First Days

You didn’t plan for it to happen this way. Maybe you grabbed your keys. Maybe you left with nothing. Maybe your child was crying, or maybe they were silent. Maybe you were the one shaking. But you left.

The police have taken out a DVO. You are out. And now you are staring at the ceiling, wondering what happens next.

Day One

You sit on a borrowed bed or a refuge mattress. Your child is clinging to you. You’re exhausted, but you can’t sleep. That’s normal.

The first thing you do is breathe. Feel your feet on the ground. You are not there anymore.

Call DVConnect on 1800 811 811 — not just for a bed, but for someone who understands.
Call 1800RESPECT if the world is too heavy to carry alone. A gentle voice will pick up, any hour.

You might not be able to eat. But if you can, try something small. Drink some water. If you have a child — give them something simple: a piece of fruit, a colouring book, a cuddle.

You don’t have to answer his texts. You don’t have to explain yourself. The DVO is in place now. That means the law is standing between you and him.

That’s enough for today.

Day Two to Four

You begin to gather. Important papers, if you have them: your ID, your child’s Medicare card, any Centrelink info, birth certificates. If you don’t, that’s okay. Services can help replace them.

You start a safety folder or email address — something just for this new chapter. You tell one person. Just one. The kind of person who listens without needing details.

You write down the reasons you left. On paper, in your phone, or whispered into a note app. This will help on the days when your mind forgets the fear and remembers the softness.

Speak to Centrelink about the Crisis Payment. Talk to DVConnect about RentConnect or medium-term housing. You may also qualify for the Escaping Violence Payment from Uniting.

You start a list: Where your child can go to school. What you and your child need most (clothes, shoes, toothbrush). What you’ll say if he shows up, or if someone pressures you to go back.

You don’t need all the answers. You just need a plan for tomorrow.

End of Week One

You go to Legal Aid or Women’s Legal Service to talk about your rights — custody, shared property, child safety.

Even if you don’t feel ready, you are allowed to know your rights.

You speak to someone about counselling — for you, your child, or both. Bravehearts. YFS. DVConnect. Ask for someone who gets trauma.

And maybe — you get the wrong person. Someone who doesn’t listen. Someone who makes you feel small. Someone who seems too busy, too cold, too distracted.

You might walk away thinking, maybe I’m asking for too much. You’re not.

Sometimes, services get it wrong. That is not a reflection of you.

If one door shuts, knock on the next. If one voice doesn’t hear you, find another.

Keep going until you find the support that feels right. You are worth being seen.

You visit your children’s schools. You ask to speak to the principal. You bring the Protection Order. You explain what’s happened.

Don’t worry — they’ve seen it before. They’ve supported other families in this exact situation. You are not alone.

You begin eating again. Maybe not meals — but toast, tea, warm soup. That counts.

You begin sleeping again. Maybe not deeply — but rest comes in waves, and that counts too.

You start saying things like: “We’re safe now.” “I’m proud of me.” “It’s okay to miss him and still not want to go back.”

Weeks Two to Four

You look at schools. You apply for housing help. You let people help — even if it feels strange or hard.

You set up a new bank account. You open a new email. You get a small notebook just for your thoughts.

You begin building rhythm for your child — one bedtime story, one walk in the sun, one small routine that makes them feel safe.

You realise your child is starting to smile again. You realise you are too.

After the First Month

You begin to say no to what drains you. You begin to say yes to what lights you up — music, ocean, dancing in the kitchen, silence.

You call Good Shepherd or NILS and ask about financial recovery. You begin to learn about money, not because you want to — but because power over money is power over freedom.

You begin to see this wasn’t just leaving. It was returning — to yourself.

Ongoing

Healing doesn’t look like you imagined. It’s not linear.

Some days you will cry for what was. Some days you will laugh at what almost was. Both are okay.

Sometimes, your face will start leaking for no reason at all. That’s normal too. It’s grief leaving the body. Let the tears fall. Let them move.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is lie at the bottom of the shower and let it all wash down the drain. The kids won’t suspect a thing.

There’s no deadline for healing. No perfect way to survive. No right way to be a mother.

There’s just you — doing your best, one breath at a time.

And that’s more than enough.