“The more I worked with survivors, the more I thought, ‘They need access to counselors,’” writes author and domestic violence survivor advocate Ann Aguirre

It is Oct. 8, 1997. 

I am 27 years old, and I have been urged to return to my abuser by religious family members who believe that’s best because our baby isn’t even 3 months old. I don’t want to go back, but I feel trapped and pressured. I’ve left once, and I reluctantly return, feeling like I have no better options. 

I have been back in our shared apartment for a couple of days. My abuser is on his best behavior. My parents are caring for our little ones at their house, so we can “reconnect” and rebuild our relationship, something I don’t really wish to do. 

Oct. 8, 1997 is also our third wedding anniversary. The day is … fine. We take a walk in the park. Frankly, I prefer public places because I’m afraid of him. That night, he pressures me for sex; I demur. I’m not on birth control, and I don’t want to have another baby right now, even though I’ve been raised hearing that’s what women do; they listen to men and they have babies.

When I say no to sex, my abuser knocks me backward out of a chair and slams my head repeatedly on the floor. I’m pinned, getting hit, thinking I will die. Somehow, I struggle free and run. I grab my purse, which I keep near the front door, but I have no time to find my shoes. Barefoot, I rush out of the apartment and down the stairs. The parking lot pavement cuts my feet, but I can’t stop. I can’t let him find me. I hide in the laundry room, which is in a separate building, behind a tall trash can, barefoot and trembling, I wait for him to pass by. He screams my name over and over, along with terrifying promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on me. 

When all seems quiet outside, my hands are shaking so much that I drop my purse twice, digging for change. There’s a pay phone in here; I call a friend whose number I know by heart, and she agrees to pick me up at a nearby Target. This means dodging him in the dark, crawling through the ragged edges of a cut chain-link fence and down an alley full of broken glass that terminates in the Target parking lot. Somehow, I manage it. My feet are bleeding. Bruises are already forming from the attack.

I find my friend under the floodlights, and she hugs me, bundles me into her car and takes me to someone who has a spare room. I have never met this other woman before, but she takes me in with no hesitation. I curl up and cry in her daughter’s princess-themed room. She’s currently visiting her father, as the couple has recently divorced. I do not sleep much in the princess room. In the morning, my friend takes photographs to document the abuse in case I decide to file a police report. 

If this story resonates with you, perhaps you’ve experienced domestic violence, or you know someone who could share a similar account. For years, I had night terrors. Now, it is 2026. For the last two years, I have been working as an advocate with survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault. I’m good at this work. I have always been an empathetic listener, and I understand firsthand how important it is not to judge a survivor’s decisions or pressure them to act before they’re ready. Leaving is the most dangerous time; they are experts in their own situation, and they’ve been making decisions geared toward survival all along. 

But so many survivors ask the same thing: “Do you have a counselor or therapist on staff that I could speak with?” 

Need your next page-turner? See which books our editors can’t put down with our People Who Read newsletter — plus get PEOPLE News.

I am a certified advocate, trained in active listening and providing various kinds of support for survivors, but I am not a licensed therapist or counselor. Many agencies lack the funding, so survivors are left to find mental health care on their own. However, people who have experienced intimate partner violence often lack resources because they’ve also suffered financial coercion, been left without insurance and many have been blocked from employment and transportation, all of which pose barriers to accessing treatment. 

I am a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. That’s my day job, and the work I’ve been doing professionally for 20 years. My work as a DV advocate is pro bono, something I do to give back to the community. But the more I worked with survivors, the more I thought, They need access to counselors, and they should be able to source care within the agencies providing other support services. 

Budget cuts have been an issue for many such agencies, so I made up my mind to return to school. I graduated from university in 1993, but thanks to some amazing recommendations from colleagues at the local agency I work with, in March I got into the Clinical Mental Health Counseling graduate program at University of the Cumberlands. I have now completed four courses, and I will focus my practice on trauma-informed, culturally sensitive, feminist care with a person-centered counseling style. When I finish, I intend to offer my services pro bono to domestic violence survivors because this is light that I can offer others who find themselves in a dark place.

Change can be scary. Yet whatever you might be thinking about doing right now, it is never too late. If you dig deep, you may surprise yourself. I never imagined I would be back in school at this age, but I’m excited about what I’m learning, and I am energized by the prospect of putting positive energy back into the world. 

That’s also what drives the fiction I’m writing these days. My new cozy fantasy romance, The Hocus Pocus Handbook, offers softness, tenderness and a safe space for readers, just as my counseling office will for clients. I’m already decorating the place! I created some personal wall art with my printer, scissors, and a teal thrift store frame. My homemade artwork reads, “Small steps still move you forward.”  Even when things were difficult, I persevered with that mantra in mind, and I am galvanized by the prospect of helping people discover hidden reservoirs of resilience.

Never miss a story — sign up for PEOPLE’s free daily newsletter to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer, from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories.

The Hocus Pocus Handbook will hit shelves on Sept. 1 and is available now for preorder, wherever books are sold.

We independently evaluate all recommended products and services. If you click on links we provide, we may receive compensation.

#Escaped #Abusive #Relationship #Decided #Counselor #Women #Exclusive #Essay