Part 2 of an anonymous blogger's story:
The First Time
After high school, I ran as fast and as far as I could. Unfortunately, I ran straight into the arms of the man I would spend 10 years trying to forgive and a lifetime trying to erase. Mark was quiet and reserved and highly respected in the Christian community. I couldn’t believe my luck that he would choose me. If someone so pure and good could love me, then maybe I was worth something after all. It sounds so stupid now, but I really felt like this was my chance to redeem myself ‒ to be the meek and gentle woman I was supposed to be.
People always ask if there were any red flags when we were dating. Well yes, looking back, I can see them now. Like the time he found out I wasn’t a virgin and he threw a chair across the room where it smashed into a wall and broke. But that was kinda romantic, right? He was passionate.
It started the morning after our wedding. I woke up feeling exhausted and a little sick from all the festivities the day before. Mark and I had bought tickets to see a musical, but I felt too awful to go. We fought. Mark insisted that, as his wife, it was my job to submit to his authority. I refused and things got ugly. I can remember the exact moment I realized that married life wasn’t going to be the way I’d
dreamed. And just like that, I was trapped. I was 21 years old.
The Role of Shame
One of the biggest reasons women don’t leave abusive relationships right away is the fear of embarrassment and shame (Fugate, Landis, Riordan, Naureckas, & Engel, 2005). What will people think? In the above scenario, I had just gotten married and proven that I was maybe-sorta-kinda normal. How could I admit that it was a mistake? Admitting the reality to anyone, even yourself, can wreak havoc on a woman’s sense of self and identity (Matheson et al., 2015). Many wimmin do not want to be seen as naïve, emotional, or weak and so they will stay in the relationship, hoping that it gets better or, in the very least,
that it doesn’t get worse (Fugate et al., 2005).
This brings us to another one of the reasons women stay. Hope. Hope that they’ve got it wrong, hope that things will get better, hope that it was “just this once” (Fugate et al., 2005). It almost never is. According to Dr. Melvin Lansky “shame makes some people withdraw and others attack” (Lansky, 1987). I vacillated
between feeling the shame and rage-refusing to feel anything at all. But no matter how much shame I felt, I never let anyone else see. And I continued to hope…
No Really, It's My Fault
Looking back now, it’s easy to see the myriad of ways Mark tried to control me. It was more than the obvious stuff – like hitting me or throwing things or purposely slamming my fingers in a door. That physical stuff is the least painful to remember. It was the rest of it – the controlling what I did, who I spent time with, what I watched on TV, where I spent money. All the times he berated me for the smallest things, calling me lazy and stupid or a slut.
There were the countless times I sat on the kitchen floor, sobbing, terrified of the impending violence, while he reprimanded me for not obeying him, for not being submissive, or for worshiping my emotions instead of God. There were the times I ran out of the house to escape, only to be locked outside in the dark for hours. I can still feel the cold gravel sticking to the bottoms of my bare feet as I stood there
crying. Afraid to leave my babies alone with him. Too ashamed to call for help. Trapped.
And there were nights when his pleas for sex and my refusal (or even the slightest hesitancy) resulted in an argument that inevitably deteriorated into name calling and accusations. I don’t know why I bothered. It always ended with me pinned to the mattress holding back tears and trying to make myself as small as possible. What else could I do?
Because it was all true. I wasn’t submissive or obedient or sweet-tempered. I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain and he was just trying to fix things – to make our marriage into what it was supposed to be. Even when he hit me or locked me out of the house or threw me into a wall – it was my fault. I’d disagreed instead of deferring to him when I should have just let him lead. All of this would go away if I were just better at being a wife. A better person really. I was too emotional, too wild, too opinionated. I was too much.
Victim-blame isn't just the result of some psychological flaw in the abused, it's part of a wider social discourse.
I hate to be so cliché; we’ve all heard it before – women who have experienced abuse often blame themselves. If you’ve never experienced IPV, it’s hard to understand how that can be. From the outside, the world tends to view self-blame as one dimensional. – just be rational and stop blaming yourself. But it’s never that simple. The truth is that blame shifting and rationalizing abusive behaviour have much more complex roots and can stem from multiple factors, like past trauma, a skewed self-perception,
lack of education, and religious beliefs (Herman, 2015). Dr. Judith Herman, a clinical psychiatrist and leading expert on IPV, acknowledges these influences, but says that we underestimate the role that dominant social discourses play in victim-blaming (Herman, 2015).
Despite public awareness campaigns and social movements like #MeToo, the victim-blaming mentality persists (Gracia, 2014). Even in modern society, it is a common belief that provocative behaviour on the part of the abused is the most influential factor in IPV (Gracia, 2014). In other words, she must have done
something to drive him to it. The question of #whyistayed itself is the product of this victim-blaming discourse. Victim-blaming, whether subtle or blatant, perpetuates a culture where IPV is not only tolerated and legitimized, but blamed on the most vulnerable (Gracia, 2014). Within this wider social context, how can we expect abused, vulnerable women to see that they are not to blame?
Say it with me, Ladies, "A baby will not solve the problem."
At first it was little things. Little ways of controlling me. Could I go back and change my tank top? He didn’t want other people seeing the shape of my body. We didn’t need to put the house in both of our names. What did it matter? It was just a piece of paper. Why not close my bank account and share one with him? No sense paying two sets of banking fees. I didn’t have to go back to school right away, did I? It could wait a few years until we were more settled. Did I really need a degree anyway? He would take care of me.
It didn’t matter that I liked my clothes or that I wanted my name on the deed to the house or even that I’d dreamed my whole life of a career in medicine or law. I could voice my opinions, but as the man, he had the final say in all decisions. If I ever questioned this, he would call me rebellious and sinful, quoting scripture and pausing periodically to pray for my soul (I’m not even kidding).
I know it sounds crazy, but at first it just seemed kind of sweet that he would care so much about having a healthy marriage and that he wouldn’t let my stubborn, rebellious nature get in the way. It was commendable that he wanted to do things right. Really, he was just protecting me from me.
Then came the miscarriages. Four of them in a row.
I was devastated. Mark was angry. (Because of course it was my fault). When I finally gave birth to our son, David, I really, truly thought it was the answer to our problems. But it wasn’t. If anything, things got worse. Mark insisted I was spending too much money on diapers and soothers, so he emptied our account and started giving me a monthly allowance. He started monitoring my spending. If I bought a shirt at the mall my phone would ring 10 minutes later and he’d demand I return it. After I grocery shopped, he would dig through the garbage for the receipts and then make me explain why I bought brand name
ketchup or toilet paper. (I know now that he was anxious about money because he’d racked up thousands of dollars of credit card debt behind my back – in both of our names).
He lost his temper over the littlest things. Like one morning we ran out of cereal. He accused me of not being a good helpmate. We fought and he hit me in the face with the empty bowl. About 6 months after David was born, I lost another baby, this time so late into the pregnancy that I had to go through full-on labour – contractions and everything. About four hours in, my body decided it had had enough and promptly hemorrhaged. I was rushed into surgery for an emergency D & C. I was pregnant again three months later. Because who needs birth control when God is on your side?
My daughter, Jennifer, was born 19 months after her brother. I had two more miscarriages and almost bled to death one more time before Mark consented to a tubal ligation.
Intimate Partner Violence & Pregnancy
Many abused women hope that having a child will bring them and their partner closer together, but according to the Centre for Research and Education on Violence Against Women and Children, pregnancy actually increases the risk and severity of IPV (2018). If the relationship is already abusive, chances are the violence will become even more intense (Violence Against Women, 2018). The reasons behind this are complex, but it is usually a combination of feeling threatened as attention shifts to the baby, financial pressure, and the pressure of an unplanned pregnancy (March of Dimes, 2019).
It is important to mention that many women (like me) may not want to be pregnant, in which case a pregnancy can be a form of reproductive coercion and abuse (Violence Against Women, 2018). Men who are desperate to keep their partners in their life will sometimes resort to sabotaging birth control or not using birth control at all (World Health Organization [WHO], 2013). They may also use spiritually or psychologically abusive tactics to coerce their partners into sex without birth control (CNN Health, 2012).
Or they will just force themselves on their partner against her will (CNN Health, 2012).
Violence during pregnancy can result in adverse health outcomes, such as miscarriage, preterm birth, fetal injury, substance use, and suicidal ideation (WHO, 2013). And having children makes it that much more difficult for the victim of IPV to leave (Violence Against Women, 2018).
Comments