Submitted by: *Trina, Survivor
Victims of domestic violence often feel as though they have to walk on eggshells or modify their behavior as necessary to avoid upsetting their abuser. Because they have been conditioned to believe that the abuse and the abuser’s ‘loss’ or ‘lack’ of control over their actions is their fault, it increases compounds trauma and helps undermine their self-esteem. Prolonged desperation to not anger their abuser not only contributes to mental health issues but also helps keep them locked in the abusive relationship.
Often, victims of intimate partner violence do not realize that they are being abused or that the abuse is a deliberate choice of their partner. Domestic violence is, in fact, a pattern of toxic behaviors characterized by a heightened level of control and manipulation, not a loss, and is it not an anger management issue. Nothing a person says or does ever justifies the abuse, and it is never the victim’s fault.
For several years, Trina endured escalating levels of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse and did anything she could to avoid upsetting her boyfriend. She was isolated from her family and friends, and when her boyfriend proposed to her, he told her that she did not deserve the ring he gave her. Trina shares with us what happened the day she realized she was being abused and how her experiences have affected her.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and we were headed off together on a family outing. I was surprised and excited that he even invited me. After a few years of leaving me to watch from the sidelines and going to festivals and concerts alone, he finally asked me to go with him. He wanted to bring his family, and I felt lucky.
The air was warm, and the sun was bright. We had the top of our convertible – a Nissan 240 – down, enjoying the beautiful weather. His passion was cars, and he often shared it with me by teaching me facts about different vehicles. I was genuinely thrilled both that we were part of his day and that he actually wanted to spend time with us. Things were finally looking up, and I felt hopeful.
When the first part of their trip to the car show was uneventful, Trina hoped that it would be a good day.
We pulled into the drive-thru and ordered french fries, a reliable favorite, for my son. He asked for a coke for me and his usual – Coke Zero with light ice. When we pulled up the window and received our order, it was correct, and he did not get angry; he did not like mistakes.
It was turning out to be the most perfect day. I spent months tending to our garden outside, working hard to make our yard heaven on earth, so maybe, just maybe, he could be happy at home. Perhaps he would not get so angry if we were surrounded by beautiful plants and natural foods.
He always lectured me on my food choices, but usually ate cheeseburgers in the driveway and hid it from me. I did not mind; we all have our addictions and preferences. He was so proud of his past weight loss journey, and I could tell that when his weight went back up, it bothered him greatly. When I looked at him, however, that was never what I saw. It was his humor and smile that got my attention. He was beautiful no matter what size he was, and I always wished he could see that. There were moments when his laughter would light up the room, and I did everything I could to draw that laugh out of him.
We cruised with ease down the highway. No one tried to pass him, and no one followed too close. I sat next to him in the passenger seat, excited and hopeful. “Today, he will not get angry. Today, no other driver frustrated him. Even the cashier did everything perfectly. He has no reason to be mad today, so it is perfect – just perfect.”
It was all coming together. Finally, we were going to spend time together, and I felt so lucky to be invited to be by his side. Most trips that he invited me to go on were business-related. We never really did anything I wanted to do, and I was okay with that. A part of me deeply wanted to visit art museums and different states that were not popular for medical marijuana dispensaries – his favorite.
I was head over heels for him. I loved this man, and it was okay that he did not hear me. It was even okay that we only followed his passions, just as long as he was happy. I loved his smile.
We cruised along, smiling big as the wind ran through my hair. I brought my hair tie to hold it back so I would still look presentable when we went to the car show. I needed to be a girl he could be proud of. He was always so critical of my style, the way I moved, what I ate, and how I spoke. Forget any political opinions; when I had those, he told me I was deeply bothered. I started to stay silent so my opinions would not upset him. I thought that maybe he was right because he paid for everything.
During their relationship, Trina compromised, sacrificed, and disregarded her needs to keep her boyfriend happy.
And maybe he was right about my job as an exotic dancer. Maybe I would embarrass him if his friends saw me on stage and enjoyed my presence. I loved this man, and I would do anything to make him comfortable even though it meant giving up one of my greatest passions – dance – and my sexuality.
With the way he lectured me about money, I always offered to go back to that job again because I could easily bring quite a bit of money home each night. He assured me that he would rather take care of the bills than make me go through that horrible experience. So I did not need to leave to dance, he bought me a pole to install at home. I could dance right where he could watch me and keep me under his thumb.
Exotic dancing was not a horrible experience for me, but I knew my sexuality made him uncomfortable. When he was uncomfortable, he became angry – and, again, I loved that man and his smile. I wanted him to feel pleased and proud of me, so I gladly gave up anything that would ever cross the boundaries he had.
We pulled into the car show, and I could smell the food cooking. The aroma of barbecue hit me, and I thought to myself how good it smelled. I was grinning ear to ear as we passed the fancy cars. Even though my foot was broken and I was on crutches, I was so eager to walk around.
I was able to be out in public, and I did not have to worry about him messaging me, asking me when I would be home. He was with me, so I would not get the silent treatment for a week in retaliation this public outing. Not this time, because today was perfect. I was just so ecstatic.
We parked next to one of his car-enthusiast buddies who had brought his kids along that day. The kids were sweet and greeted my son and I as we got out of the car. Finally, I was able to socialize with others. It had been months since I was able to do so. I spent most of my time gardening and communicating with people only online.
He was so charming and kind to all his friends. I thought maybe my friends and the clients I brought to the house were bad people because he was always so angry when I had an appointment scheduled or had made plans with a friend. The anger and rage always escalated when someone showed any amount of interest in associating with me. I remember going to have wine with a dear friend about four months before the car show and the three-week-long fight that followed. I could not make that mistake again. I loved his smile, and I was not going to do anything to mess it up that time.
I grabbed my crutches and began to walk along with him as we checked out the line of cars. Beautiful music was playing, and I could not help but let out a small happy dance. It was the most perfect day, and I enjoyed how happy we all are. By the time we got to the end of the line of cars, and my hips start to ache. We turned around to head back to the car so I could get my folding chair and sit down to enjoy rest the seemingly perfect day.
Midway through the car show, Trina’s boyfriend became enraged at her for trying to stand up for herself. It would be the day she realized that she was being abused.
As we were walking back, one of his friends approached me.
“Let me guess, another stupid woman driver broke her leg trying to drive a car?”
The comment hit me right in my chest. Not only was it a sexist comment, but he was questioning my intelligence and my ability to drive a car. I have had comments like that from many men, and it hurt to be degraded every day. I could drive pretty well, and I definitely am not stupid. I may not know everything about cars, but I have so many other accomplishments.
I was stunned, so I looked at my boyfriend and said, “What did he just say?”
His smile faded, and he shoved me forward.
“I just wanted to know if he really said what I thought I heard.”
“Just go.” He said to me.
“Seriously?” I said.
The next two minutes were such a blur. My head swirled from the screaming about how I could not be taken anywhere, how I was too political – a ‘feminazi,’ as he said. According to him, I ruined everything. He became even more aggressive, asking me if I would feel better if he ‘smashed that guy’s face in’ as he angrily threw the chairs in the back of the car.
“We’re leaving.” He said.
As we exited the parking lot, he hit the gas out of rage and screamed at me, saying that he wasn’t sexist; they were not sexist. He added that nobody said I was stupid, but he was just enraged that I even dared to ask such a question or to question a man. The lecture continued; I should just take it and move on. He said that I should not let people bother me so easily. When I told him that I was not going to take that from anyone, he slammed on his breaks, launching my son and me forward in our seatbelts. Again, he threatened to assault that guy for me, something I had not requested to begin with. It was nothing I would ever want to happen, and his rage made my heart race.
The tears kept leaking from the corners of my eyes. They would not stop. Nothing I did would please that man, and I knew at that moment I was being abused, mentally, emotionally, and physically. And I was letting it happen. This was my fault. I made myself a victim.
I let it happen for years. He isolated me from my friends and family to the point where the only connections I had were from my online business, the only source of income I was allowed to have. I remember his marriage proposal. He told me that I did not deserve the ring but asked me to marry him because he spent time with me every night. I was so embarrassed, but I was also desperate for his approval. When I put on the ring, I did it with a smile, holding back tears. I tried to convince myself that I was worthy of his love and searched for an interesting way to announce our engagement despite knowing deep down that love was not there. He would never see me as anything of value or worth.
The thing is, I have always been worthy of love. He just never had any to give and would never match my energy or investment. My roses were bought at the gas station, and I spent five months growing a garden for him. I spent years shifting and changing myself to please him, but not once did he work on his violent behaviors for me. I thought I failed. I wanted his love so badly that I ripped myself apart just for an ounce of his positive attention.
And even though, when I think about the car show, tears stream down my face. They are tears of freedom and learning from experience. The tears are happiness and sadness at the same time. They are also tears of fear and release because I can finally be myself, without repercussions or being ripped apart behind closed doors.
With each day that passes, I make new memories. I know one day, the memories with him will not sting as badly as they do today. From that relationship, I learned something about love and fear. All the love I need is already within me, and I will never allow myself to be ripped apart by an insecure person again.
I am whole, and I do not need another half. I will surround myself with people who already feel complete on their own, so I will never again deplete myself trying to fix them or make them whole. I will never let myself become a victim again.
*Name(s) have been changed – and in some cases omitted – to protect the identity of the survivor and others affected by the abuse.
**If you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship, there is help. You can visit the Break the Silence website at www.breakthesilencedv.org, chat with one of our helpline advocates at 855-287-1777, or send a private message through our Facebook page. For crisis services, you can contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233.
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