me screamed. "You never asked me to clean the knife." I paid for my insolence with a black eye and fingerprint bruises on my shoulders, arms, and chest. The only thing that saved me from a worse fate were my 8-month-old twin boys, who began crying at the loud noises coming from the kitchen. He slammed the front door as he left me in a heap on the floor. I put my head down on the cool wooden floor to ease the pain in my cheek. He was going out again. I didn’t care. Beaten and broken, I curled up in bed with my babies. Their sweet smell soothed my aching heart just a little. My friend’s wolves howled their mournful cry as if they knew my pain. I wrote in my journal whose entries had become sparse of late. My strength faded into the sunset of the high desert, which matched the purple swelling around my eye. This wasn’t the first time the thought of taking my own life crossed my mind.

The next day my body was sore all over and my head pounded from sleeping in short bursts, afraid he would come home and the whole thing would start all over again. I looked around the tiny cabin and noticed that he hadn’t come home, which was a beautiful reprieve. I decided now was the time to end this pain. It was time to end this life of suffering, and I couldn’t leave my boys to suffer it either. These precious babies growing up under his dictatorship sent chills down my spine. We would go together.

As I was making my plan for a permanent escape, the phone rang. The friend with the wolves was home for the day and invited me to coffee and a chat. I made excuses and stalled, but eventually agreed to join her. That one phone call saved my life.

I pulled myself together as best I could, getting dressed for the first time in a week and brushing my teeth, which felt li