ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, July 3, 1996 TAG: 9607030010
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-1 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: ROBERT FREIS STAFF WRITER
Susan Vary Traxel personifies the saying about life experiences that goes "Whatever doesn't kill you will make you stronger."
In four years, Traxel has climbed from domestic violence and homelessness to graduate with honors from Radford University.
Now she's undertaken a personal crusade to share her experiences and perhaps spare others from the demons she's known so intimately.
Being honest and open about the wrenching bad times in her life reinforces her authority when she lectures as a personal security expert or works with crime victims as a paralegal.
"There's been a lot of adversity in my life, things that could have crumbled some people," says Traxel, a Blacksburg native with a deceptively wispy frame.
A photo album she keeps at her Montgomery County farmhouse tells much of her story.
It begins with her picture in hair ribbons, as a young girl in a sleepy college town where her mother ran the Campus Inn, the old South Main Street boarding house that housed visitors to Blacksburg.
Traxel grew up emptying ash trays in the seven-bedroom inn, which closed in 1970. The following year her family moved to the big city, to Baltimore, and her life began to go awry.
"The '70s were a rebellious decade. I was no different," she said. Traxel dropped out of high school six weeks shy of graduation, took up with her boyfriend and lived like "gypsies."
That began a violent soap opera with episodes that spanned more than a decade. The script included fights, reconciliations and a custody battle when she moved away with her three children to escape her husband's anger.
"I remember him getting really angry at me, and wondering why. It didn't make sense," she says. "I thought I was doing something wrong.
"I never thought of myself as being abused because I was never in the hospital. You start telling yourself that. My self-esteem was shot. I thought I was no good."
In the late 1980s Traxel got a divorce and found a therapy group. In particular she recalls the successful, "professional-type women" whose confessions about domestic violence sounded so much like her own story.
"I'm not the only one who feels this way," she told herself. "Nice people get beat up, too."
That insight was the first rung on the ladder of recovery. But first there was another misstep.
Living at that time in Pennsylvania, Traxel subscribed to The Roanoke Times so she could follow the Help Wanted ads and come back home. That's where she saw the ad placed by the lovelorn gentleman who wanted a soulmate to share his farm.
Traxel shakes her head in disbelief of her naivete, but they corresponded and she moved in with him, sight unseen.
At first it was a "fairy tale come true." But there was no happy ending. The relationship deteriorated and finally exploded in April 1992 when he physically attacked her, Traxel says. "I loaded the car with clothes and camping gear. I hurried the kids to the car. He came after me."
"I jumped in the car and never went back. But I didn't know where I was going."
With a bruised face and arms she sat on a campground picnic bench, wondering where her children were to get their next meal. There's a photo of her at that time in the album. The caption reads, "Sick, Battered, Hopeless and Scared!"
Several days later Traxel found a new home, the Women's Resource Center in Radford. "Immediately, I locked into gear," she says. "I overcame shame to look someone in the eye and ask for help."
Counselors there helped her back on her feet and found a rent-subsidized apartment for Traxel and her children. She says being on welfare was a humiliating stigma, and she would go shopping at midnight to avoid being seen paying for the groceries with food stamps.
At that time Traxel also began taking classes. She entered the police science academic program at New River Community College, taking early morning classes and the fullest class load she could carry.
"Susan was just someone that caught your eye," said Rita Dixon, New River's student development director. "In spite of all the traumatic things she was going through, you could tell she was going to be successful."
Buoyed by several academic scholarships, Traxel finished the community college program with academic distinction, and went on to Radford University's two-year criminal justice program, where she earned a bachelor's degree in December.
Traxel had always dreamed of working in law enforcement. But her age - 40 - and slender build precluded becoming a police officer. So she took paralegal courses and earned a private investigator's certificate.
These days she's traded welfare payments for paying off tuition loans, and working with local attorney Joe Painter.
Painter said Traxel's experiences give her a special empathy when dealing with clients, many of whom are crime victims or in times of personal crisis. "I'm extremely happy to have her."
"Now I feel like I have some control. I can give back to my community," Traxel said. "It's important for me to help other people because so many have helped me."
Her way of doing that is by writing about personal security for women and offering seminars titled "Refuse To Be A Victim."
"It's been a heavy load and there's still more to go," she admits. The way her children will adjust to living their lives - after so much turmoil - worries her.
Still, she can't help but feel on top of things for the first time in years. "As weird as it sounds, I thank God for everything that's come into my life. It's given me strength. I'm not frightened anymore."
LENGTH: Long : 108 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: ALAN KIM/Staff. Inflatable "Sam," a driving companionby CNBdecoy, is one of the personal security measures Susan Traxel
suggests in her seminars designed to
help women avoid crime. color.