“Just Leave!”
One of my recent tweets referring to the heart-breaking murder of Gabby Petito gained some traction and as I scrolled through the comments, a recurring statement quite honestly made me want to scream into the Twittersphere: “She should have just left him!”
Not too long ago I was having dinner with friends when the topic turned to domestic violence. One of the guests conveyed their worry over their friend’s changed appearance who is living in an abusive relationship. “Why would anyone stay in an abusive relationship? There must be something mentally wrong with them!” someone blurted out. The people surrounding me did not know I was once that someone something must be mentally wrong with. I did not know what to say in that moment, nor did I have the answers right there and then. I had been looking for the answers myself for so many years. Why did I stay?
What I did feel was immediate annoyance at that sentence. I felt personally insulted, attacked, maybe even blamed for the continued assaults on my body merely because I did “stick around”. My first response was telling the crowd that I find it incredibly important to regardless of whether someone stayed or not, to never ever put any blame on the victim but instead question the abuser for their actions. Following that, my mind drew a blank, as something within me forced me to remain silent. I desperately wanted to explain, but I couldn’t. I left the dinner party frustrated. Frustrated at myself, for not being a voice for all assault victims.
I laid in bed awake that night. Reliving the years, trying to figure out why I didn’t just leave. I always understood it wasn’t right what he did to me. I was aware I was suffering. I knew I had to get out. Every day I hated myself a little more. Every punch made me weaker. Every insult made me feel smaller and every mind game more unsure of my own behaviour. As much as I wanted to, I was never able to just get up and walk out that door. Eventually I did escape, but I recall having left him a few times before and those times as I sat there in tears, shaking — I felt an immediate rush of fear overcoming me. I told myself I couldn’t do this by myself and I begged him to come back to me, whilst I promised him I would do better now. I wouldn’t be so difficult anymore. He accepted my apology and the cycle of abuse continued.
The few friends that I confided in over the years were shocked when they found out, calling me smart, a strong woman — one that does not take any shit from anybody. I didn’t fit the image of an abuse victim. It blew their mind. But having had time to dig deep and make sense of it all it no longer surprised me that I found myself in abusive relationships. As a child I had to fight for love. I had to prove myself to be worthy of someone’s love. I was a very sensitive child, one that desperately longed to be loved unconditionally. When my parents could not offer me that unequivocal endearment, I looked for validation elsewhere and almost everywhere. I was a high achiever to invite some praise from my older peer. I let my male friends beat me up as a joke, so they would think I was cool. I did extra schoolwork so my teachers would appreciate my intelligence. I was overly nice to my friends’ parents. I wasn’t handed love on a plate — so I sought it by being whatever that someone in front of me wanted me to be or expected of me. I had from an early age internalised a belief that I alone could not be loved, I had to prove my worthiness. So I did.
This mindset followed me into my dating life. A boy liked me — I instantly worshipped them to gather attention and appreciation. I showered them with gifts and whatever they liked, I liked too. I genuinely was blindsided from the get-go. I understood to keep them interested, I had to really prove to them that I was worthy of their time. I think it doesn’t take a scientist to recognise that this mindset is an abuser’s haven. Victims don’t seek out their abusers, but it is the other way around. Subconsciously as well as consciously.
I had mean things about my character said to me as a child. I felt the hands on my body in my youth to teach me a lesson for misbehaving. Most damaging of all, I had been abandoned by a parent which experience made me develop a real fear of being left behind. This subsequently was exploited by the abuser. They would beat me, tell me I am worthless — confirming what I had believed to be true all of my life. Initially I would react, fight back but if he threatened with leaving me behind — I immediately fell back into that hole of a very distressed child. So, I apologised. I’d rather take the beatings than someone else leaving me, because in my mind nothing would confirm your worthlessness as much as being disposed of (something I felt I was as a child, disposed of). Of course, the abuser also alienated me from friends, work and was financially in control. My family was abroad, and we never talked openly about problems, which made me feel isolated from the world and as much as I detested it I depended on him. I just had to do better to not make him angry!!! If I could just stop being so difficult at times, then we would only have those magic moments were we laughed together, I told myself. There were highs in between the many lows and I held onto them tightly. They were proof that we could be happy together.
Something else which was prevalent in those relationships was that I was (still am) a natural caregiver. I am a people’s pleaser. I believe in the good and when I see a sprinkle of good, I tell myself I can help that person become a better version of themselves. I worked so hard to satisfy their needs. I helped them in their career. Counselled them on their emotional insecurities. As they became stronger, I became weaker, until I had completely forgotten about myself. Only when I left, I recognised how mentally and physically exhausted I was, not just from the abuse but from how much I worked to cast a spell of joy over their every endeavour and move, which shadowed my needs in their entirety.
Gabby Petito mentioned in a video that she was living with OCD. I can relate, I have been diagnosed with OCD, as well as depression. I came home many times where himself and his friends had tilted picture frames and misplaced other things around our home as part of a practical joke, because you know, OCD is funny. It’s just hilarious. The picture frames never actually would have bothered me, my OCD does not cause me uneasiness when certain things are moved but the joke caused me anxiety because of my OCD. I don’t need to go further into it, I reckon you can see for yourself how he would use my mental illnesses against me. Something I was very secretive about and certainly not comfortable telling people, he loved telling everybody. It was fun to let people know that I am “damaged”. A word, alongside crazy, he would enjoy using to describe me.
I could talk about how the police dealt with call outs to our apartments (one we were thrown out of by the landlord because of the assaults reported) but I feel like it’s not necessary to this piece, let’s just say I felt even more alone after they left. No one heard (or wanted to hear) my silent screams of terror. The fact that I had to start from scratch once he is gone, was terrifying. I did face homelessness. I attempted suicide but I survived him, and today it is my sole mission to educate people not only on Domestic Abuse but also Mental Health, because the stigmas surrounding the victims and sufferers of either must stop, and that immediately!
On average it takes a woman seven, SEVEN, attempts to leave their abuser. So many different factors play a part of why one stays and none of these should ever be criticised. Victim blaming is rife in today’s society and I would love to help raise awareness in order to stop that.
The Tweet: https://twitter.com/My_Finnimbrun/status/1440089747607674882?s=20 — my heart is breaking for Gabby and her family!
