An Archive of Violence: Notes From a Survivor
By Irene Sanchez
Xicana Ph.D.
Trigger warning. This whole post has stories/details and audio recording that can be triggering to survivors of SA, DV, and violence in general. Proceed with caution and care for yourself.
I don’t know what to title this. I am unsure where to begin. So let’s start with today (3/19). I almost had another anxiety attack, actually more than once today. Yesterday (3/18), I did have one after I remembered I didn’t eat, I had spent most of the morning and afternoon crying scrolling on my social media feed. Perhaps last week wasn’t the best time to begin reading a new book either, What My Bones Know, by Stephanie Foo on surviving with C-PTSD (but I think by the end of this blog post, I will know this was actually the time when I needed her words the most). I have openly shared that I was diagnosed with PTSD twice, once in 2020 after leaving one abuser, but in 2022, I was diagnosed again. I likely have lived with this for a very long time. Trauma felt normal, violence has been familiar. I have held these things in as well. I don’t intend to take them to my grave, but perhaps if the news didn’t come out this week, maybe I would’ve.
I am away at a conference. I feel mostly safe in this hotel room in Orange County. I worry about my family,. If I reveal I am survivor, most people are compassionate and caring especially if they do not know the perpetrators. Some people, men specifically can get a little anxious, especially if there is a possibility that it is someone they know or they associate with someone who did know and enabled these men, this includes women. The news circulating around abuse in movement spaces against girls and women, specifically the UFW, Cesar Chavez, and what he did to Ana Murguia, Debra Rojas, and Dolores Huerta, and possibly more girls/women is heartbreaking to many.
It is heartbreaking especially when there are many who do not believe them still. Even after the UFW and Cesar Chavez Foundation came out in support of survivors impacted by Cesar Chavez. That is why writing this makes me feel like I am about to have another. No matter what proof you have, how known and respected someone is, the fact that it is more than one woman, we all know it shouldn’t take all that and still not be believed. Right? So I know what I write here, some of you may never believe so why bother? I get many messages in my inbox when I write on things like these. I try to hold space, I can’t always respond. It hurts to know too much and how it is practically all of us.
I have music playing, I breath heavy in and out. Perhaps to really get into this, I will quote one abuser before he brutally beat me so horrifically in February 2020, that after I couldn’t lift my arms to write on the whiteboard while teaching because it hurt so bad. I walked around with a limp after he kicked me that night, calling me a little bitch all for “liking” a photo of what he said were my friends “ugly kids”. Friend is a man. Friend actually was upset when I stayed in October 2019, but a few months later he reached out to check on me. He didn’t know how hard it was to leave. That I was threatened. I was scared. I promised him I didn’t give up trying to. We liked photos of each others kids again. He had been reminding me since the ex before, the poet, Quetzal nicknamed that one “skid mark” he told me that I deserved better. He knew about both of them and what they did. He always reminded me I deserved better. Even though I made mistakes and bad decisions. Art Meza, Chicano Soul, you are a real one. Thank you for being my friend. Always having my back even when they harassed me and made comments to you too on social media after I had left.
I don’t know how to start to share this, but I will borrow the words, Sean said right before he started to beat me.
“First things first”. -Sean Arce
February 2020. I had stayed with him after I had tried to leave in October 2019, a few months into the relationship and living together. Him, me, my 7 year old son (at the time) and his adult children in and out. He had threatened me with his lawyers, suicide, and more. If I called the cops, he would let them kill him he said. Everyone would blame me. He claimed I had cheated on him, claimed that I was making him look bad if I left. I was leaving because I had tried to leave that summer too. A month into living with him, I realized this was a terrible mistake. He put his hands on me that July of 2019. I was done and wanted out. He promised to not do it again. Fast forward to October. I got a new place, paid the deposit, paid my first month. He threatened me again. He promised to change. He took me to Maestro Jerry Tello. In that session, he told Jerry he had abused me and hit me a few times and made excuses as to why. I hated being there, but thought at least someone else knows I am not lying now. Actually two people, him and his wife. I peeked out the crack in the door, I saw my son at the table playing with his Nintendo 3DS. He had headphones on. I thought of how my son has never known a home without violence in his life. I can’t keep doing this, but I feel stuck.
He promised to pay me back the money I lost on that rental (he never did). I still remember giving back the key, the owners of the home in Pomona looked confused. I said keep the money. They said are you sure? I hadn’t even told them the real reason. Said I lived with my boyfriend, but needed my own space closer to my work in Azusa. They were excited to rent their one bedroom small back house to a teacher. They worked for another local school district. They closed the door. I passed by the gate to the backyard and looked at the little back house one more time. I planned to give Quetzal the single small bedroom. I was going to sleep in the living room. Everything would be ok. There was a side patio for us. I thought how I would make us pancakes and turkey bacon on weekend mornings. We’d eat outside in the sun. I would get a little patio set and an umbrella. We’d feel the warmth of the sun. This memory makes me cry. We were almost free. I was almost free. For a moment I lived there. That was enough to remember it is possible.
I remember what a good friend from Seattle told me once that gave me hope for a better future. He is a hip hop artist who Quetzal probably knows more songs from than me now, Gabriel Teodros. I remember how I picked him up. I had a CD player in my car. We would drive around the city listening to his latest, and I could tell him what I think. He said this is one of the best ways to hear music. I still do this often. No CD’s now though. I remember we drove down Beacon Ave S. That’s where we lived Quetzal and I and sometimes friends in a home rented to me by a professor. I think back thankful for that home because the cops were called often. She probably didn’t know, but had I lived anywhere else, this could’ve been an issue.
I was supposed to have Quetzal in the living room of that home. A home birth that didn’t work out. He was born at the University of Washington. His bio dad started the physical abuse when I was pregnant. My son. There was a moment early on, his dad locked me out of the house. I was wearing only a bathrobe. It was snowing. I was pregnant. I cried as I held you in my womb. I whispered, I promise I will take care of you even if I have to do this alone.
Apologies mean nothing if you do not change your actions. Same with promises.
The University of Washington, my school where I also endured things and have stories I haven’t told many people about. Professors. Peers. A man who worked there who did something to my drink on a night out a few months after living there. I don’t remember. A man I ended up dating later told me, you know my friends. I said I don’t think so, he named a bar and said he saw photos of me online. He showed me. I didn’t remember. I told him what likely happened, he would later use that against me to shame me as many men I’ve encountered do. What I do remember from back then is that I do know for me that doesn’t happen on drink number 2 and never happened when I drank a lot more than that either. I remember how he would creepily send me emails the same time every year until one day he saw me on campus walking to the AES department. As I crossed the street, my belly showing, pregnant with my first son. He didn’t email me again. Since no one knows, I guess it didn’t happen right? I don’t even remember. Years later, an ex in Seattle who threatened me after seeing me walk with my baby in a stroller in the neighborhood decided to text me from a fake phone number (allegedly him right?) “You better move back to California. Think about your new kid.” The courts failed me there too. I remember the court reporter going back to tell the judge. The judge saying he made a mistake after he ruled 50/50. Court was adjourned. I got another text from an anonymous number while still in the courtroom. “You’ll never win”. Even now writing this feels like what if any of them make due on their promise to harm me, destroy me, or make sure I am dead.
That is the type of fear many of us live with every single day.
My therapist at the DV shelter in 2014, asked me how I was still functioning, I ask her why she is asking that. She said most women who go through what you went through (up to that point) can’t. I didn’t feel special. I felt guilty. She said school was my anchor. I dealt with all this and more while completing my Masters and Ph.D. While mothering a newborn and taking my doctoral exams, while finishing my research for my dissertation I remember going from interviews for my dissertation to courts. My son’s father showed me texts, a woman had messaged him from CA, told him she could help him get Quetzal taken from me. She told him my stalker ex had found out he was arrested somehow. Looking at court records. My son’s father asked her how did she even know if we weren’t together. Though my son’s father had done some bad things, he also knew that that dude had threatened mine and his son’s life. He told the woman not to contact him again. She called me crazy and a liar. Later I would tell these men about her and what she did in confidence. One of them contacted her. I still remember when my son’s father passed me the texts from her. I still have them.
Back to my friend and Seattle hip hop artist and how he helped me imagine the future I wanted…
Gabriel and some of my friends knew my life was “challenging”. They didn’t judge, but I know they were concerned and hoped the best for me. Gabriel told me that day, “you have to envision the future as if you are already living there”. He told me to read Octavia Butler. It’ll make sense. If you do that you will be there now. For a moment I was there that day in Pomona in fall of 2019, when I gave back the keys. I know I tried to leave. I was so close.
Sean got me an engagement ring I never wanted that month in November. I couldn’t make him look bad by refusing it though.
They always say it gets worse every time a woman tries to leave. I thought for a moment it wouldn’t. He had admitted it to Maestro Jerry Tello in November. He admitted it to me, in texts, to a family member. He said he was sorry.
I tell my son often, apologies mean nothing if you do not change you actions. He knows I have kept my word to him to one day free us and myself from this.
December 2019.
Spoiler: It gets worse.
“Don’t fuck with Ike Turner, or fucking Rick James, he’ll slap your ass”.
After he broke my son’s TV by punching it.
I texted his friend to tell him he’s doing this again, hoping maybe this time it can be resolved, and his friends can help.
“I’m sorry for fucking even knowing you.”
I told him I texted his friend and told him what he did.
“You fucking bitch! You fucking told him!? What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
He hit me again.
That same day, after throwing things at me, he sweeps the debris from the floor.
“You’re a fucking whore, that’s all you are is a fucking whore. You have no fucking principles man. You’re the type of teacher if you were in the struggle with us, I would’ve said, get her out. Get her the fuck out. She isn’t down. Get her the fuck away from me.”
Not just February 2020 if you listen or read above. It was one too many. I tried to leave the first time. I wanted to die. Wasn’t the first time or the last. Now I don’t want to die, but I am scared to speak because of the fear of these men. I don’t want them to hurt me or my family, but also carrying this is still harming me and my family. I don’t want to carry these secrets anymore.
I am sorry Quetzal.
I didn’t cry revisiting most of these recordings, photos, or memories. I have too many since 2011. I had many before. I do not remember them all. The bruises fade, but my brain has changed. I startle at loud noises. I make sure all the doors are locked twice. The house has cameras. Locks. Protection. It is never enough to stop being afraid. I know you see it. You see my hesitation to go places. It takes a lot of mental effort. I still go. I come back often emotionally/mentally exhausted. You hug me randomly. You’ve been in therapy. So have I. I wish I could be different for you and for me. Maybe I will be after this. Maybe I won’t.
Court documents sealed in many containers. Back up files on computers. Old phones with information preserved. If worse comes to worse, the detective that tried from LAPD that interviewed both of us in the summer of 2020, they have everything. The DA wanted to, but without medical records, it would be hard. He didn’t let me go to the hospital. The DA tried. She wanted to help. Peace Over Violence in Los Angeles still helped me. Gave me a good counselor. The Victim’s Compensation Fund for the State of California still helped me and paid our moving expenses. The social worker that was sent to my parents home as we slept in the living room even helped too, she had some screenshots I had notified a FB page that supposedly helped survivors, one of the men who ran the page I found out, told him I messaged the page, they included this in the RO he lied to file on me. He said the messages proved I was trying to damage his reputation.. I remember how these men lied and made good on a promise to lie to get you taken from me. The social worker warned me about getting into relationships with these dudes. I told her never again. That happened the summer of 2020. These things are hard to forget. I think this is the hardest one to forgive.
I am still afraid of losing you. Because of all these men though and writing this, I am afraid you will lose me. I am afraid your little brother would lose me. My biggest accomplishments were never these degrees or anything else, but you and now him too. That I have the chance again to stand in the future I want to see right now. I am so proud of you, honored to help guide you, and watch you grow.
I love you.
We talked about the news of Cesar Chavez Wednesday at your brother’s T-ball game, we talked about these men, I said hate in reference to them. He’s like mom, we don’t really hate anyone, I’m like no we don’t. I apologize. He hugs me and says no mommy, you don’t need to apologize.
They do.
I hold back my tears. I thought I was doing better. A well known man exposed for his actions against women and girls using their privilege and power and position to cause harm sent me into a spiral. I think it sent many of us into one.
I realize my body holds an archive of violence, but I don’t want to add to it anymore. I can’t. I want a living archive of joy.
All the evidence and proof any of us give, I know they will still call us liars, but I hold on. This is me letting some of it go.
Quetzal, I didn’t cry when I listened to some of these. There’s so many. I didn’t get to go back to the ones of the poet yet. I did cry when I heard your voice though. I don’t remember everything anymore. We don’t like to say their names in the house. We don’t really have a nickname for Sean. Matt, you gave him the name skid mark. A few friends and I laugh about it. They tell me “Fuck that guy”. You stood between Sean and me. You used to stand between Matt and me too, shielding me from both of them. Talking back as they yelled. They were mean to you too. I know that wound will hurt a little more than this one. I can’t bring myself to do it now. The words he engrained in my head repeat more than Sean’s. Matt’s words repeat more in your head too. I am sorry you were ever in that position as a small child. Oftentimes when DV is discussed, children are left out as if they aren’t impacted by this type of harm. You are a survivor too. I still blame myself for that.
You didn’t deserve any of this.
I am sorry I didn’t know better. I am sorry to anyone I may have harmed when I was hurting. I am still hurting now, but I am more aware that my hurt isn’t excuse for harm. I wish these men would’ve learned the same.
I tell my son, apologies mean nothing without actions to back them up with. Changed behaviors.
May this be another step on the road to getting free once and for all.
See I had been trying to leave my ex before this one (we will get to him soon). Sean found out how Matt was mainly psychologically and mentally abusive. We were friends, he had told me about a job I could apply for shortly after I moved back to California after also experiencing abuse through grad school.
Sean knew Matt was cruel so of course he was going to save me right?
I was in a vulnerable situation when I met him too. I had been warned before about being too trusting by a high school friend. He said Irene do not tell any of these men what you have been through. They will use it against you.
I thought what did he know at the time? Can’t be all men, right? I was in these wonderful social justice spaces where everyone is living the values they claim. Right? Spaces where you just trust. You give. You don’t want to be called a vendida, white colonizer, traitor, and more, but that’s what happens any time you challenge patriarchy and misogyny. Sad thing is that you don’t have to be a man to do uphold these forms of oppression.
A woman who supports these men asked to meet about Matt and what he did in the relationship due to rumors. She wanted to hear from me how he treated me and Quetzal. I was hesitant but Sean was the one who urged me to go. I did. The next week she was “best friends” with Matt and had a flyer out to present with him. There were many enablers of them both. Many. Some will claim they didn’t know. Many of them did. After leaving Matt months later he directed someone to create a fake IG account to harass me, calling me fat, ugly, that I will threaten suicide, that I abuse men, harassing my friend Art too. Matt had someone also call my old work and leave a message for the principal because he knew how much Sierra HS meant to me (I loved all the students at all schools I taught at, but Sierra Continuation does hold a center place in my heart). Sean “allegedly” told Matt about a RO he got after I had one on him. The RO that Sean knew he wouldn’t win on me long term. I had to hire a lawyer when he lied and got one. I didn’t always know what to do to navigate these situations. I wish I had an easy out, but I tried to do what I thought was best to minimize the violence as if it was my fault for “causing it”. That’s how they make you feel. They don’t do this, you do.
My lawyer gave Sean’s lawyer my evidence after he shared a recording where Sean lunged at me trying to get me to hit him. Funny how they both claim that I abused them. Years before, Matt had me sign a paper writing that I did things to him or he would make us leave where we lived. I put some initials on it. Ones that don’t match anything else. He didn’t notice and probably still doesn’t know they are there. They stand for different words. I did that on purpose so maybe if anyone did see it they could ask, what does this mean? I was coerced, forced, felt I needed to do this to keep the roof over our head until I could figure it out. Even when I did finally leave, he left me voicemails begging me he’d change and for me to stay with him. He hung that paper over my head constantly. He said in front of Quetzal, I don’t care if you are homeless along the freeway living in a tent. I was directed that I needed to write this out exactly how he wanted it word for word and sign it and make ten copies. It was his leverage to keep me quiet.
I threw a shoe at Sean in the recording after he lunged at me. My lawyer laughed saying he was trying to bait you. Why a shoe? I said it was the closest thing to me. I was told Sean’s lawyer freaked out after that when my lawyer sent the recording from February 2020 above, he told them there are plenty more. That likely pushed Sean to “settle” with me. My lawyer told me the terms, really his terms, he wanted to pay me $8,000, he wanted us both to sign a “stay away order” (not legally binding), and he wanted me to sign a NDA. I told my lawyer he owed me more (I had to pay the lawyer $5,500, a COVID pandemic shut down special. When asked about the NDA. I told my lawyer, hell no! My lawyer said, who does this guy think he is? A celebrity? We laughed. No NDA. I did not sign a stay away order either, he did though. 3 years. Maybe that’s why him and his friends sat directly behind me at NACCS, I had purposely got there early to get a table and stood up so that I was visible and they could easily have avoided me. They chose not to. Thankfully a supportive profe had his eye out and sat at that table and then came to me after he finished eating and stayed with me until him and his crew left the ballroom.
Back around the time of this RO hearing, Sean had his good friend call my best friend and Watsonville Brown Beret hermana, Jenn. She called me. I apologized for them contacting her on this. She was at the airport after having a big loss in her family. She said it was ok. We talked it through. Him having his friend indirectly contacting me violated my restraining order, but at this point, I’d given up hopes for the legal process to do much and I was tired and hopeful they would both leave me alone finally. That didn’t happen.
I picked up the $8,000 check from an office building in West Covina. His lawyer had left it in an envelope. His lawyer he hired, a Guatemalan lawyer. I wondered if the lawyer heard the recordings of Sean calling my son “Guatepeor” too. My lawyer tells me no one ever offers to pay $8,000 upfront. This is as good as it can get he tells me. He sounds excited. Like I won something. I wonder why does a “win” feel like a loss? Perhaps because they take so much that we can’t get back and money doesn’t fix .
The same oppression we claim to be fighting against can not be reproduced between us. It often is. People are unhealed and hurting. The reason Quetzal corrected me Wednesday about hating these men was because I am sure they went through things too. But we also know that isn’t an excuse to do horrible things to others.
It is heartbreaking, but it is a familiar heartbreak myself and many other women know. Anytime I write something related to being a survivor, my inboxes are filled with messages of women who have experienced similar. In addition, multiple women have messaged me over the years about BOTH of these men. I am sure that some of you while reading this will say “I knew it” because some of you already have said “you knew it”.
I hope I’ll be ok after sharing this. I am still afraid, but for a moment writing this, I felt free. I felt relief and a lot of tears. I haven’t wrote since sometime last year. All these years though, I always knew holding this in has felt like it is killing me. Multiple ER visits, Urgent Care, Therapists. Fibromyalgia. PTSD. PPD. Suspected autoimmune disease. Missed work while going through health issues. Time lost.
“You want to fuck with me?”
“Wake up your son.
Wake up your son”
Little Bitch”
-Sean Arce
I want you to read that again.
Writing this is terrifying, hitting publish on this will be too. I understand why some women take these kinds of stories to the grave. So many stories So many survivors. I understand why Dolores held this so long. Those of us who have gone through this know. We don’t want to be blamed for the fall of powerful men or collapse of these movements that give so many hope and inch us closer to equality, justice, and liberation. But the movements are not these individual men on pedestals and never have been. We need to center the values that we stand for, not singular leaders. Men like these do not center the values they so loudly claim and neither do their enablers, they center egos and reputations, personal gain over community harm. Instead of being mad at me, why don’t you check your homie or family member? You can’t because you attach yourself to people and them being on a pedestal means power and privilege, access and opportunities for you as well. Right? If not, what has been stopping you from holding them accountable?
Who are the real vendidos?
We who speak about the abuse these men perpetuate never destroyed the movement. You all do and continue to do so. If we can’t address these things and begin to move towards what we collectively dream of for the future by practicing this right now, then nothing will change. You can’t keep calling out oppression out there in the larger society when you don’t want to address how you perpetuate that oppression everyday in the circles you are in and behind closed doors in what should be the safest place, the home. This week has shown you can easily and quickly take action to address. Look how fast statues are covered, how fast things are renamed, not that this should be the only priority, listening to survivors should be. All that can be done in a day, but you still can’t tell your homie/colleague/collaborator to stop their bullshit? It’s a personal issue right? That’s what a former friend told me who is now a professor at a CSU in Southern CA, another one, also a CSU profe in Southern CA, when I questioned why one of these men were presenting at NACCS (before the pandemic caused it to be cancelled). I asked because he knew what had happened to me, he was my “friend”. I had known him since I was in high school. Told me one time he had liked me since he met me, odd because I was in high school. Dude was in college. Instead of answering why my abuser would be there, he attacked me saying my proposal sucked essentially and only reason I was selected to go that year was because of him and his position. I guess that’s what happens when you bring up abusers and get told you are unqualified by a well known Chicano Studies profe? There’s more with that one too, but a later time perhaps. Many so-called “radical” and “feminist” men in positions of power abuse that power all the time.
Who are the real vendidos?
Fall 2025. I almost wanted to drop out of the art exhibit for Black and Brown in the IE and Beyond after I was accepted and my art was about to be put up. A curator had just realized she heard bad stories about me and didn’t realize I was THAT Irene, that a man, a poet she met was talking bad about. She said if he messes with you, let me know and I will take care of it. I told her I wanted to meet new folks since after all these experiences and I felt I had lost so many people. I wanted to build. I wanted to be in community again with people who share similar values and are doing good work. I don’t hate doing things publicly, but I am scared to since November 2020 and Matt and his then girlfriend posted that I was an abuser of men on an event page for a Cinco de Mayo event. I stopped writing. I stopped doing things for a little bit. She sensed my fear. Gave me red bracelets for my sons. She offered me prayer/medicine. I stood there with my eyes closed, palms out, breathing in the smoke. I faced her, take the smoke towards me four times. I thank her. We hug. I go home still scared, tell my husband, Quetzal hears and says “Damn why is he is obsessed with you when he said you were nothing and no one?” I don’t know. He often said he would “destroy me”. As much as we wish to forget him, even blocked on social media, somehow he knows what I do and still tries to “destroy me”. I don’t know when he will stop.
March 2026. The exhibit is closing March 15th. Quetzal had a day off Friday the 13th. We go to the museum. We stop in front of my art to see it. Quetzal looks at it proudly, “I was your assistant”. We take photos. I still don’t want to say I’m an artist, but I am happy my son is happy for me. Being visible has always been associated with being vulnerable for me and not in a good way most of the time especially when I found out even a few months ago he was still trying to lie about what happened to me and Quetzal while I was with him.
We see the rest of the museum. I take him to Tios Tacos. We eat lunch. We laugh. We exchange gifs of Pusheen the cat via text even if next to each other.
He told me he told his therapist in his Sunday morning session that he had a good day with his mom Friday. He told me
“I told him, I missed being with my mom like this.” We hugged.
I am glad he remembers and can remind me, this is who I’ve also been to him. I am still trying to be better everyday that I am alive, and I’ll never stop trying Quetzal.
Until my last breath.
Love to all survivors who died and will die holding secrets.
Love to survivors who come forward years later or right away.
Love to survivors who aren’t ready to share.
May we all see accountability and justice in our lifetime.
Thank you to my loved ones who have supported me in small ways and big ones.
Thank you to all of you who have supported and provided gentle encouragement. These men, (Martin) Sean Arce and Matt Sedillo, their goal was always to “destroy” me. That is not what I want for them. I wish they would heal. I wish they would stop lying. I wish they would’ve reflected and held themselves accountable and made amends or attempted to so a long time ago. If they had, I wouldn’t have to keep carrying this load or writing this to you all publicly. I want what I have always asked for, public apologies to me and my son, accountability with actions to attempt to remedy damages caused, for them to leave us alone once and for all, and for them to stop harming women and children in our communities and social justice spaces. Your egos and reputations are not worth more than our safety or our lives as women and children.
Pray for our safety.
Pray for mine.
They’ve always wanted me dead. But if they try now, now you all know a small piece of what they put us through.
With the blessing and support of my little family,
Irene Sanchez
Xicana Ph.D.
March 20, 2026
Orange County, California
Xicana Ph.D. 