Because men are the abusers
I was married from 2002 to 2009 to a woman who had me convinced that I was abusive, for all seven years. Even with a thick file of hospital visits and scars from cuts, I "should have known better". She was just a "passionate woman" and I should man up. With a lump of scar tissue on the back of my skull from a cast iron skillet....still the hospital social worker pulled her aside to ask if she was "okay". Blood and stitches to the contrary, I was 6'4" and 250lbs, she was 5'4" and a hundred pounds lighter. I was the bigger one, I was the man, so I was the abuser. End of story.
The police only ever spoke to tell me to spend the night elsewhere because she asked them to. I was having my scalp stitched the first time that happened. I learned to just keep quiet and go along with it after the second time. My one and only call to them for help (after I left the ER with broken fingers) never received an officer response.
I slept at my office more than once in 7 years, with stains still on my clothes, because she told the police not to let me come home. I learned to set my phone alarm for 5 am and to keep clothes and a spare tooth brush at my desk so no one would know.
And through it all, the same message. It was my fault. I had forced her to do it. I was the man, i was bigger, so I must have made her "lose her temper". If she slept with her clients (which I found out after our divorce), then I was unavailable/unsatisfying/unfulfilling and she had to "act out" to feel secure. One domestic violence hotline counselor asked if I was cheating on my wife when I told them I was calling from the ER after she hit me.
The only time I ever laid hands on her was to push her away after she punched me in the face while our daughter and my sister watched. Even then I immediately apologized. My sister had to be the one to take our daughter and leave the house. Because I was just so convinced that it was my fault that I let her hit me a few more times. I thought I deserved it for pushing her away instead of just taking it and agreeing with her that I earned it for making a joke in front of my sister.
She spread her version of her "heroic" struggles, and destroyed what friendships I had left. I found out later that every time I went to the ER, alone, she was on the phone with our friends and family telling them that she had to "defend" herself again. My sister and my father were the only family who didn't listen - I've lost contact, even after 9 years, with the rest of my family and former friends. She got her story out first while I was too ashamed to even admit things to myself, and I lost everyone.
Nine years and a new life later, I have flashbacks. I remember the shame and the self hatred from the few times I asked for help and was told to "man up". Publicly funded programs and ER social workers both told me that I must have done something more than once.
Even during our divorce, I thought I just hadn't been man enough to handle a "passionate" woman. I lost my daughter for two years during a custody battle, before a lawyer believed in me (and my hospital file) enough to fight for my daughter. Because of him, I have my daughter back, and a psych. eval that says I was the victim. He'll be my hero forever, for believing in me when I didn't.
I'm divorced and have a new wife and child, but the memories still bleed over in strange little ways. I still have no friends, because I think people can tell just by looking at me. I no longer see my family positively, other than my sister. Things are awkward with my own mother, because some part of her still believes my ex wife. Others just stop answering calls.
Some nights I can't shake the feeling I should sleep at my office, and I still keep the spare clothes. I forget that my life has changed. I have a therapist and a diagnosis of PTSD, and I still spend some nights wondering if it had been my fault when she hit me.
Because no matter what people say, society hasn't changed yet. I hope, for other men, that we're getting there. But right now, if you're the man, then you're the abuser.
And we men even believe it ourselves.
The police only ever spoke to tell me to spend the night elsewhere because she asked them to. I was having my scalp stitched the first time that happened. I learned to just keep quiet and go along with it after the second time. My one and only call to them for help (after I left the ER with broken fingers) never received an officer response.
I slept at my office more than once in 7 years, with stains still on my clothes, because she told the police not to let me come home. I learned to set my phone alarm for 5 am and to keep clothes and a spare tooth brush at my desk so no one would know.
And through it all, the same message. It was my fault. I had forced her to do it. I was the man, i was bigger, so I must have made her "lose her temper". If she slept with her clients (which I found out after our divorce), then I was unavailable/unsatisfying/unfulfilling and she had to "act out" to feel secure. One domestic violence hotline counselor asked if I was cheating on my wife when I told them I was calling from the ER after she hit me.
The only time I ever laid hands on her was to push her away after she punched me in the face while our daughter and my sister watched. Even then I immediately apologized. My sister had to be the one to take our daughter and leave the house. Because I was just so convinced that it was my fault that I let her hit me a few more times. I thought I deserved it for pushing her away instead of just taking it and agreeing with her that I earned it for making a joke in front of my sister.
She spread her version of her "heroic" struggles, and destroyed what friendships I had left. I found out later that every time I went to the ER, alone, she was on the phone with our friends and family telling them that she had to "defend" herself again. My sister and my father were the only family who didn't listen - I've lost contact, even after 9 years, with the rest of my family and former friends. She got her story out first while I was too ashamed to even admit things to myself, and I lost everyone.
Nine years and a new life later, I have flashbacks. I remember the shame and the self hatred from the few times I asked for help and was told to "man up". Publicly funded programs and ER social workers both told me that I must have done something more than once.
Even during our divorce, I thought I just hadn't been man enough to handle a "passionate" woman. I lost my daughter for two years during a custody battle, before a lawyer believed in me (and my hospital file) enough to fight for my daughter. Because of him, I have my daughter back, and a psych. eval that says I was the victim. He'll be my hero forever, for believing in me when I didn't.
I'm divorced and have a new wife and child, but the memories still bleed over in strange little ways. I still have no friends, because I think people can tell just by looking at me. I no longer see my family positively, other than my sister. Things are awkward with my own mother, because some part of her still believes my ex wife. Others just stop answering calls.
Some nights I can't shake the feeling I should sleep at my office, and I still keep the spare clothes. I forget that my life has changed. I have a therapist and a diagnosis of PTSD, and I still spend some nights wondering if it had been my fault when she hit me.
Because no matter what people say, society hasn't changed yet. I hope, for other men, that we're getting there. But right now, if you're the man, then you're the abuser.
And we men even believe it ourselves.
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