I grew up around the smell of gunpowder and pine needles in Utica, N.Y., approximately two hours south of Fort Drum and the Canadian border. Firearms were commonplace in my family, and some of my earliest memories are of intently watching my father clean his hunting rifles at the kitchen table. I was raised around firearms.
My father retired from the military and law enforcement and developed a love for hunting at a young age. Growing up in Upstate New York, hunting was a way of life and a means of putting food on the table.
My father first put a bow into my hands at the age of five and a firearm only a few years later. I was always fascinated by them, though not out of curiosity. Being taught gun safety and proper handling removed any mystery from that equation. I was drawn in by the sport and a constant, overwhelming urge to challenge myself and be better.
I was taught that handguns and rifles were never a symbol of violence; they were symbols of responsibility, focus, and respect. At that time in my young life, I believed in gun ownership for the sheer love of shooting sports. Shooting became something I loved, not because of its notoriety, but because it was calming and stilled my racing mind. I didn’t realize exactly how crucial this would become much later in my life.
As a girl, I never imagined that I would become a firearms instructor or run my own training business. I certainly never thought I’d need to use what he taught me to heal from something he never could have protected me from. The world is full of unexpected threats, not in the woods, but in our homes. Not strangers in dark alleys, but people we know.
When that time came, everything I thought I knew about life and the safety my father provided became unraveled. What stayed with me, however, was the silent strength he gave me and the knowledge that even in my darkest times, I still had the right to fight for myself. These lessons would become the reason I survived and ultimately my motive to advocate for the survival of others.
During my short 42 years on Earth, I have learned at least one thing to be certain – New York State firearms laws and licensing schemes are not “for the people.” When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I wanted nothing more than to own a handgun. New York State had other things in mind. I could pay taxes and join the military, but because I wasn’t yet 21 years old, I was legally prohibited from pursuing a pistol permit. During this pre-Bruen era, New York State pistol permits were still granted on a “may-issue” basis, often accompanied by restrictions such as the prohibition against concealed carry.
Therefore, I waited impatiently for my turn and hoped for the best. Little did I know that time would never come.
In my next installment, I’ll discuss the psychology of an abuser. Abusers follow patterns, not impulses. Drawing on research, therapy, and personal experience, this chapter examines the psychology behind abuse – how charisma masks control, how isolation breeds dependency, and how victims are systematically stripped of self-worth. It is an inside look at the strategies abusers use and the invisible trap they construct.
