I clearly remember the day he raised his hand to hit me. We were in the car on our way to a wedding. It all came as a surprise, to be honest, we both seized in the moment to analyze what had just happened. I gently caressed my hand across my swollen lips to see if they were bleeding, only to find that they were.
Oh, Shoot! His pitch was higher than the norm. “I never meant to hurt you like this. I was just fooling around, I swear.”
We slowly got back to the conversation. The familiarity returned. On occasion, he would look over me and say his apologies. The bleeding from my lip had seized, and I started to forget about the incident with each passing moment.
On the next occasion, we were at the house in the middle of a heated argument. One moment we were talking, and within a few seconds I was thrashed to the floor.
Needless to say, we had been arguing a lot at that time. From shattered marble decor pieces to broken glasses, it had definitely taken a toll on both of us.
In the middle of these events, I had slowly but surely isolated myself from family and acquaintances. I was devastated to see where my relationship was heading. I felt insulted and wanted a way out.
I would often hear people saying, “Oh I could never tolerate such behavior” or “I never understand how relationships like these even exist”. I was at a lack of words in describing how I actually felt and how all of this affected me.
It wasn’t always like this. This man was funny, sweet and very understanding. He always apologized after these fights that he wouldn’t let it happen again; He would never hit me again!
Things would be great for a while. He would silently show his support and understanding for me. Until I made it clear, that if we would continue with his ways, I will leave the relationship.
That was the ultimate breaking point. That was when he unleashed his furious wrath against me. It came to the point that I wondered if I was even going to survive or not.
I showed up at my parent’s house after a few days, all bruised and scarred. Each time I narrated my sorrows to my family, my pain would escalate even more. I felt humiliated and grief-stricken, to see my 22-year-old independent self now succumbed to the physical abuse my partner inflicted on me.
According to reliable statistics, one in four women are abused by their romantic partners and on estimate, a woman tries seven times to leave the relationship before she eventually succeeds.
Reasons for staying in abusive relationships could be a financial dependency, lack of moral support, and the fear of the uncertain. Sadly, some were even murdered by their partners after the relationship ended.
Within a week of returning to my parent’s house, I found myself facing my abusive partner once again across me in a restaurant. The bombardment of countless texts and calls and bouquets of flowers showing up at my place every so often were enough to compel me towards him.
He made clear his position about how afraid he was to lose me, and that it would never happen again. Or would it? It seemed fine to give my relationship one more chance. This man was the love of my life, surely moving past him after all these years wasn’t exactly easy. One chance wouldn’t hurt, right?
Things were perfect until a few weeks had passed. It was difficult this time around. To face the police officer about who I had called, to submit my leave to my boss from work, to tell my friends that no things hadn’t been better for both of us.
The cycle of abuse is much clearer once you distance yourself from it. It isn’t black or white, it lies on both the spectrums with blurred outlines. What’s more shocking is how prevalent it is in society. Your neighbor, your sister, your co-worker, anyone could be going through it.
With the constant support of my loved ones, I went twice into the relationship and got out. I hope you can do the same.