Emotional Abuse: Not as Obvious as You’d Think
- The night before I went into labour, I was told “you’re being a dick again.” There was no further explanation of exactly what I had done that was so wrong; was it the falling asleep? The not eating dinner? The being ill? Whenever I was accused of being a dick, there was never any concrete explanation, this is what you did, this is how you avoid this happening again. There was no way to avoid it happening; it was not under my control.
- When my contractions stopped at the hospital, the inference was that I had deliberately stopped them, to be difficult. I was an inconvenience, as was the baby being born; he’d had to get a baby sitter, and needed to get back home. He rarely left his home when he wasn’t at work, because there he is the king of his castle, sitting about in his pants and having his children (and partner) tend to his every whim. Outside of the house, he was out of his comfort zone, and in the hospital people might notice what he was doing, so he was on his best behaviour; this was difficult for him. He wanted to go home as soon as he could, so I needed to get on and give birth.
- During the birth, I felt a lot of pressure not to make a fuss, not to make any noise, not to be the centre of attention and be a drama queen. Throughout my pregnancy I had been accused of over-reacting, attention seeking and being difficult. If I did that while I was in labour, he might up and leave and I’d have to go through this without him. Similarly with pain relief, it was made clear to me that I should go as far as I could without any drugs. I didn’t want drugs any way, but my changing my mind would not have gone down well. Afterwards he bragged to people that I had gotten to 10cm dilated without pain relief, as if this was somehow his achievement.
- When I asked him not to rub my back while was in labour, the response “why am I not allowed to touch you?!” made it sound as if I should be allowing him to touch me wherever, and however he wanted. This was a general theme of our relationship, that didn’t stop while I was in labour, or after the birth. I was grabbed, squeezed, pushed and punched whenever he felt like it. My body was not my own, and it was not for me to say where or when he could touch it.
- After the event, he told me that when I had a big contraction and the monitor lost S’s heartbeat, the midwife had not been in the room (other people tell me she was there). He had saved the day by pressing the button to call her, having seen that something was not right with me (the midwife pressed the call button to get assistance). He also told me my body had squeezed my baby so hard I had stopped her heartbeat (actually I just had a big contraction, and the monitor couldn’t pick up a heartbeat through the muscle of my uterus contracting) – this was playing on my insecurities about being a mother, being capable of looking after a child. I had often worried that I was simply “not built” to be a mother, and he played on this a lot.
- Throughout my labour, he was on the phone: to his mother, his babysitter, his sister, his friends, his boss. He was on Facebook and texting people. Before he had even cut the umbilical cord, he was on the phone to his mother rather than comforting me; I was not important.
- After the birth, he told me that when S’s head had first come out, the cord was around her neck and I had almost strangled her at that point by continuing to push. Nobody else recalls this; it was not in my notes, I do not recall the midwife asking me not to push so that she could untangle it. As far as I recall, once S’s head was out, her body was so small it just followed without any more contractions or pushing. Still, I was made to believe I had yet again almost killed my child before she was even born; I was that much of a bad mother.
- My being kept in hospital for so long was a major inconvenience. More than once I was told he was wasting his 2 weeks’ paternity leave. On the days he didn’t visit us, it was because his house had fallen into such a state while he’d spent “every waking minute” (from -12-4) in the hospital with me, instead of doing the housework (or rather, making his kids do it). It was my fault his house was a mess; his assumption had always been that I would have the baby, come home, and spend my days in his house being a good housewife. What he’d actually been doing, is going home and sleeping with his ex.
- When S was in NICU, it was no big deal. At least one of his other children had suffered with jaundice when they were born; yet again I was making mountains out of molehills, and attention seeking by crying.
- He refused to ever change S’s nappy or clothes; she often cried when she was disturbed by having her clothes or nappy changed, and he didn’t want her to associate him with crying. Instead, he stood over me and watched my every move, tutting that I was so awkward, telling me I’d done this wrong, or I should have used that. The nappy was too loose or too tight, didn’t I have one in a size that would fit her tiny frame? I should have put a different babygro on her, didn’t I have a cardigan that would fit her? I was wrapping her all wrong in the blanket; I should wrap her in two blankets so that she didn’t get cold; I was using two blankets overnight, wasn’t I? The concept of babies overheating and dying from SIDS clearly did not occur to him, and I was too scared not to do as I was told, so S was bundled up in so many layers and blankets you could barely tell there was a baby in there – until one day a nurse came to take her temperature and told me to remove a couple of layers. Obviously, the next time he came in, I was told off for that too. He knew more than the hospital staff; he had 6 kids and they were all fine. Put another blanket on her.
- Every time I wanted something from town, or from my house – nappies, clean clothes, baby wipes, cotton wool, toiletries – I was an inconvenience. I should have packed my hospital bag better, shouldn’t I (S was born 5 weeks early; the week before I’d gone into hospital I’d shown him, this is where I will keep my hospital bag, in case you ever need to know. He had laughed at me for having even started packing a bag yet).
- For the last few days we were in hospital, I was so down and miserable at being stuck there. My misery and exhaustion could not compete with his though; he was having to visit me in hospital every day. “how do you think it makes me feel, having to leave you both here every day?” What he didn’t add was “… so that I can go home and sleep with my ex…” which is what I later found out he had been up to.
- I was repeatedly told, throughout my pregnancy, and while we were trying to establish breastfeeding, that I wouldn’t be able to hack it. I had always said that I didn’t want to use formula, and intended to breastfeed for as long as I needed to. He used to tweak or bite my nipples often, and when I complained that he was hurting me, his response was “you’re far too sensitive, you’ll never be able to breastfeed.” When I started breastfeeding, he said I’d probably hack it for a couple of weeks, a month tops. I was incapable, see. Not cut out to be a mother, not a good mother, not fit to be a mother. Those words were never said at the time; they didn’t need to be, because every single part of my being a mother was undermined at every available opportunity. (incidentally, S is now 11 months old, and I am still breastfeeding her. So in your face, stupid ex.)
- He never once organised for someone to pick his kids up from school for him while I was in hospital so that he could stay longer. This was an often-used passive-aggressive way of asserting control and making me feel guilty. His kids and lack of childcare were used on a regular basis throughout our relationship – inference being that if I were a good girlfriend/mother of his child, I would be in his house, looking after his kids 24/7 so that he could go out and do as he pleased, whenever he pleased. The last-minute texts in front of me to get someone to pick the kids up from school were designed to make me feel guilty, like a burden: you see, now I’m having to bother other people to do your job because you won’t just get up off your arse and come home. He usually tried to get me to make the requests on his behalf – I was, after all, the reason he wasn’t able to pick his children up from school himself, so I should organise the childcare.
- When we finally brought S home, I was obliged to dress her in the outfit he had bought, but the fact it was so big on her we had to roll the arms and legs right up, that was my fault. It was my fault S had been born early, my fault she was jaundiced, my fault she only weighed 5lb. Later on, when people commented that 5lb was a good weight for a baby who had been born 5 weeks early, he took all the credit, explaining that it was in his genes to have big babies, and he had looked after me so well (!) throughout my pregnancy, which was why S had been born so healthy. I’m not even joking; this was actually said.
- As we left the ward and walked S to the car, I was repeatedly told I was holding her wrong, I looked really uncomfortable holding her, she looked awkward, I was about to drop her, I wasn’t supporting her head. When we got out of the car at my house, I wasn’t allowed to carry her into the house in case I dropped her. Yet again this was telling me: you’re no good at this, you are not meant to be a mother, you are awkward with your child, you cannot be trusted to look after your child.
- I wasn’t allowed to spend my first night at home, even though realistically there was nothing wrong with the flat, and we would have been fine. The following night, when S and I did stay at home, my sister was drafted in to stay with us. The ex did not trust me to be alone with my own child.
- The first time S slept more than a few hours, I was told, “she would have always slept through if you had let her.” Never mind the fact she would have slept through, and probably died or been brain damaged because of her level of jaundice; never mind the fact the doctors told me I must not let her go more than three hours without feeding. I had been deliberately stopping her from sleeping through the night. I’m sure he would have an absolute field day with our current sleeping arrangement.
He knew that if he actually hit or cut me, I would know for sure that he was in the wrong, and that would give me what I needed to leave. So instead he made me permanently scared that he was going to hit me.
There were regular displays of his strength: he would hold me down, hug me a little too tight, perform pull-ups and lift weights in front of me. There were stories of having been set upon by two or three men, but having managed to fight them all off. A story of winning a fight against a couple of men who were well known locally for having later kicked a young lad to death and gone to prison. There was the time I woke in the middle of the night to find myself in a headlock because he was “dreaming he was being attacked.” And, of course, there were all the times he hit his children, or told me about having “had to” hit them. The fact he didn’t worry about his front door having no lock, because nobody would ever dare to come into his house. Stories of the times he’d woken up to find he was physically fighting with his wife (note: he was fighting with her, not beating the shit out of her). He told me about other times, when he’d had his wife by her neck against the wall, even when she was pregnant. I was terrified. She had deliberately antagonised him into doing it though; I would be ok if I didn’t deliberately antagonise him. One time he boasted to me that he had hit her with a frozen bar of chocolate, in the face, while she was pregnant – because “she started it.”
Many women who are in horrible, abusive and controlling relationships will not have black eyes and bruises. They may never be physically attacked. That doesn’t mean they’re not living in hell. My ex didn’t need to hit me to keep me in my place; he had broken me mentally over a period when I was very vulnerable. I did as I was told. What he hates about me now, is not that I have taken his daughter away from him; his actions have proved many times over just how little he cares for her. What bothers him is that he can no longer control me. I escaped, and he hates it.
I am glad you have been able to speak to someone. I know that having a baby at 35 weeks is traumatic enough - and I had a good supportive husband.<br /><br />Quiet scary he sounds like my ex - who did have me up the throat when I was pregnant! He *used* to hit me and then when he stopped it was like he was making an *effort* but really it was the emotional abuse, the fear and the power - he didn&
Han @ Hannah Says
I haven't been in that situation but I'm with you on the fact that if the person emotionally abusing would just come out and hit their victim then it would be so much easier to prove than the emotional abuse. <br /><br />How do you prove emotional abuse - it might not come out as a proper issue until the child/teenager/adult is older. <br /><br />Thank you for sharing your story :)
Hope you don't mind me reading threw your old stuff? <br />Brings back so many memories of similar experiences. When i had my first child with my Ex(2nd child for me) i hemoraged but was told not to make a fuss as i'd had a child before so should know what happens,<br />Our first child was poorly & would vomit all the time & had terrible Diarhoea this turned out to be an allergy &
Amazing post hun- my eyes are welling up. I wrote a piece about Domestic Abuse recently too. I'm so glad you got rid of him XX Alexandra Mayhew recently posted...A Day In This Girl's Life
I am currently at full term, kicking round the house waiting to give birth, and I came across this as a family member of mine is a big fan of your blog, having been through a similar abusive relationship. I know this, your birth story, and your account of your early days of motherhood are years old now and it must seem like a distant nightmare sometimes; and I know you don't want pity for what you went through. So please accept my heartfelt admiration - I think you are a fucking superhero to have gone through all that and come out the other side so strong and positive. I wish you all the best in life, and for your shitbag ex to get what he deserves, which is for all his poor children to realise what a pathetic specimen he is, and abandon him in a pool of his own piss when he is old. You are brilliant, and I know this blog is a massive help to women in the same situation you were in. Go you!