A Little Self-Defense Saga -- How Flutterby Became the Paranoid Freak That She Is

I have lived very few places in my life. I grew up in a small-ish city (16,000 people -- we'll call it Fluttertown for now) and, while we moved around a lot within that city, I have never known Big City life such as is made famous in movies and TV and newspaper obituaries. ;) Even now, my current city of residence of 250,000 -- while seeming "big" to me -- is but a dot on the map compared to some of the metro areas of Canada and the U.S.

Nevertheless my small hometown was not left untouched by the stupider aspects of the criminal element and there were definitely places that you didn't want to work, walk or otherwise hang out in after dark. And some neighborhoods were known for being a little on the rough side.

Newly married, Mr.F and I bought a house (for a paltry sum that makes me LAUGH OUT LOUD when I think of it, now!! People spend more on an average compact car!) close to one of those rougher ends of town. It served us well: despite being woken one night by the sound of a shotgun discharging in the house next door, the various and sundry ne'er-do-wells drunkenly chatting us up as we worked in the yard when they walked by (or coming to our door and expecting to be let in to what they mistakenly thought was THEIR house!), and a small number of times having to chase some rotten pukes off our property who were scouting for an easy in. During the day it was a decent neighborhood, safe enough, really. But, by the time we brought the Baby Princess home... well, having a wee one in your care like that all of a sudden raises the bar on what you consider "safe".

Mr. F started working at night, moonlighting driving pizza while I took a contract working at home so I could be with Baby. We started saving our pennies, and along with a good turn in the real estate market, were able to buy a bit nicer home in a bit nicer area a few years down the road. Good thing, too, as one little Kid was on the way. We hastily found a house in the middle of winter and I had the dubious pleasure of packing and unpacking a household while 7 months along With Child. Good times.

The Kid was born and I took a leave from my job. I also took that time to go slightly bat-sh$t crazy with PostPartemDepression. Mr. F was still working ridiculous hours; we now had this new house he had to pay for after all. And it was probably really nice to get away from your crying wife and colicky baby, for that matter! :) I would've worked a lot, too, if I was in his shoes! lol

Concurrent to all of this action of the past months, there had been a growing tension in Fluttertown. Without getting into tedious detail, there were three outside gangs from the reserves in the surrounding area which were bringing their "turf wars" to the town. It was recruiting season and there were a few "ins" which involved either raping a white girl, knifing a white man or shooting a cop. Sorry if that's disturbing to read, but it's how it was.

There were a number of reports that spring of stabbings (thankfully mostly more-or-less superficial or at least non-life-threatening) and sadly, women and girls were targeted as well. I don't believe there were any actual attempts on an officer -- or at least none that were reported publicly.

And, during this time it became apparent that our "nice neighborhood" wasn't exactly what we thought. More specifically, as the snow thawed and people started being more sociable (really, that's how it happens round this part of Canada! The snow thaws and we come out of hibernation.)... we started seeing a lot of gang colors entering and exiting our neighbors home. The drunken partying found it's way to our side door many times -- and most times I was home alone in the evening with the children while some belligerent drunken fool yelled scarily at the door and tried to look in my windows. There were fights and just general discord and awfulness at any given time during the day and/or night -- all right next door. I would get up to nurse my baby in the night and there were times I would have panic attacks while listening to the mess going on outside, worried that it would end up at the window or door again.

And then, one night while working his (un)glamourous night job, Mr. F was accosted outside an apartment complex. A few metres from his car, two punks ran up behind him and cracked him with a skateboard. A blow that had been meant for his head met with his elbow thanks to some quick reflexes. They pulled a knife and he offered money. They wanted blood -- clearly a gang thing -- and he knew it was On.

I am thankful that Mr.F is the kind of guy who can handle himself. But I admit that it took me some time to understand the things that he did that night in order to defend himself. Never having faced that kind of danger, I was still thinking like most sheeple (I mean, PEOPLE)... "why didn't you just subdue your attackers and wait for the authorities to arrive?". Instead of that neat and tidy utopian scenario, I was facing the fact that my husband had been stabbed and that he left two men near dead in the process of defending himself.

I wasn't sure which part bothered me more.

In the weeks that followed, I became more and more worried. Three weeks after the attack, two very broken and casted men came into the pizza place where Mr. F. was working that night, gave him a nod -- and my worry became full-on paranoia. Fluttertown is a small town and if they wanted retribution, the kids and I were sitting targets five nights a week. And of course I was concerned that Mr. F would be easy to trail and find in all manner of isolated situations (delivery to outset rural parts wasn't uncommon if a call came in that warranted it).

I began to read everything I could about Self-Defense and criminal mindset. My mind was opened in the harshest of ways to all the chaotic opportunity that lends itself to senseless crime and the insidious ways that premeditated violence against individuals is often aided and abetted by the victims themselves as they comply with directives that only isolate and leave them further at the mercy of their attacker. Truly, embarking on that sort of reading and learning may not have done my fragile state of mind any good. But I am really grateful that I did gain a greater understanding.

Shortly thereafter, we decided to move. I would be lying if I said it had nothing to do with all that had gone on. It did, in part.

Now, almost 9 years later, it's been a long time since I lived with my brain on Red Alert 24/7. I don't scope out every venue for primary and secondary egress (no kidding, this kid did that.) or practice peripheral scanning in WalMart. (good lord, I was troubled!) I can laugh about it, now. Nevertheless there is a lot that I've taken away from that time -- things that were reinforced during my training in Krav.

And there are conversations that Mr. F and I have had that I'm very glad we did. Like the chance to discuss hostage scenarios and our plan to handle the kids should we ever find ourselves in a sketchy situation (ie: being accosted on the street). These things seem dramatic -- and it was HARD to talk about because who wants to contemplate the possibility of violence happening to your family, right? But, I think it's a mistake to not talk about it. Case study after case study of in-home violence shows that complying to a hostage directive (ie: wife is held a knifepoint while the husband is directed to submit to restraints or his wife "gets it" only results in the husband getting the distinct privilege of watching his whole family perish before his eyes, before the mercy of death comes to him) Sorry, it's harsh and it's ghastly... but it's the truth. And because we've talked about it, Mr. F knows that he knows that I would rather bleed out on the floor while he takes the chance to bolt/fight, etc. and rescue the kids to safety rather than the alternative. (In fact, I would kick his ass myself in the hereafter should he do anything else!) And he feels the same. There is no more question about what is expected. The kids always come first.

I realize that the chance of this type of horrific violence touching our home is very slim. I am eternally grateful for that. But, having had a number of brushes with the Chaos Factor, I will never again live in ignorance that I am safe everywhere I go or that our home is safe no matter what.

In my mind, self-defense is so much more about a mindset than any particular type of training. (although I highly, HIGHLY recommend Krav as a way to encourage and develop a great mindset for self-defense) It's a mindset that says that things happen to you on your terms. Someone pulls a weapon on me and demands I get in a vehicle? Eff that all to hell. I'd rather face mortality there on that sidewalk than get in that vehicle and allow my attacker to isolate me and give himself the distance and privacy needed for whatever sickness is in his mind. This girl's body parts will never be found at a secondary scene. I make that choice.

Giving yourself choices; whether through knowledge, skill, training, communication... that is power. And it's something I wish more people gave due diligence to. There might be fewer horror stories in the news if they did.