Welcome

 

Over a decade ago, my son quickly filled a small bag of his and his little brother's favourite things, grabbed me by the arm and his brother by the hand as I grabbed the car keys. Making sure we were alone, we snook away as quickly and quietly as we could, leaving everything behind.

We are survivors of domestic violence who actually managed to escape.

We had nothing with us: no clothes, no documents. Just the clothes on our backs, the shoes on our feet and a couple of teddy bears. We didn't have time to hang around. It was my third escape attempt and this time, I had help. And we never looked back. We made it out alive. Not unscathed, but alive. We survived.

This isn't about how easy it was thereafter. It's not about about triumph over adversity. It doesn't have an exciting warm, fuzzy feeling. Surviving trauma isn't easy: it doesn't magically disappear and at times, it's debilitating. It's a slow healing process. I still sometimes wake up in the early hours in a pool of cold sweat, panicking. Sometimes I'm scared to go to sleep because of the intrusive thoughts and flashbacks. It can feel like I'm back there again, feeling like that clammy, rough hand is over my mouth again, like I can't breathe. In the early days, after we left, I used to see my ex everywhere. Even years later, I remember running home in a panic. But I don't feel like I have to constantly scan my surroundings any more, though it took a long time to achieve this. 

But nowadays, if I do wake up in the early hours, it's not because I've just been repeatedly punched in the head: when bright white flashes of light in my head wake me, I know they were just a dream. No one is going to pull me out of bed by the hair and throw me onto the ground. No one is going to kick me, punch me, shout at me; no one is going to demand to know "how many people I (apparrently) slept with" that day (oh, but in far more colourful language). No one is going to demand to know why I took a whole twenty minutes in the post office. No one is going expect me to hand over my whole month's money. No one is going to force me to have sex. I don't ever have to justify myself about anything, or defend myself, or to have someone raging at me about about things I haven't done, that they're apparently convinced I have.

I love cooking. The only times my violent ex cooked for me or the children was when people came for dinner. Those were the only times I didn't have to wash up too. Even after a serious surgical procedure, I had to cook. If I hadn't, the children wouldn't have eaten that day. Now, when I cook, it's because I want to, not because I'm going to be punched in the head if I don't.

I spent many years as a single parent. I didn't ever want a relationship again. I was way too scared that whoever I ended up meeting would be chamelion-like, turning into a controlling abusive monster after a while. I couldn't take the risk. I had a lot of therapy. I focused on me and the kids. I thought I'd be alone forever. I wasn't bothred about this: I was fine being just me and the kids, was happy to imagine it just being me after the kids left home. It was such a relief to be able to breathe again, to have no one telling me who I should be, when I could talk, what I could say, how I should think, what to wear, who I could see, where I could go.  Anyone who's suffering or has suffered domestic abuse will agree that it's better to be alone than with a cruel partner.

When I was trapped in my abusive marriage, if someone would have told me, hey, in the future, you will have a partner who treats you as a fellow human being, I wouldn't have believed them. I thought back then that I was stuck for good (well, bad, actually). I thought that if only I tried harder, if only I spoke less, spoke how my spouse wanted me to, if I behaved how I was told to, if I cooked the most delicious foods on demand, kept the house spotless, washed my spouse's feet when instructed, washed, dried and massaged my spouse's entire body when intructed, that somehow, magically, things would get better. But no matter what I did, I was wrong. I wasn't dealing with a normal person. It's not normal to feel like you're walking on eggshells, constantly on edge, not knowing when, or why your partner will have a meltdown- aimed at you.

It didn't begin like this. Before I married my violent ex, I was quite independent, adventurous, highly educated. What I didn't realise I lacked, until it was too late, was self esteem, self worth, self belief. Slowly, but surely, my sense of humour was eradicated, a drop at a time, until I dissociated to the point that it felt I was watching my life unfold in the third person, with absolutely zero control over any of it.

Many people don't understand why anyone stays with violent, abusive partners. Before I experienced spousal abuse, emotional and psychological abuse and domestic violence, I would have judged me too for staying so long. I do still judge me. I'm still working on that. But I'd been trapped in what felt like an impossible situation for so long; I'd had my self worth, my ability to think clearly, my resilience and my personality stripped from me in a cruel, strategic and sadistic way. I simply didn't have the strength. I felt so much shame. I thought everything that had happened was my fault. My fault for choosing the wrong partner, my fault for getting married, my fault for not listening to that little voice that had told me right from the beginning that something was very wrong. My fault for not leaving. And my fault for being stupid enough to think I could support the person who was torturing me.

What really hit home for me was watching a Ted Talk with Leslie Morgan Steiner, called 'Why Domestic violence victims don't leave', when she said:

 

Why did I stay? The answer is easy. I didn't know he was abusing me...I never once thought of myself as a battered wife. Instead, I was a very strong woman, in love with a deeply troubled man, and I was the only person on earth who could help Conor face his demons.

I hope this blog will help those still struggling in abusive relationships to find within themselves the strength to leave, to start a new life, free of abuse.

No one deserves to suffer any form of abuse. Especially not from someone who is supposed to love them.