Is it Easier to Stay or Walk Away from Domestic Violence?

Is it easier to stay or walk away from domestic violence?

I used to be one of those who said, "She should walk away. I'd never put up with that. I'd be out of there so fast his head would spin." Then, I found myself living a nightmare, unable to extricate myself. Like many in my position, as time passed and circumstances changed, I found it easier to stay.

I rationalized my husband's behavior much the way he did, telling myself it was stress or alcohol, not really him and he didn't mean it. It wasn't abuse, just yelling and stuff, and I'd never found myself hospitalized or anything that drastic. It was mostly verbal and the physical violence was so infrequent at first, I could easily put it out of my mind. He was always sorry and swore it wouldn't happen again. I believed him because there was a lot of time between physical incidents, until the last few years when it all escalated. Still, I didn't leave until I was too terrified to stay.

As the abuse escalated to verbal abuse nearly every night, I began to realize in the back of my mind that I didn't want to be there any longer. I didn't' want to stay, but I had no one to turn to, none I could ask for help. I had no job, and had never really held steady employment since my husband earned enough to support us.

I stayed home, responsible for the household and making sure he was happy, that his life was as easy as it could be. This entailed being his personal slave. He even said I could write, basically giving me permission to write romance novels, a goal I'd sought since age 14. I ignored the nagging suspicion, and later the realization, that his 'permission' to something I enjoy, that I longed to do, was his way of keeping me at home, under the illusion he only wanted me to be happy. So, though I had several stories published in the intervening years, electronic and print, I had no job and no steady income, no resources.

Over the years, he'd alienated my family and his, isolating me from those who might have helped until the one time I did ask, I couldn't stick to it. I had called my mother after a particularly nasty night and told her I wanted out, but I'd need a place to go, to stay for a while. She couldn't let me stay with her, or wouldn't, and I suggested my sisters place, plenty big enough with extra bedrooms as they had no children. She didn't say it could be done, only to call her the next day. I knew then, I'd get no help from my family. Perhaps they were afraid of him, too, afraid that he would come after them for helping me escape.

But I couldn't even follow up on calling her back. You see, he'd apologized for the vicious tirade and things were calm for a few days. Knowing when the phone rang that it was my mother, I ignored it and didn't talk to her until the police showed up, explaining that my mother was worried. So, I called her, but I didn't ask for help again. My family couldn't or wouldn't help me, so I lied, saying that everything was fine now. Nor could I bring myself to take advantage of police presence and ask them for assistance. Faced with possible salvation, some mental or emotional barrier surrounding me prevented me from reaching out.

Still, I began to think more and more about leaving, even listed things I needed to have and do to get out of that relationship without being homeless or on the street. As more years passed, the abuse grew worse until the night he grabbed two large kitchen knives and threatened to kill me. I'm not sure why he stormed out the door, but I quickly locked and bolted it, and called the police.

They arrived quickly and I told the officer, after explaining the situation, that I didn't want him there, I was afraid of what he might do. After finding him in the car, which was in my name though he used it instead of me, one officer told him not to return, to stay someplace else that night. My husband agreed but returned a few minutes after the police left. He knocked but I refused to allow him entry. I called the police again and he was arrested, spending the night in jail.

Instead of being relieved, however, I was terrified of what he'd do when released the next day. I fled, staying the night in a motel until he called the next day. In retrospect, I should never have done it, but after his court date, the sentencing to counseling, I let him come home. I believed, or maybe only hoped, this would be his wake up call.

For a little while, things were calm. He drank less, and we talked more. I believed him when he claimed stress and financial worry drove him to drink more, that those things were the catalysts to his behavior, ignoring that fact that he'd been abusive before that night. I agreed to get a job because he worried his wouldn't last since the construction industry was slow and his company had little work, and none coming. I let him believe that but secretly I wanted the job so I'd be able to leave and support myself, to avoid sleeping on the streets and being homeless.

I got a job at a local call center, paying 10.00 an hour, not much but enough to live on if I was careful, and began seriously planning to leave once I had enough paychecks saved. I had to continue as normal yet keep my plans secret, which meant he knew and used my income when needed. I did set up a savings account, having my paychecks direct deposited into my account, and we mainly lived on his income. At one point, I had almost a thousand dollars and decided the next paycheck would be enough to settle into another place. I began looking for a place near my work.

Right then, however, my husband overheated the car and need major repairs since he'd cracked the heads getting it home. We knew a mechanic, living next door, who could fix it cheaper than any shop, about 600.00. The first three hundred, naturally , came out of my bank account.

That same week, my husband made a deal on a car the mechanic wanted to sell, a car I would own and use. Another three hundred left the bank. He'd found a way, maybe he was suspicious, to keep me saving enough money since more money came out of the bank at varying times over the next few weeks.

ON top of that, I wasn't getting full time paychecks. I kept missing days, due mainly to the late night abuse and the ongoing cycle of no sleep at night, and falling asleep for a while during the day. So I was absent for more than I should have been, which cost me my job in the end. He'd returned to the nightly abuse, often skipping his counseling meetings to drink and abuse me. It was so awful, I dreaded coming home from work, I worked nights and weekends. I didn't come home to "Hi honey, how was your day." I came home to an angry drunk and vicious verbal tirades. I hated being home because he was always drunk and nasty.

I reasoned that since I had a job, got paid every two weeks, with money going directly into the bank, that I could save money again. I postponed leaving.

By then the mechanic, through varying circumstances, had become a friend. I was glad to know him that night I fled. The verbal tirade stated as soon as I walked in the door from work. Again, it turned physical, again he threatened to kill me while throwing things at me, including the knife. Terrified, I cringed on the bed and waited for the tirade to end. After he passed out, I grabbed that knicfe he'd thrown at me and some things I needed, and fled. My neighbor and friend, the mechanic, let me in. Now, four months later, I have not returned, nor spoken to my abuser. I will not return and I have nothing more to say to him.

This is my experience. Yes, like many in my position, for years I found it easier to stay than
to leave, until staying terrified me more than leaving. Even now, I'm not sure I could have left
without a friend's help.