Domestic violence is an ugly beast. It creates a huge rift between victims and those fortunate enough to have never experienced it. It’s messy and complicated without any rule book on how to handle any of it. As a domestic violence survivor, I am all too familiar with some of the ignorant and callous commentary from outsiders.
What is wrong with her?! Why wouldn’t she just pack her shit and get the fuck out?
Although it may not always be intentional, the insensitive questions are triggering and judgmental. Ironically, those are two of the things that keep many survivors from coming forward in the first place. I can’t speak for all survivors since domestic violence is not cookie cutter. I can tell that whenever anyone asked me why I didn’t just leave; I immediately shut down because it felt like I was being scrutinized. The short answer is fear. Also, free will is a fantasy. Every domestic violence story has its nuances and the fear is like an intricate spider web with different threads interwoven in unique patterns. Every survivor comes with their own spider web stemming from the respective sources of their fear. It can be related to finances, living situations, custody, family dynamic, and in extreme cases – fear of severe injury or death.
When the Diddy documentary came out and jurors were interviewed about the camera footage of him violently kicking Cassie repeatedly while she was on the floor in the fetal position bracing for impact, I could not believe what I was watching but was even more shocked at the responses from jurors. They said something to the effect of; well, she kept going back so it couldn’t have been that bad. How can any human being watch that level of violence and instead of being outraged at the abuser, blame the victim. We are seriously fucked if that’s who we rely on for any semblance of justice.
My abuse in a past relationship did not happen immediately. I was groomed into it, which is the case for many DV survivors. It started with yelling or reprimanding me like a child. I was nitpicked for every single thing I did, from the way I walked on sidewalks to the way I annunciated words. I experienced masterful love bombing and gaslighting before I even knew what either term actually meant. The yelling eventually escalated into full blown verbal abuse. I was called a whore, a slut, a bitch, a loser, a moron, and a bazillion other schoolyard insults regularly. Then came the emotional abuse. Like getting ready to head out for a dinner or an event, dressed, hair done, makeup fresh and dewy only to have my abuser pick a fight right before we walked in and sometimes even whispering something in my ear to make me uncomfortable in my own skin. It’s polarizing and lonely.
The longer we were together, the harder it got to leave and I just kept telling myself it would eventually die down. It’s a common lie we tell ourselves as survivors to live in a little bit of denial hoping things will shift. They never do. It only gets worse. After intense emotional and verbal abuse to establish dominance and control, my abuser added physical violence to his bag of tricks. I was shoved. Grabbed aggressively by my shoulders. Slapped in the face. And strangled. I convinced myself these were all isolated incidents and not domestic violence because that could never happen to me. Since it didn’t happen every day and I wasn’t walking around with black eyes or physical evidence, I could not possibly be a victim of domestic violence. How’s that for a twisted form of imposter syndrome? It took decades for me to label myself as a domestic violence survivor. It was not until I was so far removed from that part of my life and my therapist provided a gentle wakeup call that made it all click. I sobbed thinking about how I swept it under the rug for so long pretending like everything was peachy. It wasn’t because I am a skilled actress, it’s because I was so numb I became a shell of myself and had no safe space. Fake it til you make it was the theme of my life.
And still I stayed.
His friends saw some of the controlling behavior and turned a blind eye. I was scared to tell mine because once I said it out loud, I knew everyone would come for him with pitchforks since they already hated him without even knowing how he terrorized me. Same for my family. One time, I mustered the strength to call him out and tell him I could not believe he slapped me. His response made my blood run cold and I still think about it to this day. Oh please, do you know how many of my friends have hit their girlfriends/partners?
And still I stayed.
Not because I loved him or wanted to be with him. My body had a visceral response that made my blood turn cold any time I would get a text or see his name on my phone. He broke my spirit and put on a façade in public as if he adored and doted on me but dropped that mask as soon as we were alone. My confidence and self-esteem went up in flames and without even processing all of the abuse throughout the relationship, I became a subservient person whose days and nights were dictated by my abuser’s mood. The high control environment made me insane and paranoid and I really gave him much more power than he ever actually had. It was like being in a cult of one and I was terrified that me disengaging or leaving would only make it worse. The strangulation is burned in my memory and I can still see his dead looking eyes with nothing behind them while he pinned my shoulders down with his knees and tightened his hands around my throat. Like a boa constrictor with a receding hairline.
And still I stayed
Years after the abuse I read a statistic that abusers who strangle their victim have a 750% higher chance of killing that victim. It still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Once I tried to get a restraining order when the relationship was over and was denied because I had no proof of the domestic violence. Another time I shared mountains of texts from him with the courts. They ranged from him telling me to go kill myself to humiliating me and even admitting to the physical abuse saying, I deserved it. The female judge looked me in the eyes and said, “I had a lot of baggage I needed to get over and I knew who he was when I chose to be in a relationship with him.” Another reason so many survivors suffer in silence. Unfortunately, we have a widespread systemic problem because the people in power positions with the ability to protect DV victims constantly drop the ball and it’s unfathomable. Abusers are empowered way too often instead of facing repercussions. Add that to the fear in coming forward.
These monsters don’t always look the part. Sometimes they drive fancy cars, live in big houses and hold important jobs. It can make a survivor feel like they don’t have a leg to stand on because their abuser doesn’t look like one. You never know what is going on behind closed doors. Ever. Next time you learn of a friend experiencing any form of abuse or violence, instead of shaming them for not leaving, try something else. Ask them what you can do, how you can help, if they want you to go to the police with them to file a report, if they need a place to stay. Be there. Let them talk about it. Just don’t ask them why they didn’t leave. It’s not that simple.
If you or anyone you know is experiencing domestic violence, please consider contacting the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800. 799.SAFE (7233)
Rachel Sobel is an award-winning writer, author, speaker, do-over wife and mom to two girls. She is also the creator and cohost of the lifestyle podcast, Friends Without Benefits alongside the Miami Heat in-arena host, Uptown Dale. Rachel has appeared on NPR, The Doctors, The Tamron Hall Show and The Kelly Clarkson Show (Rachel is still not fully recovered from Kelly calling her hilarious on national television). Her Instagram account, @whineandcheezits has garnered more than 100K followers and has become a community of women who rely on each other to commiserate about life, marriage, kids and now more than ever, middle age!
