I’ve always believed growth happens quietly, in nature, in stillness, in those long Alaska drives where the mountains remind you how small the world’s chaos really is. But the past few months challenged me in ways I never expected. Growth didn’t come gently. It came violently, abruptly, and in a way that forced me to reevaluate who I am and what I stand for.
Recently, I became the victim of a domestic violence assault.
Even typing that feels unreal. I’ve spent years working with elders, families, and people navigating trauma — but nothing prepares you for the moment when you’re the one looking in the mirror and asking:
Was this my fault?
Could I have done something differently?
How did I end up here?
People say DV can happen to anyone, but you never fully understand that truth until you’re living it — carrying questions that feel heavier than the bruises themselves.
Physically, I wasn’t hurt too badly, a couple scars, a few bruises, a fat lip, some property damage. But the mental aspect? That’s where the real scars form. The replay. The shock. The weight of knowing that someone you thought you cared for crossed a line you can’t ever uncross.
And here’s something most people won’t understand:
I’m 6’3” and 290 lbs. I know exactly what I’m capable of physically. And choosing not to hurt someone back — even when I could have — was strength.
Real strength is restraint.
Real strength is refusing to escalate violence.
Real strength is walking away when your pride wants revenge.
Real strength is not becoming what hurt you.
The scars heal, the bruises fade, the lip heals. But the mental weight of choosing compassion over retaliation can linger in ways no one warns you about.
Yet with all of that, this experience taught me one thing with absolute clarity:
Stay close to the people who actually care for you.
When life cracks open, the real ones show up. They check in. They listen. They ground you. They remind you who you are when you start to doubt it. And in that way, violence didn’t break me, it sharpened my understanding of love, loyalty, and who deserves access to my life.
And Then the Political Hit Came
As if the personal violence wasn’t enough, another wave came from hundreds of miles away during my dad’s mayoral race in Ohio.
The Montgomery County Republican Party launched what can only be described as a political witch hunt. Let me say that again, they deliberately launched a political witch hunt against me. And this wasn’t a misunderstanding or a routine check. This was targeted. Calculated. Personal.
They challenged my voter registration, publicly accusing me of illegally voting in two states — a felony. they knew I hadn’t. My Ohio voter record clearly showed I hadn’t voted there in over seven years and was already scheduled to be removed from the rolls next month. But accuracy didn’t matter. The goal wasn’t truth — it was damage.
They tried to turn me into a criminal for headlines.
They tried to use my name as ammunition to smear my dad.
They tried to drag me into something I had nothing to do with, simply because I’m his son.
The most disturbing part was how cold it all felt, like I wasn’t a human being with a life and a reputation, but just a tool they could use to hurt someone else.
And if what they did to me was bad, the way they went after my mom was worse.
Kenny Henning harassed her with repeated public records requests, digging and digging, fishing for anything he could twist into wrongdoing. He tried to corner her, intimidate her, and paint her as someone abusing public funds. She wasn’t. None of it was true. But he didn’t care. He didn’t have to care.
He tried to weaponize bureaucracy to break her spirit.
This wasn’t politics.
This wasn’t oversight.
This was a coordinated attempt to discredit, embarrass, and destabilize my family.
All of this over a small-town mayor’s race.
The combination of being assaulted in my personal life while being falsely accused of a crime in my political life created a type of emotional whiplash I wasn’t prepared for. One person tried to hurt my body. Another tried to destroy my name. Both left marks — just in different places.
But the heaviest part of all of this is simple:
Someone tried to make me a villain in a story where I wasn’t even a character.
Where I Go From Here
I’m choosing healing.
I’m choosing clarity.
I’m choosing to stop carrying blame that was never mine.
I’m choosing to stop asking what I could have done differently to avoid someone else’s violence or someone else’s hate.
Instead, I’m leaning into the things that ground me:
- The quiet strength of Alaska’s landscape
- My counseling journey and mental health growth
- Community, connection, and the people who show up
- My Jewish worldview of Tikkun Olam — repairing the world piece by piece, including myself
These experiences — as painful, unfair, and unexpected as they were — didn’t destroy me. They refined me. They deepened my empathy. They sharpened my intuition. They pushed me closer to my purpose as both a person and a future mental health counselor.
The End of This Chapter
This wasn’t the chapter I wanted.
But it’s the one I was given.
And now it becomes part of my story, not the part that defines me, but the part that strengthens me.
I’m not the violence that was done to me.
I’m not the lies told about me.
I’m not the political games someone tried to play with my name.
I’m the person who chose restraint when anger would have been easier.
I’m the person who walked away instead of retaliating.
I’m the person who protected others even while hurting myself.
I’m the person who continues to repair, rebuild, and grow.
If healing has taught me anything, it’s this:
You can’t control what people do to you, but you can control who you become because of it.
And I’m choosing to become someone stronger.
Someone more grounded.
Someone more compassionate.
Someone who stands tall — metaphorically, not because I’m 6’3”, but because of the resilience I’ve built.
This is not the end of anything.
This is the beginning of something better.
Wildlydj: The Life of DJ Lieberman 
Leave a comment