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It was the absolute rock bottom for me. Here I was, a young woman of only 21 years old. I should be out partying with friends, getting drunk and having a great time. I shouldn't have a care in the world other than deciding which guys in my classes were the cutest or whether I would do well on my final exams next month. That was the life I was supposed to be having right now, the life all of my childhood friends were having, but it was so incredibly far from my reality I could hardly recognize it at all. My reality was absolutely desperate and I had no idea how I was going to get back on track. It seemed so hopeless.

I found myself sitting on a small bed with my three little girls lying sprawled out on the bed next to me, sound asleep. My left eye was swollen shut, and my body was covered in deep purple bruises from the beating my husband had administered the previous night. I cried silently so as not to awaken the girls. If it wasn't for them I don't know what I would've done that night. Killing that son of a bitch somehow would've been a very real possibility, and if that wasn't in the cards I may have very well done myself in. Seeing those perfect little faces, so peaceful, soft and beautiful I knew the main thing would be to make decisions from now on that would be best for them.

I realized I didn't have any kind of job that would feed these little angels and keep a roof over their heads. The battered women's shelter was a far cry from a permanent solution. I was just grateful I had a ...

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