“I know he’s going to hit me. Not today, nor tomorrow, and likely not anytime soon. But someday, he will be angry enough, and in that moment, he will lash out.
The indicators are undeniable. He mentioned that every man in his family has resorted to violence, yet he assured me he would never be like them. Just the other night, he displayed a terrifying level of irrational rage. He kicked my car hard enough to dent it, while I remained gentle, patient, and supportive, aiming to help. Yet, he still blamed me for his frustrations. It felt as if he despised me.
So why do I stay? What am I doing? Do the good moments and the joy I feel during the happy times truly outweigh all of this?”
I remained in this relationship for over a year after that. He eventually did hit me. In the span of the next 14 months, we had at least 20 altercations resulting in him either damaging my belongings or physically abusing me.
At the time of that journal entry, we had only been together for six months, but I had left my husband to be with him. I had invested so much — my marriage, family ties, friendships that were strained by my choices. I had risked everything on him.
The “him” I was betting on had vanished. The charming, caring man I fell for was merely a façade, a mask he wore to make me feel safe and loved. But in that moment, I couldn’t see it clearly. All I “knew” was that 1) he was a good man who adored me and brought me happiness, and 2) he would eventually hit me. Yet, my mind struggled to reconcile these two truths; they felt too contradictory.
I longed for a fairy tale, for a love story where we would triumph and live blissfully ever after. So, I remained in denial about the second truth.
The following four months were mostly calm. We had occasional disagreements, but that was normal for couples, right? Wrong. Not like this.
During those months, one fight resulted in him punching a hole in the wall. On four occasions, he kicked me hard enough to send me tumbling off the bed. There were moments where he pushed and shoved me; however, I mistakenly thought that as long as he didn’t actually “hit” me, it was acceptable.
I believed “domestic abuse” meant physical assaults like punches or severe beatings — not the torment I was enduring. I was completely oblivious to my situation.
Once, in a fit of anger, he struck my backside with a metal water bottle, leaving a bruise. When I confronted him, he dismissed it, saying, “Oh, babe, I wasn’t upset with you. You’re overreacting. I was just joking.”
Something felt off, but I couldn’t pinpoint it — I was being gaslighted. His perspective on the event starkly contrasted with mine, causing me to question my own memory. Maybe I was indeed overreacting? He always apologized, and we always moved on.
As we approached our move-in date, the fighting ceased. He became extra loving and supportive, which made me optimistic about our future together.
Initially, those first two months of living together were blissful. No fights, no rage, no destruction, and no bruises. He kept his promise to improve.
Then, at the end of April, he proposed. I accepted. It was everything I had ever wanted—someone who loved me fiercely and passionately. He was obsessed with me, showering me with compliments, gifts, and thoughtful gestures. Our time together was filled with joy, laughter, and adventures.
However, it didn’t take long for things to unravel. Just two weeks after our engagement, he smashed my computer in a fit of rage. “It was an accident. I’m really sorry,” he claimed. I was trying to leave during an argument when he seized my purse and slammed it to the floor, not realizing my computer was inside.
That moment signaled to me that marrying him was no longer an option, yet I still wasn’t ready to leave. I rationalized, “At least he didn’t physically hit me or do anything worse.”
We were engaged, so I stayed. I thought, “He had stopped this behavior before; he can do it again,” and “The last few months were so good; this must be a one-time occurrence.” I was in denial.
In the following months, he oscillated between being my loving partner and a violent abuser. The fights intensified and became more frequent. He grew angrier and more unpredictable, drinking excessively until he was nearly always inebriated. I started keeping a record of his destructive behavior: a broken coaster, a shattered bottle of vitamins, damaged furniture, and the list continued.
Yet, during the good times, he still portrayed that charming, caring facade. We would reconnect, and I would forget the anxiety and pain that had just occurred. Until, of course, the cycle repeated.
The physical abuse escalated. What began as pushing and shoving progressed to slaps to the face. I rationalized, “It wasn’t hard; if he truly wanted to hurt me, it would have been worse.”
Then came harder pushes that knocked me to the ground, and he threw a plastic water bottle at me, hitting me in the face. I was shocked, yet I still didn’t leave. I pleaded with him to change and to stop drinking, yearning for the man I initially fell in love with, but he was gone.
Throughout this ordeal, I never confided in anyone. I hinted at my struggles to a few close friends, hoping they would notice and support me in leaving, but no one did. Everyone believed we were happy. I felt ashamed and terrified, so I remained.
One night in December, we had a horrific fight after midnight. He was angry because I wouldn’t stay up and drink with him. As I sat on the edge of the bed begging for peace, he violently dragged me out of bed, causing severe pain to my tailbone. After a couple of hours filled with chaos, I retaliated and slapped him — a desperate attempt to defend myself.
Eventually, he left, and I began packing my belongings. The next day, I had bruises but he was filled with remorse. He promised to stop drinking and even agreed to seek couples counseling.
I felt hopeful, so I stayed. We spent the holidays with my family, and even though he wasn’t drinking, something felt amiss. He was irritable and unyielding in accepting responsibility.
After some soul-searching and digging into his email, I realized he wouldn’t change. If I stayed, the violence would escalate, and I feared for my life. I devised a plan and on January 28, 2017, I left him.
After I broke free, my life began to open up in ways I never expected. I came to understand that no one could have persuaded me to leave; I needed to make that choice in my own time. I wish I had paid attention to my instincts back in October 2015, as it would have spared me a year of torment and exhaustion. But this is my journey, and I can only look forward and appreciate the lessons learned.
Now, as a survivor of domestic violence, my mission is to educate and empower others on their healing paths. Trust your instincts and be gentle with yourself, recognizing that emotions play a significant role in such situations.
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Summary
This narrative illustrates the complexities of staying in an abusive relationship, highlighting the internal struggles of denial, love, and hope for change. Ultimately, the journey to freedom and self-discovery emphasizes the importance of listening to one’s instincts and trusting in the possibility of a brighter future.