Telling About Abuse

Diane: I Did Not Know

First of all, thank you Pat for creating a place where we can tell our stories. I’ve wanted to tell mine for a long, long time. A few people know part of my story, no one has known it all.

I’m going to call my husband Harold, and Hal. It’s not his name, and mine isn’t Diane either, but those are the names I’ll be using for us.

I met my husband-to-be in college. We’d both gone to different schools for our first year and had transferred to the same mid sized religious college in Oregon for our second.

During the winter semester we found ourselves studying in the small library at the same time, began to have discussions about one thing and another during breaks, and formed a friendship that grew closer over the next few months.

One of the things I liked about him was that he related to me as an intellectual equal and answered my questions straightforwardly. He didn’t play games with me, or talk down, or put me down. Eventually, we began to date, casually, things like accompaning each other shopping and running together.

Looking back later, when I was so puzzled by his behavior after we got married, I can only see a few hints of what was to come. I could not have recognized them at the time for what they were, indicators of the man hidden beneath all the good things I saw in him.

He began to change, almost imperceptably, a few weeks before our wedding. He was slightly morose, looking on the dark side of things, seeming insecure and almost dependent, and yet domineering too, in little things. But, I thought this was just a guy who was a bit overwhelmed with getting married, making our small apartment ready to live in, having car trouble, and working long hours, etc. But, it wasn’t that. It was a shift into the new person I worke up to after the honeymoon.

It was as though he’d changed into someone who looked like him--no, often his whole look changed too. He looked like someone related to the person I married, but not him.

I didn’t know what was wrong. I only knew that I felt increasing presssure and stress, and like escaping, like running and not stopping. I wanted to throw a book through the big window in the apartment, and then another and another, and then the bookcase and furniture. I’d never felt that way before. I thought, What is happening to me!? I felt like I was being robbed of my own life, of my self, my identity, that I was being taken over, and that I had no real choices of my own anymore, and the terrible feeling of being trapped. But I didn’t know how it was happening.

It took me years to find in a book a description of what had happened. It had a section about what the author called a “punisher,” what we now know as someone who engages in abuse.

At that point, it was mostly emotional and psychological abuse. There were physical elements, but they were all “accidental,” and minor. He’d leave doors half open in the dark, and I’d run into them. Drawers would be left open where I’d bump into them. He’d thrash about in his sleep and hit me with an elbow, or a hand or foot. All of these, he was sorry for, he said, but they kept on happening.

Diane: After The Honeymoon

I was puzzled by the changes in Hal after we married. But, I’d heard repeatedly that it takes time to get used to being married, that adjustment time is reasonable. I thought it could all be worked out, that we could talk about any problems, come to reasonable conclusions and find solutions. He’d been so reasonable, so logical, so respectful of my own thinking before I married him. I had no reason to doubt that it would continue.

But, it was different now, he was suspicious of my motives when I wanted to talk about something personal between us. There was a subtle shift, to the effect that he felt he had to protect himself from me, that I was an adversary. It seemed that nothing was ever actually settled in our discussions. He’d agree to something, after a long debate about it, but he’d not change what he was doing, or if he did, he’d simply find a new way to do essentially the same thing.

He’d make me late, but insist it was me who was always tardy, and that it was inconsiderate and embarrassing to him for us to show up late. Then he’d punish me in some way for making him late. The punishment could be anything from forgetting something important to me, accidentally trashing something of mine, a thousand variations. I didn’t connect, at first, what would happen afterward as punishment, but realized eventually, that that’s what was happening.

The way he’d make me late would be to remind me repeatedly about what time we needed to leave, then, at the last minute, or near it, suddenly ask me to do something for him or take care of something in the house like close the windows. He’d distract me, and then quickly add something for me to do. Because I didn’t know what he was up to, and because I’m a courteous and helpful person, I’d do it. When I figured out what was happening, I confronted him. At first he denied it, was shocked that I’d even suggest such a thing. But, I persisted and proved it. He then admitted, yes he did that. He was so sorry, he had no excuse, didn’t know why he did it, must have been his bad upbringing. I think that was the first one of the cyclical abuse, deny, repent, promise, and then begin all over again sequences I later learned is one of the central identifying features of abuse.

He was emotionally unavailable most of the time. He’d also switch from one personality to another within moments. He could go from acting childlike in a cuteish manner if he wanted something from me or mildly didn’t like something, to being a cold, frozen faced and totally unapproachable robot if he didn’t like my response, or seemingly for no reason at all. He might leave the house as one personality and come back as a different one.

One of the things I found particularly unsettling and unsatisfying was that he’d routinely turn off and on with me. That is, he’d turn from me to his book or his work like turning off a light. I was just not there to him. He’d actually ration time for talking with me, stopping what he was doing and saying, “I can talk with you for thirty minutes now.” At the end of the time, he’d turn away, go back to what he was doing as though I did not exist. No working together and conversing as we worked, little casual interaction during the evenings or on weekends. Every part of his life, I was finding, was planned, and executed to plan.

Because I’m a spontaneous person who doesn’t plan her day that way, I’d not have a ready answer when he’d ask me “What are you going to do today?” I’d give some vague answer, or say, “I don’t know,” not being accustomed to being asked that sort of question.

He would then take that as an indication that my day was his to plan, and he’d make “suggestions.” Those suggestions were my marching orders for the day. If I didn’t find that satisfying, he’d then become hurt, or impatient, or accuse me of not wanting to be cooperative. Then, he’d either pout, with some form of disagreeable experience awaiting me later, or he’d try to argue me into doing what he wanted me to.

Before going to a social event he’d suggest to me what to say and not say, how to behave, and recap it and correct me afterward. I was not someone who needed such advice. If anything, I was more socially adept than he was and less likely to commit a faux pas. But, this had the effect of making me feel like I was somehow not quite up to the mark, inadequate, gauche, flawed, an outsider in an area I’d not felt like an outsider before, among my friends and acquaintances and in new social situations.

Outings, recreations, entertainment's, visits from guests, tended to go wrong somehow. Something would happen to spoil it, or diminish it, more often than not. He’d be offended by something I’d supposedly done or not done, or he’d try to embarrass me, or do something “accidentally” that inconvenienced me, or forget to do something essential that he’d said he’d do, or do it in a way that ruined it, or in some way took the edge off the pleasure. Or he’d just not “be there,” he’d be emotionally flat and distant.

You’d think that all this would have been obvious to me, the way I’m laying it out now. But, it wasn’t. It was in hindsight that I put all the pieces together. There were some good times too. I thought he was just inept, and had a few rough edges. I’d gone to school with him, I knew he was a capable and intelligent person. I’d seen him with other people’s children, I was sure he’d be a great father. I was married for life. We’d work it all out, I’d find some way to do it. I’d never even heard the term “abuse” and the identification of a habitual “punisher” that I read about later was years of searching beyond me at this point. I was full of hope and determination. I’d learn more, and then we’d fix those little things that weren’t working.

Diane: Cruelty/Leave/Can't Leave

My first awareness that I'd married a cruel person was after our first child was only a few months old. Hal was minding the baby, holding him in his lap while he read a professional journal. From the next room, I heard the previously peaceful baby suddenly cry and went  to find out what was wrong. Hal said he'd put an ice cube from his ice water on the baby's back, and evidently he didn't like it. Shocked, I said, "Why on earth would you do that?" He replied, matter of factly, "I was curious about what he'd do."

It was a chiling experience for me, not only for the baby. What kind of man had I married, who would put ice on a tiny baby's skin just to see what he'd do? I couldn't imagine a loving parent doing that, not even a parent who wasn't particularly loving.

Hal didn't want to be left with the baby  for any length of time. Before I'd go out on an errand or doctor's appointment he'd quiz me on how long I'd be gone, what I'd be doing, and insist I be back as soon as possible. If I took a little longer, he'd be upset about it when I returned. It was as if he didn't actually want to be with the child for more than a few minutes. He also seemed clumsy with the baby, not able to read cues to what was comfortable and not comfortable. Increasingly, I realized he was that way with me too. He seemed unable to truly empathize with another person, so much wrapped in his own self as to be unable to perceive what others needed or felt.

A second big rememberance of his cruelty was the period of time before the birth of our second child. He came home from the office one evening during the eighth month of my pregnancy, preoccupied, as I later learned, about having to let an employee go. I'd saved some little piece of childhood behavior our older son had done that day, eager to tell him about it. He cut me off as I began to share it, and demanded to know why I'd not taken out the trash.

After answering his question, I said, "I was going to tell you about something special, but you've ruined it now." He demanded that I tell him, and when I wouldn't, he suddenly grabbed my arm with one hand, and punched me hard with the other one, the blow landing on my shoulder. He'd never hit me before, and I was stunned and began to cry.

His excuse later was that he was upset about the situation at work. But, it was a watershed moment for me. I now knew that he was definitely not the man I'd thought I married, and not someone I wanted to be with. However, like all women about to give birth, I knew this would be bad timing to leave, so I didn't, but my plans to do so began right there.

He'd also make it difficult for me to have naps during the latter part of the pregnancy, doing something that made noise, waking me to ask a question, finding something that I needed to do. He had a talent for making anything already difficult, more difficult for me.

Hal has only hit me purposefully one time since then (probably because I told him after the first incident that he'd have to sleep sometime and if he ever hit me again I'd wait until he was asleep and dent his head with my cast iron skillet), kicking me hard when I brushed against his bruised arm . But, he  has "accidentally" caused me many discomforts.

His cruelty also included ruining things: trips, visits, eating out, recreational activities, holidays, company meals. He'd do something to spoil the atmosphere, like jerking a child out of a chair and spanking them for a minor offense, or any number of inconveniences and embarrassments he'd create for us.  He is a genius at creating unpleasant experiences for others during what would otherwise be happy times.  I got to the place where I'd dread those happy time events, knowing that more often than not Hal would trash them somehow, but not knowing when or how it would happen.

He had a way of making the children cry soon after he came home from work, and he'd set them up at the dinner table to need punishment. At least he decided they needed punishment. He'd entrap them, and when they'd respond, he'd punish them for their response.

The children also would frequently get hurt "accidentally" when left in his care. Finally, I told him that if any one of them were ever hurt significantly while in his care that I'd leave him immediately, and not come back no matter what. After that, the accidents stopped.

Years later I realized I'd painted myself into a corner with that edict. When I eventually decided I could now leave him I knew that I'd have to allow him joint custody and unsupervised visitation. I would never be able to convince a judge that they were not safe in his care. I realized my presence was the only guarnantee for their safety. I stayed.