What is abuse?

What is abuse? According to www.mincava.umn.edu, "abuse is defined as the systematic pattern of behaviors in a relationship that are used to gain and/or maintain power and control over another."

When we define domestic violence in terms of physical abuse only we do not fully understand the dynamics that keep these relationships together.

To me, physical abuse is merely the tip of the iceberg. It's also the most socially acceptable form of abuse to discuss, because its evidence is usually so blatant - a black eye, a bruised breast, buttocks and thighs covered in welts left by a belt or clothes hanger wielded by an angry hand.

In my experience, physical abuse is generally an indicator that other forms of abuse are going on in the abusive relationship. Just as "faith is the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen" Hebrews 11:1, KJV, physical abuse is the substance, the evidence of a far bigger, if usually unseen, problem.

Far less easily seen are the other, more insidious forms of abuse - psychological, emotional, and sexual abuse. These frequently leave no physical scars, so they are harder to prove and easier to ignore. In reality, these forms of abuse do far more damage and have much longer-term effects on the victim.

Unless there's blood or a public "scene", it is pretty much accepted that if we didn't see it, it didn't happen, and the person who says he or she has been abused is frequently viewed as a "drama queen" or "attention-seeker". The knowledge of this probable perception frequently makes victims very reluctant to report these forms of abuse, because they fear they may be met with scepticism or outright derision.

Abusers are generally very good at hiding abuse. They convince their victims that nobody will believe if they tell relatives, friends, law enforcement personnel, teachers, pastors/rabbis, or anyone else who might intervene. What is the tool the abuser most often uses? "They'll never believe YOU. They won't love you, because they'll see how worthless you are, which is the reason I did this. It's YOUR fault."

Because much of my life story is that of having been a victim of every single one of these forms of abuse, I will be exploring all of them and dissecting them, discussing them in detail, along with their implications and the fallout, the long-lasting results of those abuses. If you have a weak stomach or want to pretend that this sort of thing doesn't happen and doesn't have lasting effects on its victims, I'd advise you to move along and retreat to the pretty universe in which you choose to exist, a universe where bad things don't happen, most especially to innocents.

Finding My Wings

Two days ago I reached a milestone; I turned 50. This morning I awoke to yet another oft-repeated page from my past: verbal abuse. I swore to myself and a friend several years ago that by the time I was 50, I would be with a man who loved me as much as I loved him (overwhelmingly, wonderfully, and completely) and with whom I truly wanted to spend the rest of my life. I would be HAPPY.

I remember being asked "Well, what if he's not READY yet?" to which I replied "If he's NOT, he's obviously not the right man." Then I let that moment retreat quietly to a corner of my mind, and have rarely allowed it to come to the forefront of my consciousness.

During the past three weeks or so, that thought has returned to the forefront of my thoughts, and I remember that I am never going to be the injured, frightened girl I was for those fifty years; I am going to be a happy, fulfilled woman. I don't expect life to be perfect, but I will no longer be a victim, no longer allow my sweet, pleasant nature to be suppressed, or my creativity quashed by those whose  primary pleasure in life is making others feel "less than". Only toxic people deliberately make others feel "less than", and I've had a constant string of them since birth. Today I'm saying "ENOUGH" to those people.

Ever since I can first remember, perhaps since about the age of 2 1/2, I have been abused in some way on a perpetual basis. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I now know that abuse exists in many forms, most of them so insidious you'd never notice them.

My egg donor was a beautiful woman who used her looks and pseudo-beauty to dazzle my father, who married her and brought her several levels up the food chain from "white trash" to polite society. Then she proceeded to manipulate and abuse him until he died of a massive stroke at age 53. He was a moth drawn to a candle flame. He never stood a chance, and being a good and loving man who truly believed there was good in most people was his undoing. He died trying to please this glamorous woman who was full of herself and greed. He never tried to impress anyone, but she more than made up for that. 

She frequently lost her temper with me. I was a bright little girl with a bubbly  temperament; obedient, dutiful, and easy to please. I've been a dog person like my Daddy since infancy; I don't just adore dogs, I have the heart of a dog. No, that isn't a bad thing. I am loving, effusively and sincerely adoring my beloved. I am loyal to a fault, and I am happiest when I am doing anything that will please my humans.  

No, I do not consider myself to be subhuman, but given much of what has happened in my first fifty years, it's a wonder I don't.