Domestic Violence: The Elephant In The Room

[Ruby Vee]

October is Domestic Violence Awareness month. It's a topic that has been addressed online and in print, but one that is excruciatingly difficult to bring up in a face-to-face conversation. I know this as a nurse, because it is awkward and uncomfortable to initiate the conversation with my patients, but I also know this as a survivor.

Recently, when I visited my oncologist, she brought up the topic in a perfunctory sort of way. "Do you feel safe at home?" she asked me, in exactly the same sort of manner she had asked me if my penicillin allergy is still current and if I'm taking my meds daily. She didn't make eye contact and it was clear she desperately wanted my answer to be in the affirmative because she wasn't comfortable discussing a negative. I don't blame her. It wouldn't have been comfortable for me either - on either side of that conversation. The thing is, I haven't always felt safe at home. My parents were violent and, like many survivors of childhood violence, I grew up to be a survivor of the more commonly thought-of domestic violence. Thirty years ago, I lived with a man who hurt me.

In the 1980s, no health care practitioner asked me if I was safe at home. And I wouldn't have known what to answer if one had. Domestic violence occurs at all socio-economic levels, in all strata of society. But it's one of those dirty little secrets that no one wants to admit to. I doubt you will ever encounter a man (at least not in our culture) who admits to beating his wife. (Or to being beaten by her, for that matter, because such things, while more rare, do happen.) And no one wants to be the woman who admits to being beaten. It's stigmatizing.

Thirty years ago, just before I married my abuser, I had a colleague whose live-in boyfriend commonly blackened her eyes when dinner wasn't ready on time. We all saw the black eyes. We all discussed her situation in hushed whispers so Donna wouldn't know we were talking about her. Then there was the day she showed up in our ER, left hand hanging by a thin shred of skin. Her partner had attacked her with an axe. It wasn't until then than Donna was willing to admit to being in an unsafe situation. She was scared to death he would kill her - and rightfully so. I remember discussing the situation with my friends and my soon-to-be husband. "No one would get away with that with ME," I proclaimed arrogantly. "If a man lifted his hand to me, I'd leave him." And I meant it. I thought I knew better. And I DID know better - until I didn't.

It started off slowly enough. He was transferred two thousand miles away from my friends and family. I made new friends, slowly, but that isn't the thing you discuss with a new friend. He became increasingly verbally abusive. He started throwing things. He started throwing things in my direction, which advanced to throwing things at me and then to throwing ME. There was a perfect impression of me in the drywall of our hallway, left when he slammed me against a wall. During one memorable fight, he threw me down a flight of stairs - the concrete stairs of our stoop. That could have killed me. It didn't, but it scared me. I went back into the house, packed a bag and flew to California to stay with my best friend for two weeks. I was too stupid or too ignorant to know how dangerous it was to go back into that house and pack a bag. I didn't understand that leaving is the most dangerous time for a woman. And I was too stupid not to go back when he agreed to get counseling.

Even in the counselor's office, it was excruciatingly embarrassing to admit that *I* was "an abused wife." Imagine how difficult it would be to tell your oncologist or your gynecologist or your PCP such a thing. I felt stigmatized, I felt "less than." It was now my dirty little secret, one that I didn't want anyone to know. And when it did come out, reactions were pretty much what I had envisioned. There was a lot of chest beating and proclamations that "I'd never let a man beat ME." Or "Why didn't you just leave him?"

I didn't leave him for myriad reasons, some valid and others not so much. I didn't want to admit defeat, that my marriage had failed. I had the first divorce in my extended family. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the first wife who endured physical violence. Our lives, finances and possessions were entwined. If you think that's a trivial reason, try to imagine yourself, right this moment getting up from your computer and leaving your home. Don't change your clothes, don't pack a bag. Just get up and walk out of your home with what you're wearing (flannel pajamas and comfy slippers? Ragged jeans and a T shirt) and what you can grab on your way out without slowing. Imagine that you might never be allowed to return to your home. What treasures are in that home that you'll never see again? Your grandmother's engagement ring that she gave you as she lay dying? The family Bible? Your photo albums, your purse, your dog? Your child maybe? Think about that for just a moment.

It's easy enough to SAY that things aren't worth your life. Your children, maybe but not Grandma's ring. But if you haven't lived it, you have no idea what it FEELS like. And until he actually tries to kill you, you may not get it that he might literally do so. Even if you know it in your head, it may not penetrate to that visceral level that demands action.

I left after my then-husband tried to strangle me to death. And because I met him through a blind date arranged by friends, I told those friends exactly why I left him. Then I had to endure dozens of rounds of "He's such a kind, gentle man. He would NEVER do such a thing. You must be making it up." "He's such a friendly, HUMBLE man. He'd never do that." We have all heard the rounds of praise heaped upon the head of a domestic abuser, the disbelief that "someone I know would do such a thing." Anyone who has read this board for more than a month knows that to be true. The knee-jerk expression of those beliefs is just one more type of abuse that the survivor of domestic violence has to face. I lost all of OUR friends, most of mine and even some family members because I finally found my backbone and wouldn't tolerate those kinds of comments, that kind of abuse.

It's not fair that a survivor of domestic violence has to lose her family, her friends, her reputation and her most treasured belongings. It's not fair that she has to listen to people who know HER postulate on how she must be making it up because they KNOW he "isn't that kind of man." None of it is fair.

October is Domestic Violence month. If you are in a relationship where you don't feel safe, make a plan. You don't have to leave right now if you're not ready. But have a copy of your insurance card, your social security card, your birth certificate, your passport somewhere safe where you can get to it but he can't. Keep extra keys. Have your own credit card and bank account, keep some cash. Park your car where it cannot be parked in. Keep your gas tank full. Know a safe place to go and at least three different routes to get there. Know who you would call to pick up your kids at school or daycare if you can't get to them. Have a plan. Please have a plan. Domestic violence doesn't just happen to other people. It can happen to you. It can happen in the wee hours of a holiday morning, on a Monday evening when he's had a bad day at work or his football team is losing or just before you're supposed to show up at your sister's wedding. Don't become a statistic.

For other articles in this series about domestic violence please read:

Domestic Violence: What Leaving Feels Like

Domestic Violence: Rebuilding

---

References

Bruised All Over - Nurses play role recognizing and stopping domestic violence.

[Farawyn]

(((ixchel)))

You're right about the human memory being capable of forgetting many things. I have flashes of memories but nothing solid or concrete until around 12/13.

The memories I do have, especially of the sexual abuse, no one wants to remember that.

I have a very close family member who remembered his sexual abuse from age 7 at age 17. It screwed him up for years. He completely blocked it out. It did happen, because we all have recollection of that time.

[Debilpn23]

In roughly 1970, my grandmother was married to a man who had begun to sexually abuse his daughters, my mom and aunt. At that time, my mom was 4, my aunt was 10. My mom was the first to break the silence. This wasn't talked about at that time. It was scandalous and the abused wives and daughters would be the ones to be made into villains. Grandma threatened George (bio grandfather), telling him that there would be a world of hurt if he did that again.

She became an LPN. She learned the abuse continued, but it had been a couple of years. She realized she was helpless to raise 4 children on an LPN wage. She vowed to leave him, just not yet. No one would take in a single mom with 4 kids and small paycheck. She went back to school, became an RN, and then she left. She took him to court. Her sons took his side. She was devastated by that, but she kept going. Her daughters were protected from him, but not without being terribly damaged. And, not without being required to testify against him, on a witness stand, in the judgmental eyes of the courtroom (no pun intended).

At the beginning of 1980, when my mom was 13, I was conceived. Somehow she had internalized the idea that sex was the way to be liked by others. She never learned strength, or to value herself. My father was 15. At the time she got pregnant, Grandma married the man I call Grandpa. He is a dignified man who lives with pride, patriotism, and all of the values that a man who matured in the 50s "should" have - respect, duty, discipline, intelligence, honor. The discipline part of him scared my mom, so she fled to where she knew she wouldn't have to face the reality of her situation - to FL to live with her former abuser.

No one "back home" knew she was pregnant. Not her mom, not my father. Grandma found out about me when, after we'd been in an accident, she was contacted as "next of kin". My father, I found after a desperate feeling of needing to discover my heritage. When I was 19. And he was 35.

After notification to Grandma by the hospital, my mom's step mom, a paranoid schizophrenic woman, had had escalation of her paranoid behaviors. This reached a climax when she took a machete and tried to kill my mom with it, all because she ran out of hot water taking a shower. My mom couldn't safely get out with me, so she left me, at about 18-20 months old, and ran for help. She banged on the doors of neighbors, one by one, and no one would answer. A good while later, she found someone who would. The police came, found me in a room locked from the inside. The next day, George slipped my mom bus passes, said its just not working out. We came home.

After I was 8, my mom, tired of her restrictive rules living with her mom again (she was 22 at the time), found a ticket out - a man she'd just met proposed a whirlwind marriage. She said yes, and she gained independence. We moved to a new school district. Every time I rode the bus home, I'd walk under the window of our apartment. There he would be, waiting. Daily, I was beaten. The worst of it came one day when I took a crayon box to school, and it was in my backpack when I came home. Then that night, my mom snuck into my room, which woke me up. She slept on my floor. I didn't understand why she wouldn't tell me what happened. To this day she hasn't told me. I never saw him or our apartment again.

It was at this time that her addiction began. And instead of being nurturer, she became abuser. I never told her about her husband abusing me. I felt like I had to protect her from that information. We spent months homeless at this time. Who knows how long it was going to stay that way. My school told her she had to have a permanent address within the district. So, because she was forced to, she got us a roof to live under in an apartment complex.

In the next year, she met a man who she would stay with until I was 16. This man had a thing for little girls, too. I couldn't tell my mom. It's not that he threatened me. I just felt like I couldn't tell her. She had become mean and unpredictable. My protector was gone and I knew it. At 9 or 10 years old, I knew I was on my own.

I was 13 (1993) when I truly realized what addiction was. Cleaning her vomit and getting her into bed regularly was certainly a wake up call. I'd also reached the age she was when she got pregnant with me. Her resentment at my lack of parental responsibilities started, and grew worse over the next couple of years. It was when she made her first sobriety attempt, when I was 15, that the abuse escalated to a point that I couldn't handle anymore. She was constantly emotionally abusive, and her boyfriend was not shy about how much he loved me "as a woman". I moved out. Grandma and Grandpa took me in.

When I was 19, living on my own, I visited the health department for birth control. For the first time ever, I was asked by a nurse, "have you ever been abused?" I couldn't stop the word yes from coming out of my mouth. I told them about my mom's boyfriend. It didn't even occur to me that I should mention my mom or her husband. Her husband was a distant, neglected memory.

And, as it turns out, the human memory has an immeasurable capacity for forgetting what we do not want to remember. I can tell you this story because I know it to be true. But if you asked me to tell you literally any other thing before turning 20, I can't. I remember nothing prior to the results of the police investigation that resulted from my confession of abuse.

Btw, in the years between my grandmother's fight against abuse (mid 70s) and my reported abuse, which took place in 1990, there still were no laws in my state prohibiting sexual abuse toward minors.

So, why do the abused stay with their abusers? The abused feel they have to protect them. They feel there is no choice. And, our horrifically archaic legal system took way too long to support the end of DV and child abuse. The institution of marriage was viewed as so sacred, it would be a betrayal for a woman to step out. My grandmother was courageous to take the steps she did, knowing the scandal and undue scrutiny it would cause her. She continued to feel the sting of what she did and the choices she was forced to make for decades. In the late 90s, after having a very close relationship with my aunt, my aunt let go of repressed feelings of betrayal toward my grandmother. Wrote her the most hurtful letter imaginable, blaming her for allowing the abuse to continue. Nothing good could have come from any choice she would have made. Not only that, but abuse patterns just weren't known or understood at that time. Grandma really thought he'd stopped.

Now, as a mom, I'm terrified. I see the innocence of my kids and fear that it may be shattered. My daughter is 8, the age I first was assaulted. My son is 10, the age I was first molested, after having been homeless for about a year. I feel myself wanting to spazz on my kids when the consistently normal life they've had makes them blind to how hard life can really be. It comes from jealousy, I know. They know very little about my childhood. Heck, they barely know my family, as torn apart as it is.

My marriage sucks frequently. My husband grew up being treated like crap and never learned coping skills. So, while I feel this compulsion to overcompensate in communication and trying to understand someone else's POV, he'll hold in whatever is bothering him for days and days, until he goes into tantrum mode for a few days. We have brilliant communication skills. :\

I keep my dysfunction deep under wraps. It's there. I just keep it to myself. And my relationship with my mom is good now, but we never talk about the past.

Thank you for starting this conversation. And please, if you are in a situation that is abusive, start to plan your exit strategy. He/she may have control over your life and resources, but he/she does not have control of your thoughts. Escape begins with strategy, planning. If you struggle to find the inner strength, try, if you can, to find it for your children. I am living proof this affects multiple generations.

Ixchel sending you a big hug

[guestng82]

I was molested by two boys at school nearly every day for six years. I never told anyone about it because I was ashamed and scared they wouldn't believe me. I was also scared that I would be labeled as gay for not enjoying the attention from the boys (at my school, if you were thought to be gay, you would basically get jumped after classes). No one in my family knows about it to this day. Even through that though, I had a safe place to go home to every night where I could escape that. I cannot even begin to imagine what it would be like to be a prisoner in your own home and scared to leave or to even speak up about it. I am so sorry that you all have gone through this. I've always thought of domestic abuse as something I would never experience, and, if I did, I would be strong enough to get out. Now, I'm not so sure that I could ever get the courage to leave something like that just reading through your stories. You ladies and men are extremely courageous, and I wish you all the best!

[run.for.the.roses]

Thank you...

I do NOT want to be the person who asks "do you feel safe at home?" in the same tone as "are you taking your aspirin every day?", or looking at the ground secretly hoping the answer is "no". I want to ask it in a way that shows that I mean it, that makes my pt consider saying "no" if they want or need to. I will try so hard to be that nurse...

[ixchel]

Thank you...

I do NOT want to be the person who asks "do you feel safe at home?" in the same tone as "are you taking your aspirin every day?", or looking at the ground secretly hoping the answer is "no". I want to ask it in a way that shows that I mean it, that makes my pt consider saying "no" if they want or need to. I will try so hard to be that nurse...

Some of my coworkers preface this question with, "now, we have to ask everyone this question, but..." I feel like it minimizes the question, as though it's actually not important. I know it's to prevent offending someone, but I'd actually rather take my chances with offending them. I'm not saying I'd add drama, or judgment to the tone of my voice, but really, more concern. It's important they not feel blown off or minimized.

That's my long winded way of saying I like your style. [emoji173]️

[Ruby Vee, BSN]

October has rolled around again -- it's Domestic Violence month. I thought I'd give the thread a bump.

[lpnnj479]

ohhhhh your story sounds SOOOO familiar down to the blind date. i am going on my second divorce from a second abusive marriage. hoping i wont fall into the same pattern again. both men are extremely charming and i always end up looking like the bad guy. ughhhhhhh. we are survivors!! we didnt become statistics!!

[Kooky Korky, BSN, RN]

In the ER we do these screenings all of the time and I get so annoyed when pt's treat it as a joke with the pretend glances at their SO to imply that uh-oh, I better watch what I say. There are times when I wonder if they really are playing around or not because they stop chuckling when I level them with a stare that says I am not asking for kicks and giggles.

I know this thread is old, but have to remark - the question should not be asked with the SO in the room.

[JBudd, MSN]

I know this thread is old, but have to remark - the question should not be asked with the SO in the room.

No, it shouldn't, but in triage I have to ask and they are rarely left alone. It needs to be not in the triage area, but in the privacy of the room. I often ask that kind of question (are you being hurt, are you pregnant, etc.) while walking someone to the bathroom; it's the only time you can get some folks alone.