MEN EXPERIENCING ABUSE - A LONELY JOURNEY

Last week, CNN ran an article entitled, “25% of US men experience abuse, but it’s hard to get help.” The title—and the topic—gave me chills. I’ve been there, on the receiving end.

 

Regrettably, the article focuses solely on physical and sexual violence. Emotional abuse as a separate rather than a subset form of harm is not addressed. It’s what I experienced two decades ago in a seven-year relationship that started out seemingly perfect. I’ve blogged about it before, but it’s worth recounting in case someone else identifies with it.

 

In the beginning, it seemed I’d discovered the perfect mate. My partner was sweet. Perhaps too sweet. Six months in, a conversation arose—I don’t recall the circumstances; it was something minor, as always—where his Mr. Hyde side came out in full force. I was berated and belittled in a nonstop diatribe that was totally out of character and was highly disturbing.

 

He went off to work and I sat on the sofa, stunned, trying to make sense of what was not at all sensible. I got in my car and drove to a beach an hour away, spending much of the day wandering and wondering what I’d done wrong. How had I set him off? 

 

I knew innately it wasn’t my fault and yet it seemed easier to blame myself than to find flaws in him. Still, I kept teetering in trying to process the incident. Was this a one-off I should forget about? Was this the beginning of a new dynamic in our relationship? I’d already fallen in love with this guy. Was I supposed to leave? As outrageous as his temper had been, didn’t it reflect poorly on me if I ended things after the first rough patch? 

 

I stayed. This was my man. This was my partner for life. We hadn’t exchanged vows—couldn’t back then—but I was invested…“for better or for worse.” That was an expression we’d all grown up with. It was something I believed in. I was supposed to stick around. Stand by my man. I was supposed to work things out. 

 

Everyone who met my partner saw him as handsome and oh so charming. I’d found one of the good ones. A great one! He never ever showed his darker side to my friends, family or colleagues. 

 

The tirades became more frequent. There was no way to predict when they would happen. Out of the blue, something would trigger him and suddenly he was spewing a rapid-fire, mostly irrational monologue about how f#*king “useless” and “worthless” I was. I learned quickly that trying to refute his claims only escalated and extended the fits. I learned to just sit there and take it. 

 

Whenever it was over, I would be quiet. I would try to avoid him. He couldn’t understand why I was so subdued. He’d returned to Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Charming. What was up with me?

 

What I came to realize was that he had no recollection of these tirades. These moments were episodes of blackout rage. This made the incidents more challenging to process. I couldn’t talk with him about what he said after the fact because he didn’t believe he’d said such things. (I tape recorded one episode but never dared play it back, fearful it might trigger something worse.) 

 

For six and a half years, I lived in fear of what might come in the present day, maybe the next hour or even five minutes after a totally normal exchange. I told no one until a decade AFTER I’d managed to get out of the relationship when my best friend ran into him at a party and started saying how great it would be if we got back together. 

 

I felt so much shame. I felt I should have been stronger in somehow helping my partner who denied ever berating me. (His mother and sister both exhibited the same behaviors.) 

 

I should have left. 

 

I internalized all the comments about being worthless. I blamed myself. I sometimes told myself I deserved the abuse. 

 

The CNN article mentions that children or pets are used as wedges to keep the abused person in the relationship. In our case, we had one dog, then another. My bond with both dogs was far stronger than his and I feared that, in a breakup, he’d insist we split them.

 

I spent two years actively looking for a place I could afford on my own, far enough from him but still close enough to work. After what I knew was far too long, I finally found my strength and broke up with him. Custody of the dogs was not negotiable. They. Were. Mine. After all my fretting, it startled me how he didn’t put up the slightest resistance.

 

I found a house with a yard for the dogs. It was a ferry ride away from where we had lived. That gave me a clearer sense of separation. It offered a false sense of safety. (His mother told me he’d staked out my new place.) It also meant five hours of commuting to work each day. It further isolated me from friends. Still, I was as free as I could be. 

 

It would be another eight years before he stopped emailing me, begging to get back together. Each email startled and scared me. Would my continuing to reject or ignore him escalate his behaviors. Would physical harm come next? My freedom came with my own dark thoughts about what might happen next, about how maybe things weren’t really over…certainly not in his mind.

 

Physical, sexual and emotional abuse does happen to men. The CNN article mentions that 1 in 4 men experience physical or sexual abuse and, as with so many harms to men, the figure could be low because men underreport and often fail to get help. Men are still raised to believe they have to “tough it out.” They should be “strong enough” to handle things on their own. Seeking help is seen as a sign of weakness.

 

I know I should have walked away not long after that first rage episode. It truly was outrageous. If not after the first incident, then maybe the second or definitely the third. I turned to no one. I didn’t know who to contact. To this day, when I’ve mentioned the abuse to psychiatrists, they have not probed as soon as I’ve made clear the abuse was neither physical nor sexual. What I experienced has never been acknowledged. 

 

I hope professionals are better equipped with responding to all kinds of abuse men experience. If men still find it difficult to confide in a friend or family member, I hope that psychologists, psychiatrists and helplines know how to listen, support and advise better two decades after I struggled alone. Still, no one knows the harm unless the man reaches out and continues to try and try again if the first professionals fail to provide significant acknowledgment and support.

 

Just seeing the CNN article offers some validation. Abuse happens regardless of gender. Let anyone experiencing abuse get the help they need and deserve.