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Domestic Violence Awareness Month
Oct. 5th, 2011 02:02 pmMisty at Shakesville made a post to remind everyone that October isn't only Breast Cancer Awareness, it's also a month for Domestic Violence Awareness.
Something hit me I wasn't expecting to:
I suppose getting in someone's face and possibly yelling to cow them into backing down would count too. By the end of it all, there were several holes in the walls of the home I shared with Tofu. Most were from his fist during fights, or sometimes when he was mad at something else. Two were from thrown items. One hole in particular was from him throwing a dining room chair at the wall while fighting. He once destroyed a carpet sweeper after I managed to leave the house to get away from him for a couple of hours--he'd tried to stop me by switching to begging and crying and trying to wrap his arms around my legs, which brings me to the next thing, one I already knew.
My mother can fit in here somewhat, but again, so does Tofu. Whenever I tried to talk about what was wrong, it always got back to how I was guilty of the same things. I could at least leave the house if I wanted because I was the only licensed driver (see above as to why that was laughable even though I bought into it at the time and felt endless amounts of guilt). Another strange thing was that I'd go to him for comfort and it'd always wind up that I was comforting him. Something about me became all about him. It never failed. I couldn't be the only one going through crap, he had it rough too.
I think the worst times were when he'd get really quiet. Sometimes I could see him trembling with rage, but most of the time he'd sit there and just, well, sit there. Eventually there'd be an explosion either with a thrown item or with him screaming, but it was the waiting for the explosion that always sucked.
And yet because Tofu never raped me or hit me, it's hard for me to feel like I have a right to talk about what happened in that house as abuse. Add in the fact that he was both slightly shorter and had a smaller frame, and I worry people would never believe he could physically intimidate me. Maybe he couldn't have if the foundation for male intimidation hadn't been laid for him by previous men. I guess that's why sometimes I look at Sam who is over six feet tall and considerably larger than Tofu or me and feel boggled that with him I feel safe. With him I don't worry about having a disagreement (well, not like I did with Tofu at least). I know even if we're mad that I won't have property destroyed around me and that he won't get in my face unless it's to hug or kiss me (when I'm receptive to it), and if I need comfort I get it.
I don't know why I'm sharing this. Maybe someone else can read it and feel, I don't know, like, "Hey, that's me," or, "I'm not alone." It's not exactly what I'd call comforting, though maybe it is in some way. And maybe there's a couple of people who will read this and go, "Aha, that explains a few things."
As far as the kiddo goes, I don't know how much he remembers. He was four when we finally moved out, and due to all the time I was spending with Dad that last year, things had sort of calmed down at home, but it was no less tense. His speech delay makes it difficult to have conversations about what happened long ago and what he remembers. Someday that'll change, but for now I can't really learn much. So far he doesn't seem to show any ill effects from it, but time will tell if he does remember and if he'll understand why I chose to leave his biological father.
Something hit me I wasn't expecting to:
Physical Abuse It isn't "only" hitting, slapping, choking, shoving. It also is using the body to intimidate. Physical abuse is also causing fear and intimidation via punching holes in walls/doors and throwing objects. It is intentionally scaring a partner by driving unsafely. It is preventing a partner from leaving their home. [Underline Mine]
I suppose getting in someone's face and possibly yelling to cow them into backing down would count too. By the end of it all, there were several holes in the walls of the home I shared with Tofu. Most were from his fist during fights, or sometimes when he was mad at something else. Two were from thrown items. One hole in particular was from him throwing a dining room chair at the wall while fighting. He once destroyed a carpet sweeper after I managed to leave the house to get away from him for a couple of hours--he'd tried to stop me by switching to begging and crying and trying to wrap his arms around my legs, which brings me to the next thing, one I already knew.
Emotional Abuse It is real--not being hit or raped doesn't mean not being abused. Emotional abusers isolate their victims. Emotional abusers will use emotional blackmail, guilt, and shame to get victims to stay and may threaten suicide if they leave.
My mother can fit in here somewhat, but again, so does Tofu. Whenever I tried to talk about what was wrong, it always got back to how I was guilty of the same things. I could at least leave the house if I wanted because I was the only licensed driver (see above as to why that was laughable even though I bought into it at the time and felt endless amounts of guilt). Another strange thing was that I'd go to him for comfort and it'd always wind up that I was comforting him. Something about me became all about him. It never failed. I couldn't be the only one going through crap, he had it rough too.
I think the worst times were when he'd get really quiet. Sometimes I could see him trembling with rage, but most of the time he'd sit there and just, well, sit there. Eventually there'd be an explosion either with a thrown item or with him screaming, but it was the waiting for the explosion that always sucked.
And yet because Tofu never raped me or hit me, it's hard for me to feel like I have a right to talk about what happened in that house as abuse. Add in the fact that he was both slightly shorter and had a smaller frame, and I worry people would never believe he could physically intimidate me. Maybe he couldn't have if the foundation for male intimidation hadn't been laid for him by previous men. I guess that's why sometimes I look at Sam who is over six feet tall and considerably larger than Tofu or me and feel boggled that with him I feel safe. With him I don't worry about having a disagreement (well, not like I did with Tofu at least). I know even if we're mad that I won't have property destroyed around me and that he won't get in my face unless it's to hug or kiss me (when I'm receptive to it), and if I need comfort I get it.
I don't know why I'm sharing this. Maybe someone else can read it and feel, I don't know, like, "Hey, that's me," or, "I'm not alone." It's not exactly what I'd call comforting, though maybe it is in some way. And maybe there's a couple of people who will read this and go, "Aha, that explains a few things."
As far as the kiddo goes, I don't know how much he remembers. He was four when we finally moved out, and due to all the time I was spending with Dad that last year, things had sort of calmed down at home, but it was no less tense. His speech delay makes it difficult to have conversations about what happened long ago and what he remembers. Someday that'll change, but for now I can't really learn much. So far he doesn't seem to show any ill effects from it, but time will tell if he does remember and if he'll understand why I chose to leave his biological father.
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