The Abuse Didn't Break Me, but Realizing I Was a Victim Did

It is close to midnight, I am nineteen years old, drunk, half asleep and my boyfriend of four years has decided that we are going to try anal sex. I say it like this because that's how it happened. At first just an awareness that something was happening, then a smear of discomfort and pain as I waited for it to be over. I never once thought I had the option of stopping it because we were in my family home and an argument would wake my grandmother, who was sleeping next door... and that world of embarrassment, along with the weight of alcohol and the confusion about exactly what was bothering me so much kept me still and silent.

Like so much else in that relationship, I chalked it up to the fact that I didn't really understand relationships. After all, I loved him, I trusted him, and he loved me; he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. I was being too sensitive, too demanding. I just needed to get a grip.

So I pushed it to the back of my mind and ignored it. When we broke up, it wasn't because I felt he was abusing me, it was because he found someone else... and it never occurred to me that I shouldn't actually feel relieved to be cheated on. That I shouldn't be glad that this time he wouldn't come back because he had found someone else. I pushed it all into the dark places at the back of my mind and stayed single, frustrated with myself that men, for no good reason I could think of, frightened me... after all, it wasn't like I'd ever experienced domestic violence and that was my benchmark for an abusive partner.

The Realization Came Slowly - Then All at Once

I was born in the early '90s, and like many people my age I like to think of myself as self aware, progressive, and open to understanding where my limitations lie, but the truth is we are all products of our environment and while no one in my childhood ever said I should put up with abuse (quite the contrary) they also didn't talk about what it was. Like me, like their parents, their understanding of domestic abuse was violence; physical or sexual. People who screamed at, belittled, or controlled their partners were 'right bastards' but not necessarily in a way that warranted the word abuse.

And their concept of violence, like mine, was limited to fists and force. Then the younger generation, who get a lot of shit they don't deserve in my opinion, started talking about their understanding of abuse. I watched videos of people talking about coercion, control, financial abuse, emotional and mental abuse and the seeds that had been planted in my mind started to bear fruit.

But it wasn't until the grapevine bore rotten fruit that it all came into focus. I heard he had been arrested... then I heard what for and suddenly I was nineteen again, lying very still and gritting my teeth to not cause embarrassment. Seventeen and sobbing because I had made the cardinal mistake of shouting back and my belongings were being packed in a bag and thrown out while I was shoved out the door. Twenty and being told that I couldn't talk to that friend because my partner didn't like them and, most importantly, because they were male. I was twenty four, sitting on the floor of the bathroom retching because after months of being told I was fat and undesirable while he told me who he wished I looked like I had decided to throw up my dinner.

Suddenly, in the middle of a spring day at the age of twenty nine I put all the pieces together in a timeline and understood why the person I had been before I met him had been replaced by a combative, nervous, suspicious woman who found amiable men more frightening than aggressive ones.

"I Think He Abused Me-"

The most startling result of that statement wasn't the fact that it made me feel sick, it was that none of my friends were surprised. The few I told the details to were horrified, but not surprised. They saw me changing, after all; they saw the confidence and joy being replaced with anxiety and exhaustion. They saw how scared the thought of another argument made me, and for reasons they didn't understand at the time, they told me, my ex made them uneasy.

I was promised, like so many people, that talking about it would help, but no one tells you that it's like lancing a boil or ripping the scab from an infected wound. It hurts and its disgusting and it feels a whole lot worse before it ever gets better.

Here's how it goes; first you try to reject the idea, unsee the signs. Then you start to berate yourself for not seeing them sooner. Then you ask all the usual questions,

"why didn't she just leave?"

Something I have, shamefully, asked about other people in the past before quickly backtracking. I knew it was the wrong question, even then, but its built into us to seek reasons why we could never end up in that position. The irony of asking the question from the same leaky boat and directing it to the man drilling holes in the wood hit me much later.

Once you're done questioning, if you're like me, you find a numbness creeps in and old habits resurface. Destructive habits that leave scars and break you down. In short, the third step is to replace the peace you've built with the familiarity of abuse. Self abuse in this case.

If you're lucky you have family and friends that just won't give up and they drag you kicking and screaming to the fifth step; you accept what happened and try not to let it eat you alive.

Pulling at the Thread

It's been three years since the realization hit and I found out I was the last to know. Three years and only now does it feel like unspooling a string rather than pulling my guts out. It takes a lot out of you to reframe your self image to include that word, 'victim', without hating what you see in the mirror. or maybe that's just me; I was never raised to allow for weakness. Never had the time for it.

So I had to make time, because no matter what anyone tells you (yes, I'm talking to you, you reading this who may need to hear it) we are allowed to be weak from time to time. We need it, in fact, because people who are strong consistently, who never allow themselves to falter or crumble, invariably become monstrous in one way or another. Denying ourselves rest often robs us of the ability to extend grace, understanding, and empathy to other when they come apart at the seams.

I know that first hand; I saw the way it changed me, and I didn't like what I saw. To love and be loved is to know and be known, even the embarrassing, soft parts of us have to be seen by those closest to us.

If you understand this story so far, not the words but the reality, I am sorry. I need you to understand that you didn't deserve it. It's not your fault, and while you may see nothing but darkness now, you can find your way forward. This feeling does not have to be an oubliette for you, and the 'V' word does not have to change who you believe yourself to be. If you need it, I give you what my friends gave me; permission to be weak without being labelled a failure. Pull the thread and see what comes out; the process may hurt, but the result will be miraculous.

The Road Will Rise to Meet Us

There is an old saying that states "living well is the best revenge", and while it's possibly the healthiest form of revenge it's probably not as satisfying as the more commonly known and legally dubious methods. But if you made it this far you're probably not the type to key cars or ruin lives - me neither. But God don't you wish you were sometimes?

When I stared writing this last week I had hoped I'd find some sage advice for people in my position, but I don't; it's all so personal, so individual. Every road is a solitary one when it comes to this kind of healing; you can have supporters, shouting from the sides, or even a guide somewhere up ahead, but its one foot after the other the whole way to the top. I only hope your road rises to meet you, that the sun stays on your face, and the wind remains at your back.

That's the biggest change; I hope. And you should too, because there's a whole life ahead and a wide world of people that aren't as shitty as the one you escaped from; that I can promise.

And if you're way back there at the beginning, wondering why your partner makes you nervous and miserable I want you to listen now.

• Your partner should never treat you with contempt.
• If you end up apologising for every argument regardless of how it started - ask yourself why.
• If you ever think that they love you, but they don't like you at all, ask whether you're making excuses for them too often.
• Hold your ground and protect your body.

Above all, remember that while relationships go up and down, and no couple ever sails through life without arguments and unpleasantness - a relationship should not feel like a cage.

Misery should never outweigh contentment, and if you find yourself changing the way you act, speak, dress, or who your friends are just to avoid their wrath... well, maybe this isn't the person for you. Happiness is hard to come by; don't let anyone suck it from you.

Finally, thank you. And I appreciate you; we won't ever meet, in all likelihood, but knowing you're out there listening feels like a lifeline. I can get through this, and whatever you're fighting rigt now - you can too.