Every day police officers all over Australia attend thousands of domestic violence situations, mostly after well-meaning neighbours or friends report disputes.

But while the media constantly reports on the wrongdoings of drink drivers, drug dealers and thieves, the topic of domestic violence is one which is hardly touched and is still treated as a taboo.

In the Northern Territory, three lives were lost to family violence in the past week alone.

Where was the nationwide outcry?

Domestic, Family and Sexual Violence Prevention Minister Kate Worden publicly called on Australia to take note.

"If you're a woman in the Northern Territory, you are six times more likely to be murdered in a domestic violence situation than you are anywhere else in Australia," she said.

But unless people speak up about it, violent offenders will keep doing what they do and the victims will stay put in their violent surroundings.

Violence at home is everyone's business; the costs to our community are far too high to continue turning a blind eye.

But speaking up isn't always that easy. Likewise, asking for help isn't.

How do I know? I've been there.

It started with a push, more like a nudge, and a few loud words.

We had been in a relationship for a year or so, and something had set him off.

I can't remember what it was but it happened again a few days later, a loud word, a little push. It happens in every relationship, doesn't it?

No, it doesn't, but I didn't realise that at the time.

When his fist hit my ribcage a few weeks later and sent me flying backwards on the couch, I couldn't comprehend what was happening.

Within a second, he was next to me, with tears in his eyes, apologising and kissing my cheeks.

The X-ray scan came back with two broken ribs.

He held my hand when the doctor told me.

'What happened?', the doctor asked.

'Oh, I tripped and fell ...'

Nobody needed to know.

We were in a loving relationship, after all, weren't we?

It wouldn't happen again, he promised.

But he broke his promise.

He broke more ribs.

And more promises.

And what did I do? Nothing, really.

I wanted to believe he wouldn't do it again and he loved me and it was an accident.

When it happened again and again, he played the guilt card. He said he wouldn't have snapped if I hadn't done this or that.

He made sure I didn't spend too much time with my friends, not by myself anyway. Looking back, I know it was his safety measure to avoid me telling someone about what was happening at home.

Whatever we did, we did together. There was no time alone, no time for me to think and comprehend.

For years, it actually didn't even cross my mind just to walk out. Or to talk to the police about it.

Where would I go? What would I do? What would people think?

When my wrist was in a cast for the fifth time, a colleague at work pulled me up.

Okay, tell me, he said.

Tell you what?

Tell me what's going on at home.

He had seen it all before. His sister had spent years in a violent relationship and he saw straight through my smiles and excuses.

You have to talk to someone. It's not right. He doesn't love you.

That's where the long journey out started.

But it took more than a year to actually physically get away from the situation I was in.

When one of his friends got married interstate and I couldn't travel with him due to work commitments, his grim grip loosened.

I left the house by myself for the first time in ages and felt the sunshine on my face and suddenly, it dawned on me.

My colleague was right.

I called a friend and we packed a few of my clothes and I left. I stayed at friends' houses, a couple of nights at a time, before moving on to another friend. I didn't have to explain anything to them. They all kind of knew.

I guess I was lucky when he returned from his interstate trip and realised I was gone, he didn't contact me.

But it took me a long time to not jump at the slightest noise in the hallway.

I still can't handle it well when people raise their voice.

It has taken a long time to remember how to stand tall. But I got there.

Domestic violence is not okay, but only if we all speak up about it we can make a difference.

Sometimes asking a friend or even a stranger whether they are okay can mean so much.

Sometimes it's the little gestures that help the most, and if a small word can encourage someone to grab a helping hand, we can make a difference.

If you see something, say something. Don't turn a blind eye.

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