Please help me understand/Domestic Violence Question

fergus51 · Nov 26, 2005

Yours is the kind of thinking that makes many abused women feel too ashamed to get help.
Just a few things off the top of my head: "She wasn't a weak woman without resources, she didn't want to leave him." By this statement you, too imply that staying with an abuser is often a weakness on the abused's part. How in God's name can you read these women's stories and feel that they are weak?
"I don't know where she got the idea that was love because that was not how she was raised." Do you imagine that people's "raising" is the only way they get ideas? Do you see that a person can feel loved and also be abused? Is it so much of a stretch to think that the abuser can both be very loving and in turns also be abusive? Can you possibly see why that could make someone who is with an abuser feel both loved and abused?
"I won't even stay in a relationship with a man who yells (that comes from my upbringing), so violence has never been an issue for me." I hope that thinking helps you feel comfortably safe from abuse. As you might have read in this thread, not all abuse starts with yelling. Mine didn't, and neither did that of many women. Or is it just the frequent flyers at the ED that you "don't get"? It's ludicrous to say that refusing to stay with a man who yells at you prevents abuse.
"I've never got how some women with all the resources and supports in the world wind up in abusive relationships for years." There has been example after example posted here, sometimes at great pain to the poster. If you don't "get it" by now, I think you, too, may not want to.
"The feminist in me can't blame the victim, but I also don't like how we make the victim powerless by saying she can't get out either."
OK, so you are a feminist who can't blame the victims. How noble of you. So what, exactly, other than weakness, in your narrow view makes them stay? Apparently your feminism only gives you a dislike for blaming victims, without helping you "get" that being hurt doesn't make a person weak. If that isn't blaming them, I don't know what is.
And "we" aren't saying that all victims are powerless, either. Some feel that they can not get out. And if they feel that way, they can't. And some feel that it is better to be abused than dead. Do you get that?
Again my thanks to those who have posted to attempt to educate. Fergus51's post was an education of a different sort, though I have heard that kind of narrow and insensitive thinking espoused before. I offer no thanks in that direction. It takes no compassion or strength to stand back and point fingers, wrinkle up your nose and judgementally say, "I don't get it". But I guess it's good to be reminded that the thinking is out there

You are reading something into my post that isn't there. I said my aunt was not weak because I don't think it is weakness that causes women to stay in abusive relationships and then you accuse me of calling those women weak? You have completely misinterpreted what I said. No, I don't think upbringing is the only thing that teaches us about relationships, but I do think it plays the biggest role. Yes, it is hard for me to imagine an abuser being loving near the end when the abuse is happening more and more often. Sorry if you were offended at the fact that I said I can't stay in a relationship with someone who has a temper.

The rest I'll leave alone. It's clear I can't post here without it being taken completely wrongly. I should have known better in the first place. Better for me to not post at all. Sorry. I'll take my insensitive, judgemental, uncompassionate self out of this one.

Liddle Noodnik · Nov 26, 2005

Have you actually told your mother that?

I had a suicide attempt in 85 and was in a psych unit. My mom came to see me and I told her exactly what you said, about wanting her to say she loved me, and how she never held me. She took my hand and made me sit on her lap and held me for several minutes and told me she loved me - what a precious thing that was after so many years!

She is STILL the same - but at least I did get to say what I needed and she was able to hear me then.

I don't recommend you do the suicide part though ... that was rough...

jnette, ASN, EMT-I · Nov 26, 2005

Please... let us not fuss and fight amongst ourselves, I beg of you.

This topic is far too important to allow for such.

For those who have difficulty understanding "how' and "why" and "why don't they just leave", I am one who DOES understand that thinking, because I was one who previously thought these same thoughts.. not judgementally, but I genuinely could not comprehend it. Until it happened to me.

Perhaps it's best to just take the word of those who have lived it.. give them the benefit of the doubt on this one.

For if you have NOT lived it, you CANNOT understand. Your body and your mind has not been exposed to it, so it is impossible for you to comprehend what takes place in the psyche of one so abused.

It would be akin to attempting to explain to a human what it feels like to be a fish. Lousy analogy, I know, but just the one that popped up. :rolleyes:

Guess what I'm saying is that you truly would have to have LIVED it to know, to understand.. to have the answers to your questions or doubts made real to you.

Again I say.. go back to the chapters in your nursing books on stress, fear, and PANIC. And see how the body reacts, and how the mind reacts. What the coping mechanisms are, and the survival mechanisms. What happens to rational thought processes. How rational thought is a luxery no longer available to those under such extreme stressors on the body and the mind.. and the emotions.

Your questions are valid ones, I personally take no offense to them.

It is through the questions .. and the answers given by those who have experienced the nightmare that we learn.

I am GLAD for the questions, even for the doubters, for it is through discussions such as these that more and more light is shed on this subject.

And we all know what happens when you shine light on something.. it chases away the darkness and exposes the truth.

Peace. :)

Bipley · Nov 26, 2005

You are reading something into my post that isn't there. ...
...The rest I'll leave alone. It's clear I can't post here without it being taken completely wrongly. I should have known better in the first place. Better for me to not post at all. Sorry. I'll take my insensitive, judgemental, uncompassionate self out of this one.

A big ditto, ditto, and ditto.

I'm not posting here again. There are a small few who are in attack mode and that's not what I come here for.

thorRN · Nov 26, 2005

You don't start a relationship sleeping with a butcher knife next to your bed, "just in case". Everything happens very gradually. Don't allow even the littlest disrespectful comments from the get go, or they will grow and grow and you will ignore, then accept them. Next you will expect them. Don't wait and hope for a change. IF he does change--how wonderful for him. The second chance (if you get it) should not be to make the same mistake again.

SmilingBluEyes · Nov 26, 2005

A big ditto, ditto, and ditto.
I'm not posting here again. There are a small few who are in attack mode and that's not what I come here for.

I think its a shame to disallow discourse and let a FEW negative posters chase you away. What about those of us who shared our stories and did not criticize you once?

what a shame, to take all your marbles and just go home now. But it's up to you......

I still hope this thread helps someone out there. I really do.

gauge14iv, MSN, APRN, NP · Nov 26, 2005

This topic is one that is very emotionally charged for many of us. It has been 11 years since my divorce and I tell you It is only within the last 3 years that I can dialogue about my experience without taking peoples comments to heart. I really do try to answer questions in the context of this person is asking and really does want to understand, rather than this person thinks I am weak and stupid. A lot of getting past that didnt have so much to do with what people said but how I chose to hear it.

It is easy to take my own emotion about DV and apply it to posts here and get riled up. The more difficult, but ultimately the more constructive thing - is to hear what people are saying in such a way that it allows me to discuss it without reading more into it than is there, or allow myself to be offended by comments that really arent (I believe) meant to be offesive.

In the fish analogy - How would I know what questions to ask a fish about being a fish if I had never been in the water? We have to start somewhere, and highly charged or not - this really is something that needs to be talked about. If we are not comfortable in discussing it with each other, how can we get to a place where we can discuss it with patients?

honeyb111 · Nov 26, 2005

Warning....this is long

So many of us have shared our stories on this thread, including myself. I received this email a few minutes ago and thought of everyone who has posted or who may be reading this thread and trying to figure out what to do. They say God works in mysterious ways -

September 1960,I woke up one morning with six hungry babies

and just 75 cents in my pocket.

Their father was gone..

The boys ranged from three months to

seven years; their sister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more

than a presence they feared.

Whenever they heard his tires crunch on

the gravel driveway,

they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to

buy groceries.

Now that he had decided to leave,

there would be no more beatings,

but no food either.

If there was a welfare system in effect

in southern Indiana at that

time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked

brand new and then put on my

best homemade dress.

loaded them into

the rusty old 51 Chevy

and drove off to find a job.

The seven of us went to every factory,

store and restaurant in our

small town.

No luck.

The kids stayed crammed into the car

and tried to be quiet while I

tried to convince whomever would listen

that I was willing to learn

or do anything.

I had to have a job.

Still no luck.

The last place we went

to, just a few miles out of

town, was an old Root Beer Barrel

drive-in that had been converted

to a truck stop. It was called the Big

Wheel.

An old lady named Granny owned the

place and she peeked out of the

window from time to time at all those

kids.

She needed someone on

the graveyard shift, 11 at night until

seven in the morning.

She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager

down the street that baby-sat

for people.

I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a

night.

She could arrive with her pajamas on and

the kids would already be asleep.

This seemed like a good

arrangement to her, so we made a

deal.

That night when the little ones and I

knelt to say our prayers, we

all thanked God for finding Mommy a

job. And so I started, at the

Big Wheel.

When I got home in the mornings I woke

the baby-sitter up and sent

her home with one dollar of my tip

money--fully half of what I

averaged every night.

As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager

wage.

The tires on the old Chevy had

the consistency of penny balloons and

began to leak.

I had to fill them with air on the way

to work and again every

morning before I could go home.

One bleak fall morning, I dragged

myself to the car to go home and

found four tires in the back seat.

New tires!

There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new

tires.

Had angels taken up residence in Indiana?

I wondered.

I made a deal with the local service

station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean

up his office.

I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did

for

him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of

five and it still wasn't

enough.

Christmas was coming and I knew

there would be no money for

toys for the kids.

I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some

old toys. Then hid them in the basement

so there would be something

for Santa to deliver on Christmas

morning.

Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing

patches on top of patches on

the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers

were drinking coffee in the

Big Wheel.

These were the truckers,

Les, Frank, and Jim, and a

state trooper named Joe.

A few musicians were hanging

around after a gig at the

Legion and were dropping nickels in the

pinball machine.

The regulars all just sat around and talked

through the wee hours of

the morning and then left to get home

before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at

seven o'clock on Christmas

morning I hurried to the car. I was

hoping the kids wouldn't wake

up before I managed to get home and get

the presents from the basement and place them under the tree.

(We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the down by the

dump.)

It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to

be some

dark shadows in the car-

or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked

different, but it was hard to tell what.

When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side

windows.

Then my jaw dropped in amazement.

My old battered Chevy was filled full

to the top with boxes of all

shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the

driver's side door, crumbled

inside and kneeled in the front facing

the back seat.

Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of

the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes

2-10!

I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the

jeans.

Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes.

There was candy and nuts and

bananas and bags of groceries. There

was an enormous ham for

baking, and canned vegetables and

potatoes.

There was pudding and Jell-O and

cookies, pie filling and flour.

There was hole bag of laundry supplies

and cleaning items.

And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little

doll..

As I drove back through empty streets

as the sun slowly rose on the

most amazing Christmas Day of my life,

I was sobbing with gratitude.

And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones

that precious morning.

...Yes, there were angels in Indiana

that long-ago December..

And they all hung out at the Big Wheel

truck stop....

THE POWER OF PRAYER.

God still sits on the throne,

the devil is a liar.

You maybe going through a tough

time right now but God is

getting ready to bless you in a way

that only He can.

Keep the

faith.

My instructions were to pick four

people that I wanted God to

bless, and I picked you.

Please pass this to at least four

people you want to be blessed and

a copy back to me. This prayer is

powerful, and prayer is one of

the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but

a lot of rewards.

Let's continue to pray for one another.

Here is the prayer:....

Father, I ask You to bless my friends, relatives and email buddies

reading this right now.

Show them a new revelation of Your love and power.

widow2RN · Nov 26, 2005

Actually, I wasn't raised that way at all. While it was far from Beaver Cleaver's family (I believe I am dating myself LOL) I wouldn't change a moment of the way I was raised. I learned some tough lessons that turned into interesting and useful skills today. I can spot manipulation coming from quite a distance. I can usually read people quickly and well. My childhood wasn't easy but really, whose is? Being a kid is tough business, not at all what some people make childhood out to be (carefree, not a worry in the world, blah blah blah).
Maybe this is why I don't get this whole thing. I can read about it, I can hear the stories of others, but maybe the reason I can't fully wrap my brain around what is going on inside the mind of the abused is because it's not in my personality make up to be an abused person in that way. We all have our weak points and our strong points. I don't know, maybe one of my strong points is such that I couldn't allow such abuse.
I could have quite easily been the child version of an abused spouse. The setting was right, the abuse was there, but I didn't put up with it. I would fight back. I'm the youngest of three girls. My older sisters, to this day, will say that I was my parents biggest nightmare. I called them on their actions and behaviors and I had the ovaries to retaliate. (going to the police, etc.)
I don't know if I am explaining myself well. A good example for me is when I was old enough to learn to read. My Mom gave me a book by Frances Farmer called, "Will There Really Be A Morning?" For anyone not familiar, FF was an actress with mental illness in the 1930s or so. It was likely quite mild mental illness. Her parents were able to control her by the constant threats of putting her back in the "insane asylum." That is before mental health units and people were treated horribly. Ice baths, insulin overdoses, straight jackets, rat infested cement living areas, basically... torture. Medical students would practice procedures on these folks because it was believed mentally ill people didn't experience pain. Mom loved FF enough to put her in a place of torture for "help." It was emtional rape and emotional control.
My Mom had me read this book as soon as I was old enough to read such a book (10? 11?) and then after having read it, we discussed it. After that point if I didn't clean my room she would tell me that only mentally ill children don't clean their rooms and she would have to get me "help" like a good mother should. Then she would remind me of Frances Farmer. For each bad deed on my part the subtle threats of an old fashoined insane asylum were used.
This stuff worked on my older sisters but it never really worked with me. The initial shock value was effective, but I quickly figured out what was going on and it backfired on her. Today my sisters believe that the reason this didn't work was because I was more intelligent than my parents. I'm not so sure about that. I don't really know why similar techniques worked soooo well on my sisters and not me. I would stand up to my parents. I paid for it, but I still continued to do it. I recall one time my Mom was screaming at me telling me what a little B**** I was. It stung! She really meant it! I refused to let it show that she was getting to me. So I smiled sweetly and reminded her that she always did say I was just like her.
Maybe some people aren't hard wired for this type of manipulation. Maybe it's a source of personality traits, individual strengths and weaknesses, I don't know. I really don't think I am (or ever have been) a person that this kind of manipulation would work with. Yet there are other scenarios that I would absolutely cave and submit to "X" consequences where others would fly right on by.
I don't know, I'm just throwing out thoughts.

Hi Bipley,

Thanks for your response and sharing of your childhood. I'm also sorry to see this thread take some negative turns for you since I was last online. I can relate to your personality type. I certainly was not the "complacent" child in my own family, but more the blunt, outspoken type. I'm very sad to hear of how your mother used such manipulative threats in attempt to get you to do as you were told. Actually, I can't imagine what that felt like for you. My parents were good parents. I did get the occasional spanking with a belt on my hindside, but by no means nothing to the point of becoming abuse. My mom was VERY supportive of me, gave me lots of praise, and was in many ways like my best friend. Dad was a good dad, he just wasn't the type of man who would or knew how to give praise or hugs and such. He was a "worrier" and always seem to see the "negative" rather than the "positive"... even about me. But, my dad made a good living and was a good provider for his family.

So, I think of some of the things that you endured growing up. I do believe that the very bent of our personality can indeed be a factor what we develop "strengths" to and in what areas we develop those strengths. In my case, I think the abusive relationship happened with me because I was pretty much "blind-sided" with it in my life. Never before had I been prepared for such as this. This was treatment that was totally "new" to me, but as others have posted here, had the slap or hitting just happened suddenly, I think the individual strength and independant "power" to end it would come easier, but instead, by the time the hitting starts, they have already slowly and subtlely beaten you down emotionally and mentally in many other ways before they ever lay a physical hand on you. I certainly would have considered myself as being the type of personality who would have NEVER found herself in this situation, but, there I was... for 4 years anyway.

I wonder, Bipley, if it could be possible that what you endured and saw as a child did play a part within your own natural personality of developing your own inner strengths to recognize the signs of the abusive type of person and prevent your life at this point from ever becoming victim to it? I know, for me, that the experiences of the 4 years I spent with my abusive spouse changed me for "the better." Rather than blame, I learned acceptance. Rather than becoming bitter, I chose to become better from it. Like you, I now feel that I can spot the arrogant, abusive type a mile down the road. And, there is a wisdom and knowledge learned about both MYSELF and the abusive type man that has made me into a stronger person who would NEVER again allow myself to be treated that way.

It's kind of an interesting two-sided coin. Cause, on one hand, I learned that I COULD indeed find myself being the abused woman at a time when I would have thought I could SWEAR that would NEVER happen to me. On the other side, however, at this point in my life, I also feel that sometimes we go through experiences that truly become life-lessons for us. Inwardly, we truly draw up those life-commitment boundaries of what wrong we would never do again or what wrong never to allow again done to us. Perhaps, this is just one of those areas in your life where you saw and experienced enough when younger to have those boundaries already laid down for your adult life. If so... I applaud you for that! I don't believe that is something to attack or insult you for, because I myself completely understand the total difference it makes for us when these lines are drawn with such determination that it can be written in stone. The very strength I found that so changed me at the end of all this now makes it hard to understand why some never get out of these relationships. I do know that fear, intimidation, threatening other loved ones, and oh boy!, the total CONTROL they take over everything certainly doesn't make it easy for the woman to get out of it. But, I also know that it CAN be done, because I did it.

Again, I applaud you for the strength you already have in this area! I would say don't try so much to understand WHY the women stay and allow this to continue (because that would be like us women trying to understand HOW a man thinks... ha!... when you've never walked in the shoes, you just CAN'T really understand).... but, instead take understanding in what she needs from those of us on the outside of it. She needs someone to listen and not judge her. She needs someone to believe in her and treat her with the worth and respect she has as a human being (above that treatment she gets already of being a "possession" and not a valued equal person). And, if you can ever talk her into going to group meetings at a women's shelter... it can be a real EYE-OPENER to her to realize that she can for once see herself and her own life just from hearing the testimonies of other women from the OUTSIDE for a change, and begin to FEEL those strong emotions of how that other woman does NOT deserve the treatment that she's receiving... and finally, perhaps realize that she IS that other woman. When her heart realizes the self-worth in other women who has gone through identical experiences as her own... sometimes it helps open her own eyes to her own self-worth, and that can be a beginning step toward change and personal freedom.

Sometimes we don't understand when people don't make choices to create a positive change when it seems like such a "given" to us. But, just keep reinforcing to those women that they do have a choice. It can be a "path" in itself for the woman to find the strength within herself to make that choice and face the fears of acting on that choice. And, it can also be just as equal of a challenge for us to realize that even when we TRY to help, we sometimes have to respect their choice when they keep going back.

Peace! :wink2:

allnurses Guide · Nov 27, 2005

This is very good - thanks for posting it. Made my day.

I've been at the receiving end of angels and I've been honored to be an angel in another person's life. Anonymous is always best.

Again, many thanks. And Bipley - stick around.

steph

Warning....this is long
So many of us have shared our stories on this thread, including myself. I received this email a few minutes ago and thought of everyone who has posted or who may be reading this thread and trying to figure out what to do. They say God works in mysterious ways -
September 1960,I woke up one morning with six hungry babies
and just 75 cents in my pocket.
Their father was gone..
The boys ranged from three months to
seven years; their sister was two.
Their Dad had never been much more
than a presence they feared.
Whenever they heard his tires crunch on
the gravel driveway,
they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did manage to leave $15 a week to
buy groceries.
Now that he had decided to leave,
there would be no more beatings,
but no food either.
If there was a welfare system in effect
in southern Indiana at that
time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
I scrubbed the kids until they looked
brand new and then put on my
best homemade dress.
loaded them into
the rusty old 51 Chevy
and drove off to find a job.
The seven of us went to every factory,
store and restaurant in our
small town.
No luck.
The kids stayed crammed into the car
and tried to be quiet while I
tried to convince whomever would listen
that I was willing to learn
or do anything.
I had to have a job.
Still no luck.
The last place we went
to, just a few miles out of
town, was an old Root Beer Barrel
drive-in that had been converted
to a truck stop. It was called the Big
Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the
place and she peeked out of the
window from time to time at all those
kids.
She needed someone on
the graveyard shift, 11 at night until
seven in the morning.
She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager
down the street that baby-sat
for people.
I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a
night.
She could arrive with her pajamas on and
the kids would already be asleep.
This seemed like a good
arrangement to her, so we made a
deal.
That night when the little ones and I
knelt to say our prayers, we
all thanked God for finding Mommy a
job. And so I started, at the
Big Wheel.
When I got home in the mornings I woke
the baby-sitter up and sent
her home with one dollar of my tip
money--fully half of what I
averaged every night.
As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager
wage.
The tires on the old Chevy had
the consistency of penny balloons and
began to leak.
I had to fill them with air on the way
to work and again every
morning before I could go home.
One bleak fall morning, I dragged
myself to the car to go home and
found four tires in the back seat.
New tires!
There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new
tires.
Had angels taken up residence in Indiana?
I wondered.
I made a deal with the local service
station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean
up his office.
I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did
for
him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of
five and it still wasn't
enough.
Christmas was coming and I knew
there would be no money for
toys for the kids.
I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some
old toys. Then hid them in the basement
so there would be something
for Santa to deliver on Christmas
morning.
Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing
patches on top of patches on
the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers
were drinking coffee in the
Big Wheel.
These were the truckers,
Les, Frank, and Jim, and a
state trooper named Joe.
A few musicians were hanging
around after a gig at the
Legion and were dropping nickels in the
pinball machine.
The regulars all just sat around and talked
through the wee hours of
the morning and then left to get home
before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at
seven o'clock on Christmas
morning I hurried to the car. I was
hoping the kids wouldn't wake
up before I managed to get home and get
the presents from the basement and place them under the tree.
(We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the down by the
dump.)
It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to
be some
dark shadows in the car-
or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked
different, but it was hard to tell what.
When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side
windows.
Then my jaw dropped in amazement.
My old battered Chevy was filled full
to the top with boxes of all
shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the
driver's side door, crumbled
inside and kneeled in the front facing
the back seat.
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of
the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes
2-10!
I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the
jeans.
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes.
There was candy and nuts and
bananas and bags of groceries. There
was an enormous ham for
baking, and canned vegetables and
potatoes.
There was pudding and Jell-O and
cookies, pie filling and flour.
There was hole bag of laundry supplies
and cleaning items.
And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little
doll..
As I drove back through empty streets
as the sun slowly rose on the
most amazing Christmas Day of my life,
I was sobbing with gratitude.
And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones
that precious morning.
...Yes, there were angels in Indiana
that long-ago December..
And they all hung out at the Big Wheel
truck stop....
THE POWER OF PRAYER.
God still sits on the throne,
the devil is a liar.
You maybe going through a tough
time right now but God is
getting ready to bless you in a way
that only He can.
Keep the
faith.
My instructions were to pick four
people that I wanted God to
bless, and I picked you.
Please pass this to at least four
people you want to be blessed and
a copy back to me. This prayer is
powerful, and prayer is one of
the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but
a lot of rewards.
Let's continue to pray for one another.
Here is the prayer:....
Father, I ask You to bless my friends, relatives and email buddies
reading this right now.
Show them a new revelation of Your love and power.

jnette, ASN, EMT-I · Nov 27, 2005

Hi Bipley,
In my case, I think the abusive relationship happened with me because I was pretty much "blind-sided" with it in my life. Never before had I been prepared for such as this. This was treatment that was totally "new" to me..
...I know, for me, that the experiences of the 4 years I spent with my abusive spouse changed me for "the better." Rather than blame, I learned acceptance. Rather than becoming bitter, I chose to become better from it. Like you, I now feel that I can spot the arrogant, abusive type a mile down the road. And, there is a wisdom and knowledge learned about both MYSELF and the abusive type man that has made me into a stronger person who would NEVER again allow myself to be treated that way.
... at this point in my life, I also feel that sometimes we go through experiences that truly become life-lessons for us. Inwardly, we truly draw up those life-commitment boundaries of what wrong we would never do again or what wrong never to allow again done to us.
The very strength I found that so changed me at the end of all this now makes it hard to understand why some never get out of these relationships. I do know that fear, intimidation, threatening other loved ones, and oh boy!, the total CONTROL they take over everything certainly doesn't make it easy for the woman to get out of it. But, I also know that it CAN be done, because I did it.
Peace! :wink2:

Thank you ! Well written.. and I so agree! Our situations were very similar.

I have learned MUCH from the nightmare, and know as you say "how to spot them, and the red flags to look for. If you've never been exposed to it before, how are you to recognize them ? Well, I sure know NOW ! :stone

widow2RN · Nov 27, 2005

Thank you ! Well written.. and I so agree! Our situations were very similar.
I have learned MUCH from the nightmare, and know as you say "how to spot them, and the red flags to look for. If you've never been exposed to it before, how are you to recognize them ? Well, I sure know NOW ! :stone

Thanks, Jnette! Great to hear from someone who can relate. I'm just wondering... when you weren't raised to be prepared for such abuse... can you recall how your family (parents, siblings, etc) reacted when you found yourself in the middle of the nightmare???

:icon_hug: Hugs to a fellow-victor!