Reflections of a DV survivor

Most abusive relationships do not start out that way. Our relationship began as any other – attraction, lust, companionship, affection, love. So. Much. Love. A love that was so fierce and intense that I stayed and tried my best to please him, even as cracks and red flags began slowly appearing. A love that is so strong that even when things were really bad, the love that he showed immediately after hurting me, and at other times when things were good, pulled me right back in again. A love that is so deep, that you felt that he would do anything, literally anything, for you. Because of you. To protect you. A love that I craved.

There is a certain irony in that. A man that gives love so fiercely that you can feel it wrapped around you, with a knowledge that no matter what happened, he would protect you, stick up for you, be there for you. Yet, in an instant, that same man was hurting you, putting you in harm's way, breaking you down.

It starts with little things:

~ He’s jealous of the attention you give to your friends, so over time, you stop hanging out with him.

~ He thinks your parents don’t like him and starts to convince you that they’re trying to break you up, so you stop going to family dinner night.

~ He wishes you were spending more time with him and complains about how much you work, so you start skipping shifts here and there, and eventually you get fired.

These things happen so slowly that you don’t even notice. The intense feelings he has for you, make you think that he says these things because he loves you so much, which makes you feel good. And you tell yourself that you’re happy to make small changes to make him happy because he makes you so happy. And then before you know it, you’re completely isolated and solely reliant on him.

But we all know that it takes two to tango, right? He didn’t just come home one afternoon feeling like he wanted to hurt you. Or wake up in the morning thinking that he wanted to smash your head against the wall. So, you start thinking that you’re the one triggering this. Did you ask too many questions? Was your tone a little off? Were you being a bitch?

This is the type of conditioning that slowly happens along the way. You tell yourself that it must have been your fault. He didn’t mean to hurt you; he just lost his temper because you made him angry. He’s sorry, he feels terrible, he’ll make it up to you, it will never happen again…. But it does.

So, you pluck up the courage to leave, you formulate a plan, you get out, and you’re free. But once you’re out, you have time to reflect on the situation and you start to feel guilty. He didn’t mean it. If you weren’t being such a bitch, it wouldn’t have happened. Then he calls. He wants to meet with you to apologise. He loves you; he misses you; he doesn’t blame you for leaving. He says he’s getting help, that he knows he hurt you and that he wants to change to make sure it won’t happen again. And you believe him. You remember all of the good times and how he made you feel when things were good, and you decide to go back.

Things are great for a while, but it doesn’t take long for arguments to start again, and he hurts you again. This time a little worse than before. This time there are visible bruises. He’s mortified – he can’t believe he has lost his temper and has hurt you again, and he’s apologising profusely. You concede that it takes time to change, so you tell him that it’s ok and that you will help him get better.

But it happens again, and you decide to leave again.

This cycle keeps repeating. Each time the violence gets worse, and the frequency of violence increases. He’s spiralling out of control, and your life is slipping away. Your self-confidence is gone, and you are a shell of the person you used to be.

So, you’ve managed to leave and stay away this time, but that is just the beginning. You don’t know who you are without him; your entire life has been built around him for years. You have lost your confidence, your identity, and your sense of self-worth. What are you supposed to do now? You feel like you’re not worthy, that you’re an inconvenience, that you’re just annoying everyone. You need to rebuild a life for yourself but you no longer know what that looks like.

This bit is tricky. There are a lot of amazing support workers out there who help get you emergency accommodation, set you up with social services to provide income and employment services, and direct you to counselling to deal with your mental scars. But it’s a very long road and one that I’m not sure that anyone fully recovers from.

Jump forward a few years. You’ve managed to find a new direction, you’ve found a job that you love, you have a small group of friends, and you’re in a new relationship with a man that has treated you well. But all of those thoughts and self-doubts are still there. You still blame yourself for any argument that arises. If you ask for help or ask a question, you feel like you’re intruding on people’s time, whether that is at work or in your personal life. You believe that anything that you have to say isn’t worth listening to, or isn’t interesting enough, so you choose not to participate in the conversation. The fear of criticism or being wrong for any ideas or contributions stops you from participating. It’s a constant internal battle of participating in society while battling your inner demons. Even though you are trying, you no longer value yourself in the manner that you once did, or in the manner that you know that you should.

Rationally, you know that you are worthy. You come across as happy and confident in your day-to-day life, you try to find joy in the little things, and you feel lucky to have come this far. But internally, the damage of the past still clouds your judgement in how you manage situations now. You’re conscious of trying not to overreact. You don’t want to upset anyone because you’re worried about the consequences. If someone tells you that you have a flaw you take it incredibly personally, and fixing this flaw consumes you. You feel eternally broken inside.

It's been 20 years since I left my abusive relationship for the final time, and I still struggle emotionally each day. I find myself sympathising with the abuser and demonising the victim in other people’s stories, knowing that I shouldn’t. I am still seeking out that level of fierce, at-all-costs love. I am still broken, damaged, and feel unworthy.