Stories of Survivors

I Was Always Wondering What I’d Done Wrong

The woman in this article agreed to tell her story on condition of anonymity. Her batterer is still in the area, and she continues to be concerned for her safety. She hopes that by sharing her story, others will be better informed about the cycle of violence and available resources.

When I first met my husband he was very attentive. He was extremely handsome, well groomed and polite. He doted on me, showering me with a lot of attention. He just seemed like the perfect guy and we started to date immediately.

Early on he started to show up at my job. I’d come out and he’d just be there. I thought it was very nice that he took the train into town to escort me home, but sometimes I had already made plans for dinner or a movie with my friends from work. He said he was just so smitten that he wanted to spend all his time with me. So I’d invite him to come with us, but then he would sit there and pout. Eventually I stopped inviting him and then it became, “you’re not inviting me because you have something to hide.” This went on. I tried hard to come up with a compromise but nothing seemed to suit him except being with me all the time.

I got pregnant right away and then he became very insulting. I was working long hours and would come home too exhausted to do what he wanted; he would start an argument. My twins were born and the insults continued. Then he took to throwing things and yelling and screaming and punching the wall. Then he started shoving me and I kept trying to figure out how we could get back to the time when he was romantic and kind and attentive. I was always wondering what I’d done wrong and how to correct it.

During this period, one of the twins died. I was suffering with this terrible trauma, but I went back to work. I knew I wasn’t ready, but I had to make a living. My husband didn’t make enough money to take care of us.

One night I just couldn’t listen to his constant put-downs anymore. I had to say something back. When I did, he went crazy. First he started to choke me, and then he picked me up and literally threw my body onto the floor. He punched me in the face, busted my lip, bruised my jawbone, kicked me, and cracked two ribs. The neighbors called the police and I pressed charges. The police were very supportive and did a thorough report, but the court clerks were almost joking about it. They said, “oh, this is just a family squabble, you guys will work this out. If we get in the middle of it, you’ll make up before we can file the papers.” Despite their attitudes I went up to the judge and I did get the restraining order.

I went to my parents’ house with the baby. My husband would call on the phone and wake us up at all hours of the night. After a few weeks, I went back, as it was too much for my parents and I felt safer, knowing where he was and what he was doing, rather than not knowing. There were more incidents, more violent and more frequent. I finally decided that if I stayed he would kill me, and if I left he would kill me. After I made a plan to leave we had another horrible fight. I wasn’t quite ready to go yet but I finally said, “I’m going and I’m never coming back.” I left with my baby, and called the police to go into the house and ask him to leave. Meanwhile he cut up all my clothes, the couches and couch pillows, and broke all the wooden furniture so that it was not useable. He left me with no clothes, not even underwear.

I contacted the Domestic Violence Unit of the Boston Police Department and got a permanent restraining order. But he came to the house, broke the windows of my car, flattened my tires, and stood outside my window until he saw the police coming. One night he threw a boulder through my bedroom window at 3:30 a.m.. Each time I would call the police, he’d be gone by the time they arrived. I felt just like a prisoner.

The police officer assigned to me would pass by my house at night, and I’d signal if there was a problem. He came by in the morning so that I could get safely from the house to my car to go to work, and to drop off my son.

One night I was driving home with my son and I saw my husband. I thought, “Okay, we’re safe, we’re in the car.” But the light turned red as we approached the intersection. He grabbed the door handle and when he couldn’t open the locked door, he broke the glass and latched on around my neck with both hands. I drove off, even though the light was red. He held on so tight that I dragged him two blocks.

The detective finally tracked him down and arrested him. He served six months for the harassment, and had to come before the judge and face all those previous charges. All he got was two years probation. Six months is a very short time to serve. At least it gave me a chance to disappear and to file for divorce, which became final in 1991. The only time I had to see him was in court. I can’t say enough about the police officer assigned to me. I wrote a letter thanking him, and he received a promotion and invited me to attend the ceremony.

I’ve been divorced since 1991 and I still live in fear. I ran into my ex-husband recently, and he asked if he could see me and if we could get back together. I realize I am still not safe. When I left I had to get my life straightened out, my son settled, and enroll us in counseling; so we could get through this and be happy and healthy and move on. It’s been a lot of hard work, but I can say now that my son and I are doing well.