Why

In my last post, talking about how society refuses to honor the word “no” when it comes from a woman, I said this:

“(T)he real magic of this entire situation, the absolute master stroke of sadistic irony, is this:

We are constantly, endlessly told that the entire responsibility for anything that happens to us hinges on our saying no... and making it stick.”

I'm sitting here right now with those words playing over and over in my head. One of the areas in which I've been particularly active lately is the subject of domestic violence. Understandably so, given that I'm five months out of an abusive marriage – one that lasted thirty years. 

 

One of the worst aspects of being on the other side of such a situation is the “why” question. Specifically, the one you're most often asked by others – “why didn't you leave?” 

 

Or, to put it another way... “why didn't you say no?”

One of the first things you learn when you leave your abuser is that to a really large part of the population, you are absolutely at fault for, in a way actually participated in, your own abuse. 

 

Because you didn't say no, or say it loudly enough, or fight back physically, you bear the brunt of the responsibility for what happened to you. 

 

Because you didn't make your “no” stick. 

 

They're not entirely wrong, of course. You could have said no. You did, after all... here you are, half a country away, building a new life. And it's by far the most terrible part of what comes after the escape, because for the first time, you can look back and see all your “reasons” for the bullshit, cowardly smoke screen they always were. You can finally see not just the terrible things he did, but the way you excused them, minimized them, pretended they weren't what they really were. 

 

You had the ability to walk away the entire time. You chose not to. 

 

But did you choose? Did you really?

I've spent a lot of time since I left hammering myself for being such an idiot, hell, such a coward. Who could ever have so little self-respect for themselves that they would allow someone to treat them this way? Why did I let him get away with it, again and again?

Why the FUCK didn't I just... say... no?

As I mentioned in my last installment, “no” wasn't exactly the most powerful tool I had. I learned early that a “no” was only as good as the intentions of the person being told no. I wasn't good at delivering them, and I was worse at making them stick, because I always more than half-expected they would be ignored, no matter what I said or did. 

 

He knew this from the start, of course. And he took advantage of it. But he was after more than that. He didn't just want someone who would let him ignore a “no”. He wanted someone who wouldn't say no at all, someone who would never have the courage to take a stand and walk away. 

 

One of the first ways an abuser gains power over their victim is to isolate them. The biggest reason they do this is so that they can create a manipulated reality for their victim. In their world, everything they do is done to show you how much they love you – and if they should do anything wrong, it's in response to some expectation you failed to meet. By keeping you isolated, they make sure no one has a chance to see what's going on and point out that you're being played. 

 

They don't want you to work, because that means money of your own... people you talk to when you're not under his eye... and a sense of personal accomplishment, which can't be allowed, lest you figure out you're capable of doing anything without him. 

 

They do everything in their power to take away all your options. They strip you of resources, they constantly tell you you're not capable of doing X, sabotage you when you try, then point at the failure and tell you they told you so. They continually change their “expectations”, so you never do anything quite to their satisfaction... and then, again, they tell you it's your fault, that it just proves you can't function without them. 

 

And they never, ever, let you hear a voice that tells you different. 

 

Your entire life becomes an endless drone of “can't, mustn't, have to”, and by the time you realize this is more than a little fucked up, you're dead sure that leaving would end in utter disaster, because you can't do anything right anyway, and everything you try blows up in your face. 

 

And besides, you have nowhere to go. 

 

And then... on top of all of that... 

 

You have to consider that if you do go, you're going to be the bad guy. Because you broke up the family, took the kids away from their (assumed to be) loving father, and you didn't do this because he cheated on you or something, you did it because you were “unhappy”. You put yourself in front of everyone else, and that makes you selfish and petty and wrong. 

 

Because society hates that “no” just as much as any abuser does. 

 

And just like the abuser, they too often believe you deserved it. Because you stayed. Even though they think you'd be wrong to leave, and happily tell you so. 

 

And here's the thing: I did say no. I said it over and over again. Every time I talked to my family, made a friend, wrote a poem, tried to improve my life in some way, I said no. And every time, I got slapped down.

It's not my fault he didn't listen to my noes. I shouldn't have to scream them, or throw things. 

 

It's not my fault I spent all those years believing I had no way out. The only voice in my life constantly told me I didn't, and all the voices around his echoed the same message. All the evidence pointed to the same message.

It's not a fucking coincidence that the moment I finally chose to leave was the same moment that someone who knew me before I met him... someone who knew who I used to be... happened to show up. For the first time in decades, I heard someone tell me I could do anything I tried... and said it with complete confidence, because she knew the girl who could. 

 

And thank all the fucking gods, I believed her. 

 

And here I am. I'm out. And I'm broken as fuck, and I have only the shadowiest idea what a healthy relationship looks like, and I fuck things up on a daily basis. But I'm trying. I'm learning. And I am, I really am, getting better, a little bit at a time. And I'm going to keep on getting better, because I can. 

 

For the first time in thirty years, I'm hearing “yes” in my head. I'm hearing “you can”. And I'm hearing that I did the right thing. That I deserve this, and that I'm not selfish for wanting to be something more than his property. 

 

I stayed. But I did so because I never heard anyone tell me it was okay, or even possible, to leave. I truly believed, with all my heart, that staying was the only “acceptable” option I had. I was wrong, gods was I wrong. But at the time, I thought I was right. 

 

Please, the next time you think about asking a woman “that” question, before you blame her, or judge her for not doing what you so clearly see as the “right” thing to do... think for a minute. Do you think she's not already just as disgusted with herself as you are? Do you think she might already be kicking herself for wasting so much time with someone so wrong? Do you think she feels like an ass, and maybe more than a little guilty, for getting herself into this mess to begin with? Do you think that reminding her that she could have, and should have, done this a long time ago is going to make her feel better about herself, or make her feel like even more of a failure?

Are you really going to hold her fully responsible because someone else didn't listen when she said no... ever... and you weren't there to confirm it was loud enough, or forceful enough, or whatever enough to be worthy of being listened to?

Think about it. Take all the time you need.