Domestic Violence Awareness Month

Domestic Violence Awareness Month

“Don’t ever embarrass me like that again,” he warned. 

He had that *look* in his eyes that I hadn’t become acquainted with yet, so I didn’t know how stupid it was of me to laugh at his seemingly meaningless attempt to reprimand me for something so silly. 

“Okay,” I said with a sarcastic chuckle and a dramatized roll of my eyes. 

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. 

His hand wrapped around my neck faster than my brain could catch up to process what the hell was happening. The back of my head was thrown into the bed as I took my last gulp of air. My hundred nothing pound body didn’t stand a chance against his, as he straddled me down into submission. 

One hand on my neck. The other hand held my own flailing claws overhead. 

“I said,” he hissed with eyes bulging, “don’t ever embarrass me like that again.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he watched me squirm underneath him. The laughter from my lips was long gone. Surely he could see I was starting to panic, right?

It’s pretty hard to respond when you’re being strangled, so I did my best to convey regret simply by the expression in my eyes. 

He got the message, and I felt his grip loosen. 

I gasped for air once again, drinking it in like someone lost in the desert who just found fresh water for the first time. 

I was alive. 

And also, 

What the fuck was that?

I looked at my boyfriend. Yes, he was officially my boyfriend now! He had been for all of an hour. 

My mind raced back to 60 minutes prior when he led me gently by the hand out to the poolside with a shy sense of pride. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, excitedly. 

“What if I trip?” I squealed, playfully. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he said with a reassuring squeeze of my hand. 

I carefully navigated the stairs without my sight, and also without fear. I had him. He wouldn’t let me fall. He wouldn’t let me get hurt. 

“Okay….open your eyes,” he said like a giddy kid on Christmas who was about to reveal some grand surprise. 

The jungle of Costa Rica chirped with life around us, as I opened my eyes to dozens of candles organized in a way that read:

WILL YOU BE MY GF?

With flower petals sprinkled around the letting, to boot. 

It was cheesy, sure. But he also wasn’t the romantic type. I’d known this guy for four years as nothing but friends, and watched him cycle through girlfriends and lovers without giving any girl the time of day he was giving to me through this grand display of affection. 

I was different. I was sure of it. 

“So?” He prompted me, still with a sense of shyness I’d never seen on him before. Could this frat guy, muscly gym bro actually be feeling…..vulnerable?

I loved it. 

“Of course I will,” I told him as if it was a no brainer. Because it kind of was. I mean, we’d only spent every second of every day and night together for the last two months straight, and now I was out of the country with him and his parents on holiday. 

In fact, I knew we already loved each other. But we were both too scared to say it. 

So yeah, of course I’d be his damn girlfriend. 

I sealed it with a kiss, as he effortlessly picked me up and twirled me around with delight. 

I was officially his. 

When he put me down, he pumped his fist in the air and let out an excited noise that could only be equated to some sort of banshee sound that only gym bros make. You know the type. 

He had me. He won. 

We left the pool area hand-in-hand, giggling like school kids who were smitten on the playground, as we went inside to have dinner with his parents. 

“What did you think?” His mom asked me with a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. 

“I loved it,” I beamed. It felt extra special knowing that she not only approved, but she’d even helped him get it all set up. 

Her warmth was palpable as it was, but when she reached across the table to put her hand on mine, I felt the familiar rush of love that only a mother can give. 

I was so happy. 

Dinner was delicious, wine flowed, and the energy stayed high as we rode the little wave of love that he created with those silly candles and flowers by the pool. 

After dinner, I went into the kitchen with his mom to help her clean up. We stood by the sink, talking as we scrubbed and dried. 

I could feel him looking at me, so I turned around. He was in the doorway, leaning into it with a smirk on his face as he watched us. 

“What is it?” I asked.

“You just look so cute in the kitchen. It’s like you belong there,” he said, gesturing to my sudsy hands and a dish towel thrown over my shoulder. 

It was light hearted. A throwaway comment, really. 

But the thing about me is that I get a little *triggered* when men suggest women “belong” in the kitchen. It just felt…..gross. 

I wiped my hands, put them on my hips, and squared off to him. 

“Oh yeah? Well don’t get used to it,” I said defiantly.

“In fact, you should probably take over from here,” I said while tossing the towel to him, and sauntering back to the dining table to refill my wine. I heard his mom laugh with approval at my reaction as left.

It was all in jest. I wasn’t mean about it, per se. But I also wasn’t about to be called a cute little housewife in the kitchen, either. 

Fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t figure out why. 

In those few seconds (that felt like minutes) without air, my mind worked in overtime:

Who cares if I embarrassed him! This is a ridiculous way to react because you’re embarrassed in front of your mom!

Wait, maybe I actually hurt his feelings. I feel bad, actually. I didn’t want to hurt him. Also, I just thought his comment was silly, and I wasn’t to come back with a spicy rebuttal. 

Ugh, I can be so stupid sometimes. Why can’t I ever just be the bigger person and bite my tongue? Who cares if he makes a harmless joke about me belonging in the kitchen! I made such a big deal out of nothing. 

If I just laughed and stayed quiet, then I wouldn’t have upset him. This wouldn’t be happening. 

Why did I have to ruin our perfect night with that big stupid mouth of mine?

He obviously loves me, or he wouldn’t have done the whole poolside thing. He’s never done anything like that for anyone before! He even told me himself that I’m different, we’re different, than anyone else he’s ever been with. 

Why did I have to ruin it when he did something so sweet?

This was all my fault. 

And that was the beginning of a very long year and a half of abuse. A year and half of mental gymnastics where I was shoved, choked, hit, kicked, and beaten but still convinced myself it was my fault. 

After all, he showed me he loved me with the candles and the flowers. 

I was the one who had to open my mouth and ruin it with a snarky comment, right?

The real damage of domestic violence often doesn’t come in the form of physical injuries. It comes from the deconstruction of truth, trust, and reality. It comes from the slow, painful disconnection from self. 

It’s been twelve years since our relationship ended explosively with my head split open in the hospital, and him arrested...and I still find myself picking up the pieces. 

For me, the scariest part of my domestic violence experience wasn’t when he smashed me face into a rock wall. It wasn’t when he kicked me down a flight of stairs. Or even when he held me by my throat over a seven foot wall. 

The scariest part was coming out the other side of it, and realizing that I no longer trusted myself. 

After all, I had gotten myself into that situation. I knew it was wrong, and I continued to allow it. Every cell in my body knew I needed to leave this person, but the weakness in my always won as I pathetically begged him to never go.

That night in Costa Rica taught me to override myself, to rationalize his behavior, and even to blame myself for it. 

I chose to stay, even though I knew it was wrong.

And every time it happened after that, I still chose to stay. I broke myself through my own choices. 

So, I ended up in a hospital bed, covered in blood, explaining what happened to detectives as a 9 month court case ensued. 

I got myself here. 

How the hell would I ever get myself out?

How the hell would I ever trust myself to choose someone again?

Let alone choose the million and one life choices that we have to make as adults?

I was scared of myself above all else. And that was the loneliest place to be. 

If you, or someone you know, is experiencing domestic violence please talk to someone who is safe. Tell someone. 

And if you can’t tell anyone in your life, call the National hotline 1 800 799 7233

Or, look up shelters in your community to seek free counseling, safety, and support. 

You are not alone. But more importantly, this is not your fault. 

Remember that, okay?

 xx,

K

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