Domestic Violence Survivor: Kelsey Bell’s Story

CHATTANOOGA, Tenn. (WDEF) – Tonight, we’re hearing from a Chattanooga woman who turned her pain into purpose.

Once a victim of domestic abuse, she is now the President of Voices, a local survivor-led organization hosted by the Family Justice Center. Voices helps others find hope, healing, and the strength to rebuild.

But before she could help others, Kelsey Bell had to survive her own story.

“I was never living for me.”

“I think the problem was that I never was living for me,” Kelsey begins softly, her voice steady but honest. “A lot of women who end up in these situations, they start out wanting to care for everyone else. I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to be the person who takes care of others. And that’s a beautiful goal, but if you spend your whole life learning how to take care of everyone else and never learn who you are, it can get really unbalanced.”

She pauses. “My goal was selflessness. I thought that was the good thing, the right thing. But what I really became was lost. When you hand someone the knife that they stab you with, you’re not helping them either. That might be what they want from you, but that’s people-pleasing, not love.”

Kelsey says she confused submission with love, and agreement with kindness. “And the person I linked my life with agreed that was the kind of love he wanted. But it wasn’t the kind of love he was going to give.”

Kelsey was married right out of college. She had two children, however, the marriage didn’t last. She made it clear that the father of her children was never her abuser. “Their dad is not who did this,” she says firmly. “He’s not the person who hurt me.”

After her divorce, Kelsey wanted stability again, someone to guide her, to help her feel safe. “When I got divorced, I lost trust in myself,” she says. “I thought I knew what I was doing, I thought I built my life right, and then it all fell apart. So, when I started looking for love again, I was looking for someone who could tell me what to think and what to believe, because I didn’t trust myself anymore.”

That’s when she met her coach. “I started training in Muay Thai and Jiu Jitsu. I loved the sport. My dad was a wrestling coach, so I think I was drawn to it because it made me feel strong.”

Her coach became someone she admired deeply. “He had this charisma about him,” she says. “He saw my potential. He made me feel powerful and important. And at first, it felt like I’d found my person. There was no reason to think anything bad could come from it. He was respected. People loved him. He made everyone feel seen.”

But the love that began with admiration slowly turned into control. “Somewhere along the line, what felt like protection became possession,” she says. “He started deciding who I could see, what I could wear, where I could go. It’s a slow, invisible slide until one day you realize you can’t breathe without asking permission.”

She remembers the shift from emotional to psychological control. “He’d tell me things like, ‘If you leave, I’ll die. If you leave, I’ll never get better.’ And I believed him. I thought I was saving him.”

Her therapist later helped her see it differently. “When I was in therapy, my counselor made me describe why I fell in love with him, not because she wanted me to miss him, but because she wanted me to forgive myself. I had to stop shaming myself and understand why I stayed. I wasn’t stupid. I was trying to save someone I loved.”

“When you try to leave, that’s when it gets the most dangerous.”

Kelsey says that leaving wasn’t the end of the abuse, it was the beginning of the most dangerous part. “People always ask, ‘Why didn’t you just leave?’ But when you try to leave, that’s when it gets the most dangerous. That’s when the crimes start. That’s when the injuries come more often, when the stalking gets worse.”

She remembers him driving his motorcycle around her block. “He’d circle my house all day and night,” she says. “Even when he didn’t come in, he wanted me to know he was there. He wanted me to be scared.”

By then, Kelsey’s children were staying with their father most of the time for safety. “I could choose to stay with someone who was probably going to kill me, or I could be my kids’ mom,” she says. “I couldn’t do both.”

One night, after she and the abuser had been separated for a month or two, Kelsey went on a date. “He saw the car pull into my driveway,” she recalls. “He saw me get out. And after the guy drove away, he broke into my bedroom window.”

“I heard the motorcycle, and I grabbed my phone to call 911, but before I could, he was inside. He smacked the phone out of my hand and pushed me down on the bed. I started screaming, hoping someone would hear me.”

What happened next, she still struggles to describe. “It reminded me of waterboarding,” she says quietly. “He grabbed a pillow and started smothering me with it. I could feel myself fading out, then he’d pull it away. He’d let me breathe just long enough before doing it again. And every time I could get a word out, he was asking me for vows. He said, ‘You need to swear that you’re mine. Swear you’ll never be with anyone else. Tell me you love me.’”

There was a long pause before she continued. “And there was some part of me that knew if I said it, he would have power over me forever. I knew that if I made that promise, even just to survive, I’d never get my freedom back. So I refused. I wouldn’t say it.”

Her refusal seemed to exhaust him. “Eventually, he just stopped. He told me he had a gun. He said he was going to wait at the end of my street with his police scanner, and that if he heard the police get called to my house, he’d come back and kill me.”

Then, he left on his own.

“I didn’t call the police until morning,” she says. “I was too scared. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand. When I finally called, I knew it was over. That week, I listed my house for sale. Within a month, I was gone. That was my privilege, that I could sell my house and leave. So many women can’t.”

There was one other moment that changed everything. “It was the day my kids saw,” Kelsey says, her voice tightening. “After that, he never saw them again.”

She describes the moment vividly. “He used to pick on my son. He was jealous of him, jealous of the attention I gave him. My son was five at the time. He pulled his hair one day, and when my son got upset, he started calling him weak, mocking him.”

Kelsey stood up for her son. “I said, ‘How would you like it if someone did that to you?’ He turned to me and slapped me, then lunged at me. He grabbed me by the neck with both hands and started pushing me down.”

“I begged him. I said, ‘Not in front of the kids. Please, not in front of the kids.’ And he said, ‘I don’t care about the kids.’”

“He went to the door, and before he left, he turned back with this look I’d seen before,” Kelsey recalls. “He said something cruel to my son. My little boy was only five, just standing there. And then he pulled a gun and pointed it at him.”

She pauses for a long moment. “I don’t think it was loaded because he usually didn’t keep it loaded, but I didn’t know that for sure. I just reacted. I slapped his arm and knocked the gun away.”

“He saw that as an attack,” she says. “He was trained in mixed martial arts, so the punches were fast and hard. He hit me straight in the nose, then the side of my face, then my ribs. I felt them break. There was blood everywhere. My kids saw all of it. I screamed because I knew they would never unsee what was happening to their mom.”

When he saw the blood, something in him shifted. “He started crying,” she says. “He fell to the ground saying, ‘No, no, no,’ like he couldn’t believe what he did. But I didn’t feel sorry for him. I just wanted him gone.”

He didn’t leave. “He passed out on my couch. I couldn’t move him,” she says. I took my kids to my room and just held them. They said, ‘Thank you for saving us, Mom.’”

Kelsey exhales. “That sentence has never left me. They thought I saved them. But all I did was survive.”

Later, her abuser tried to twist that moment. “He said, ‘I made you a hero to your kids.’ And I knew right then how wrong that was. He didn’t make me strong. He didn’t make me brave. That trauma didn’t create courage, it created fear and shame. What I did after, that’s what made me strong. Building a safe life. Standing on my own two feet. That’s mine. Nobody else gets to take credit for that.”

After she left, healing took time. “I had to learn how to stop punishing myself,” she says. “There’s a difference between guilt and accountability. I had to learn that I could be responsible without carrying shame forever.”

Now, Kelsey is remarried to a safe and supportive partner. “My husband now, he’s gentle, patient, understanding,” she says. “He knows love doesn’t control. It doesn’t cage.”

She says her journey taught her the true meaning of self-love. “People always say you have to love yourself first,” she says. “But I don’t think people realize what that means. It means protecting yourself the way you’d protect your child.”

She remembers one moment that changed everything. “I was driving to my parents’ house, and my daughter was crying in the car seat. She hated car rides. She finally fell asleep, and I remember thinking, she must feel safe with me. That’s why she can rest. And then I realized, I’d never made myself feel that way. I’d never made me feel safe.”

“That’s when I started learning to love myself like I was my own daughter,” she says. “If my daughter came to me with my story, I’d feel nothing but pride and compassion. I’d tell her how strong she was. And that’s what I had to start telling myself.”

Once Kelsey rebuilt her life, she wanted to give back. “I had peace. I had safety. But I wanted purpose,” she says. “That’s when I found Voices.”

Voices is a group made up entirely of survivors who use their stories to change how agencies handle domestic violence cases. “We sit at the table with judges, law enforcement, and social workers. We talk about what really helps, what doesn’t, and how to make the system better.”

They also host community events, from free boutiques offering professional clothing to family events promoting mental health and self-worth. They’re developing a mentorship-style program, where survivors who are further along can walk with women just starting to leave. “It’s like sponsorship in recovery,” she says. “You need someone who understands that pull to go back. Sometimes one call can save a life.”

By the time most people realize they’re being abused, Kelsey says, love has already clouded the signs. “But there are things to watch for,” she says. “Love bombing is a big one. If someone’s head over heels before they even know you, that’s not love, it’s control.”

She warns against letting anyone isolate you. “If every time you see your friends or family, there’s a problem, if he gets upset or says he misses you or finds a reason to make you come home, don’t ignore that. He’s not protecting you. He’s cutting you off from your lifeline.”

And for the people watching from the outside, she says this, “Don’t be afraid to speak up. People worry about being rude, but silence is deadly. If something looks wrong, it probably is. Say something. Check in. Especially if there are kids. Even if the kids aren’t being hit, they’re in danger just from seeing it.”

She pauses. “In my case, it was child services getting involved that changed everything. It was terrifying, but it saved my life.”

“Live for you.”

Kelsey’s voice softens when she talks about the future. “Live for you,” she says. “Create yourself. You can be strong and still want love. You can want safety and still believe in happy endings. The strength you’re looking for, it’s already inside you. You just have to claim it.”

Click here to find out more about the Family Justice Center’s resources.
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text “START” to 88788
Family Crisis Center: 1-800-572-2278 (24-hour support and resources)
Partnership for Families, Children and Adults Crisis Hotline: (423) 755-2700

Video courtesy of: Artlist and Soul Purpose Entertainment