A Survivor’s Story of Running, Writing, and Resilience
In honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, we sat down with Marissa Quintero—a board member, published poet, long-distance runner, and a powerful voice for survivors. She shares her journey from crisis to victory and the profound ripple effect of sharing our stories.
Silas: Marissa, thank you for sharing your story with us. Your life today is so full of advocacy and purpose. Can you tell us about the turning point that started this journey?
Marissa: Thank you for having me. The turning point was a crisis about five years ago. I was in a deep depression, and I realized I had to make a choice to heal. My two sons were my reason “why.” I knew I couldn’t be the mother they needed if I didn’t find a way to save myself. That decision led me to running, which became my moving meditation, and to writing, which became my therapy.
I remember that for so many years I thought ‘I cannot live without him. I won't make be able to make it without him.’ And here I am... I was doing it alone all along.
Silas: You’ve mentioned the importance of your cultural background. How did your upbringing in Colombia shape your experience with domestic violence?
Marissa: That’s a crucial part of the story. I grew up in a mixed Hispanic and Indian household—a vibrant culture full of love and family. But there was also a silent, accepted undercurrent of suffering. I witnessed my father abuse my mother, a strong woman who I believe stayed because she was isolated, with five children, and no support system. In my country back then, there was no Safe Passage. There was no “village” to protect you. The unspoken rule was to endure.
I carried that blueprint into my own marriage. I was with my ex-husband for 21 years. He came from a very machista background, and I developed an emotional dependency, believing I couldn’t live without him. The final straw was when he almost killed me. I left, but the psychological chains were so strong that I went back two and a half years later, believing his promises. It took realizing that the “household” I was trying to preserve for my children was the very thing poisoning them to finally break the cycle for good. I learned that hurt people hurt people, and I refused to let that hurt become my sons’ inheritance.
Silas: You’ve called vulnerability your “superpower.” How did you find that power, and what was the result?
Marissa: It started when I was encouraged to submit my poetry to a Safe Passage anthology. The first time I stood in front of strangers and recited a poem about my survival, I was terrified. But in sharing my truth, I felt a strength I’d never known. I wasn’t just telling a story; I was releasing its hold on me.
The most profound result came after a mental health event where I read my poems. A month later, I received a message from a woman who was there. She told me that hearing me speak gave her the courage to confront her husband of 19 years. She ended up in the hospital with a head wound, but she survived. She left him. She told me, “Your courage to share your story has changed the course of my life and my son.”
That was the moment I understood the ripple effect. I was just writing my truth, but it became a lifeline for someone else. That’s the power of vulnerability.
Silas: For those who are still in that place of crisis, what is the most important thing you want them to know?
Marissa: I want them to know that the feeling of being trapped is a lie. I truly believed I could not make it on my own, but I was already doing it. I was already the one providing, caring, and surviving. You are stronger than you know. Find your one thing—your “why.” For me, it was my children. Then, find one small act of self-care, whether it’s a walk, writing one sentence in a journal, or making one phone call to a helpline. Your crisis can lead to your victory. You can build a new neural pathway, as a friend told me—you can literally rewire your brain for healing and safety.
Silas: Finally, as a board member for Safe Passage and an advocate, what is your hope for the future?
Marissa: My hope is that we continue to break the generational and cultural curses of silence. I run my races in purple to remind everyone that behind the festive events, there is a critical cause. We run so that others can have a Safe Passage. We share our stories so others know they are not alone. I am here today because I found my voice, and my greatest hope is to help others find theirs.