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- A Bath Inspired Me to Leave an Abusive Relationship
by Taylor Adams
Updated: Feb. 12, 2021
Originally Published: Dec. 12, 2019
Trigger warning: domestic abuse
After welcoming a new life into the world, my body needed time to heal, requiring tenderness, care, and intention. My relationship with the calming ritual of a nighttime bath became a coping mechanism; nothing in my life felt clean, sacred, or peaceful. I would curl up near the faucet, trying to absorb only the sound of the water and the sensation of warmth on my skin. However, one fateful evening, the harsh truth of domestic abuse shattered my sanctuary when I was denied access to my place of solace.
My weary and aching postpartum body yearned for a warm bath. I longed to shed the oversized hospital panties and replace the bulky pad that had absorbed the aftermath of my body’s healing process. I craved relief from the pads pressed against my sore breasts, which were raw from breastfeeding. I wanted to change out of the clothes that clung to me, remnants of a long day spent bonding with my newborn.
Finally, I had managed to get my baby to sleep in his crib adorned with jungle-themed bedding. It had been a long night of soothing and loving my little one as we navigated those early moments together.
Quiet.
It was time to retreat to my sanctuary.
But that night marked a turning point. As I walked past the bed to grab fresh clothes, I was careful to open the door just enough to let in a sliver of light. I could already sense the peace that awaited me in the bath, and the thought of washing away the day’s struggles was intoxicating.
Then, it happened. The covers rustled, and the yelling erupted, breaking my moment of calm. I was told — in harsh, contemptuous tones — that I was selfish for wanting to bathe while he was attempting to rest. The volume increased, and my realization grew clearer; I was not allowed to take that bath.
In a panic, I quietly shut the bathroom door with my clean clothes in hand, careful not to let any light slip through to provoke further anger. I faced a choice: I could either fight for my well-being or accept the situation. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at the empty tub, realizing that I was not going to cleanse myself tonight. I felt unworthy of that care.
Staring into the mirror, I couldn’t summon the energy to turn on the water. I was broken, terrified, and knew I had a baby to protect from the fallout. That night, I went to bed feeling dirty — pads soaked in blood, unwashed hair, and clothes that felt like a second skin. I lay down in a bed that had become too familiar with my tears, drifting off to sleep alone.
This feeling of uncleanliness lingered with me. The following morning, after barely an hour of rest, I was breastfeeding my precious baby while on the phone with my sister, seeking validation for my feelings. “Is this healthy?” I asked. Her response, filled with concern, confirmed what I feared: “You need to get out of this.”
In that moment, I began to comprehend the depth of my situation — the silence I had accepted and the toll it was taking on me. I was running out of sanctuary spaces, and my hope for improvement was waning. Each night spent in pain, loneliness, and silence served as a painful reminder that I no longer wanted to live like this.
As I lay down, without standing up for my own needs, I recognized I was in a frighteningly controlled environment, and I was allowing it to happen. I fell asleep knowing this would be one of my last nights in that bed, as I resolved to reclaim my autonomy. The abandoned tub mirrored the emptiness I felt inside, and I vowed never to walk away from myself again.
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In summary, a simple desire for a bath led to self-discovery and the realization that I deserved better than an abusive relationship. The struggle to reclaim my space and dignity became the catalyst for seeking a life free from fear and violence.