In Busch assault case, I paid a price: Column Women shouldn't have to become reality TV stereotypes for claims to be taken seriously.

Patricia Driscoll | USATODAY

If there is one lesson I've learned from speaking out as a victim of domestic violence, it's this: you pay a price. In the months since I asked a family court for a protective order for my son and me against my then boyfriend, NASCAR racer Kurt Busch, I have been going through the heart-wrenching process of disentangling my life from the person I once hoped to spend it with. But while many endure this ordeal in private, I have done it while taking heavy fire in the public discourse.

As the head of a widely respected national non-profit dating a famous professional athlete, Busch, I knew full well that if I pursued justice, I would be put under a withering spotlight. Sadly, I'm all too familiar with the cycle of abuse, and I know that every woman who comes forward faces the same cruel choice, wondering whether speaking out means her life, her relationships and her reputation will be damaged forever.

But for me, defending my personal integrity outweighs everything else.

What happened to me on the night of Sept. 26, 2014, is now a matter of public record. Though Busch and his lawyers spent great effort splitting legal hairs in court, they never challenged the basic truth that he assaulted me. A lot of baseless speculation came out in the coverage of that family court ruling. Much of it came from a segment of racing fans, which I expected, but some of it from the national media, which gave space to wild accusations about me — to cite just one, that I am a "trained assassin" — that do nothing but reduce a serious legal matter into a spectacle.

It grew especially bad when the Delaware attorney general's office declined to file criminal charges against Busch, despite a recommendation from police that they do so. That let uninformed observers trumpet the false notion that nothing had happened that night — and to disparage my honesty, integrity and motivations. Another round of attacks came when NASCAR quickly moved to lift Busch's suspension, and even grant him a waiver to compete for the championship, just days later.

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In fact, there are countless possible factors for the attorney general's decision that have nothing to do with the reality of what happened that night, and I take some comfort in the fact that the one judge who did hear my case affirmed everything I said. And far from being a vindication, NASCAR's decision left in place Busch's indefinite probation and conditioned his future as a driver to his getting the professional help he so clearly needs.

My biggest fear is that other women will despair of ever coming forward when they learn how I've been treated in the public discourse, and contrast it with the speed with which Busch was "vindicated" and able to go back to his life as if nothing had ever happened. I hope I'm not right.

Though I am fully resolved to put this chapter of my life behind me, the sad reality is that the story is far from over. Will Busch and his legal team drag me through court so that I can leave the relationship with what I brought into it? Will Busch honor the commitments he made while we were together? Will he try to take my house, or fight me on something as basic as reclaiming my belongings?

The truth is I simply don't know.

But whatever the legal outcome, I'm determined to continue to fight for my integrity. That's why I have spoken out throughout this process, at great risk to my personal and professional reputation. I can handle the hatred and vitriol directed at me by some of Busch's fans, and the flagrant distortions spread by his silver-tongued lawyers.

What I can't abide is staying silent on a matter of right and wrong — of basic human decency. I could not stand tall briefing policymakers on Capitol Hill, or touring our border with the Department of Homeland Security, or working with our troops at the Armed Forces Foundation, knowing that I allowed my character to be dragged through the mud, or let myself to be cowed into silence by bullies.

Sadly, in the current climate, any high-profile case of domestic assault is bound to be polarizing, held up as a teachable moment by activists, or a scam to be debunked by amateur internet detectives, all while the tabloid media plays up the most sensationalist aspects.

But women shouldn't have to become characters in reality shows in order to tell their story simply and truthfully.

I'm neither a hero nor a statistic. I've never asked for anyone to feel sorry for me, and I am not interested in playing victim.

What I am is a businesswoman, and a philanthropist, and a devoted advocate for our troops. And above everything else, I'm a mom who simply will not let my son grow up thinking that it's ever OK to hit a woman.

Patricia Driscoll is the CEO of Frontline Defense Systems and the president of the Armed Forces Foundation. She is a native of El Paso .

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