Have you ever had the gut-level sense that someone behind you is studying you? (And, no, I’m not saying you may be paranoid!) I had that experience the other day at the grocery store. Instinctively I turned around to see who was looking at me and “caught” a woman in her forties watching me intently. I half-smiled and pushed my cart down the next aisle wondering what might be on her mind.

Suddenly she was right next to me again. “Are you the one who cares about corrections officers?” she asked sheepishly. ”You know, Desert…?” I lit up. “”Yes, I am.” She went on. “I recognized you from a photo in an old newsletter that a friend gave me.” “Are you in corrections?” I asked. “No, I’m not, but my husband is. He’s been at it nine years now.” She hesitated for a brief second, her eyes filling with tears.

Seeing that, I motioned her to follow me to a quiet area of the store. After regaining her composure, she almost whispered, “What you’ve been writing about is SO true. SO very true. We’ve been through SO much.” She stopped, took a deep breath and threw open the floodgates. “It’s much better now. But just three years ago I wasn’t sure we were going to make it.” “I’m SO glad things are better now,” I replied. “And I feel for you, for all you’ve been through.” Then I asked, “Where does your husband work?”

She gave me the name of a facility where I had heard that in the past weekly gang fights were a common occurrence. (I remembered a correctional staff member telling me that working in that type of environment for over 3 years could change a person to the core—and not for the better.) I felt my heart ache for this couple. “Corrections,” I thought to myself. “We need the prisons, yet what a toll they take on staff and families alike.” I repeated, “I’m glad things are better now at home.”

She smiled and nodded. I could tell that she was weighing whether to open up more or not. Then she took the plunge. “My husband became so different after a few years on the job. He’d fly off the handle over ridiculous things. Didn’t want to be around people. His goal became getting on the graveyard shift. Quit doing things as a family. I felt like a widow.” She paused again as if impacted by her own words. I found myself almost holding my breath. The moment felt sacred. One human being making true heart-to-heart contact with another without even exchanging names.

The woman looked me in the eye ever so seriously. “My husband is a good man. We’ve known each other for 20 years, married for 16. I didn’t know what to make of it when his temper started getting out of control. He’d yell over nothing. He’d throw things across the room. A few years back, during a heated argument, he even made a fist and shook it in my face, like he was threatening to hit me. Just because he wanted me to back down. I just couldn’t believe it. It broke my heart. Up to that point he had never done anything like that.” Her tears were flowing now. And my eyes were misty too. “And the kids were terrified. They heard it all from the next room. He felt so bad afterwards. He apologized. But after that, we’d all walk on eggshells around him. No noise, no requests, no complaints. Did not want to set him off, if we could help it. After a while I knew I couldn’t go on living like that. I told him we had to get help or we were history. He kept refusing until the day he put a hole in the wall with his fist. A week later we started marriage counseling.”

She smiled and I smiled back. “Thank you for trusting me and sharing with me,” I said. “And I’m so glad you took action and that he agreed.” “You know, I finally realized that I had to do something for our family,” she replied. “I refused to go on living in fear and worry. And it’s been better. We talk more. There are things that still need work—the occasional yelling. Sometimes he still talks to the kids like a drill sergeant, expecting instant and perfect obedience. I think that when he’s stressed he treats them like inmates. But on the whole, it’s so much better. We’re growing closer one day at a time.” We both sighed a sigh of relief.

“The kids will need help next,” she added wistfully as if talking to herself. “They’re still scared of their dad and mad at him, too. The other day I sat them down and told them that daddy’s work is dangerous and that makes him be all revved up when he gets home.” “You’re doing a wonderful job, “ I said, truly admiring her guts and her resourcefulness. “Last week I caught my son treating his sister just like his dad used to treat me. I got on him right away. Told him that disrespect was not going to be tolerated in our home. I made him apologize to her. It felt good.”

We both smiled again. “Yay for mom!” I cheered. She changed tone. “Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.” “You’re very welcome,” I answered. “Meeting you made my day. Would you like to be on our email list? You can sign up for our monthly publication, the Correctional Oasis, on our site, at desertwaters.com. There is material there that may be helpful for you to read. And you might be able to share some with your husband too.” She nodded. I will do that. “Keep praying for us in corrections!” she said as we parted ways to continue our shopping.

Afterward I kept thinking about our call to come alongside corrections folks and share the burden with them. What a privilege it is to have the opportunity of such encounters—whether groups in training or one person at a time. And I also thought of you all who make it possible through your caring for corrections staff and through your giving. Thank you.

And if you have suffered intimate partner violence, please get help for yourself. Resources for victims of violence are many, both in local communities and nationally. Here’s a start: http://www.apa.org/topics/violence/partner.aspx; and http://www.womenshealth.gov/violence-against-women/types-of-violence/domestic-intimate-partner-vi.

You can also call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 or TTY 800-787-3224.

And in case you’ve crossed the line, and became physically violent with a loved one, PLEASE get specialized professional help right away. Your most important support system is at risk.

MUCH is at stake.