The World Health Organisation and domestic abuse charities have warned of a significant rise in abuse during lockdown. I’m one of the victims.

Exclusive | 6 min read | names have been changed

I’m useless, I’m crazy, I’m lazy. I’m a bad mother, a piece of shit, manipulative and twisted. Nobody can stand to be around me and my other half has only stuck around because he’s kind. I behave like a child, I’m pathetic, I’m a loony. I’m about as much use as a piece of cardboard.

These are just some of the stinging traits I’m told I have on a regular basis by the man who claims to love me. There are rare moments when my husband is my ally, my best friend, my trusted confidante. But mostly, he is my abuser.

I stared at that word for a long time after I wrote it. Abuser. Six letters that conjure images of a nasty, angry person who uses violence and physical intimidation to get what they want.

But most abusers aren’t like that at all. Most are people you’d never imagine in a million years would be capable of deliberately harming another human being. They may be funny, charming, and kind - to the outside world anyway. But it’s all a facade – an act to prevent their true selves emerging.

Not all abuse is physical. Name-calling, shouting, patronising, threatening, ridiculing, stonewalling, gaslighting – terms I’ve now sadly become all too familiar with due to the abuse I’ve had to suffer since being on lockdown – are all forms of emotional abuse and they can be just as devastating as a punch.

A PERFECT START

My relationship with James wasn’t always this way. When we first met, he was the last person I’d ever think could hurt me. He was sweet, thoughtful, incredibly attentive, and would do anything to make me happy. My friends all envied the ‘perfect’ relationship we had.

I realise now that it was all a big act, a ruse to win me over. Either that, or perhaps James mistakenly thought he loved me. I’ve often wondered if he believes I deliberately trapped him by falling pregnant soon after we met. His anger and resentment gradually built up from there, to the point where he could no longer contain it.

But I was as shocked as he was when I found out I was expecting. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to have a baby with him. I already had suspicions that there was a Mr. Hyde lurking behind his Dr. Jekyll.

There’d been a few occasions when we’d been out with friends and he’d got into a sulk over nothing and stormed off, put me down in front of strangers then said it was a ‘joke’ or lost his temper and lashed out, calling me a ‘piece of shit’. That eventually became his favourite insult.

Yet, he was largely sweet and loving through my pregnancy, so I hoped we’d be okay. We moved in together and things were fine for a while. Then, after our daughter was born, I found out James had been saying horrible things about me to people behind my back. That I was an awful mother, lazy, manipulative, that I never bothered doing any housework or going out anywhere. None of it was true.

The fact was I’d had a very tough labour and almost lost my life after an emergency C-Section. I wasn’t lazy, I was recovering from major surgery. I was still breastfeeding, looking after our baby alone at home whilst juggling my self-employed work as and when I could (because he still expected me to pay half of the rent and bills) and doing all of the housework and cooking too.

I was so upset by James’ comments and I couldn’t understand why he’d tell lies about me to the people we loved. Did he want everyone to dislike me? If so, why? I broke up with him and told him to move out.

He did as I asked but later begged to come back, promising that he’d never betray or hurt me again. I agreed but, of course, he soon broke those promises.

Isolated

The abuse escalated when we moved into a new home together. He’d been the one to find it in a new area and that seemed to give him a sense of ownership. Like the house was ‘his,’ not ours.

The move was stressful with a young baby in tow and after we’d finished hauling the boxes into our new house, James told me he’d had enough and was leaving me. ‘Not our baby, just you,’ he said. I was stunned.

He’d moved me miles away from all of my friends, to a place where I knew nobody and had no support, and now, he was abandoning me.

I begged him not to leave, pleading that I had nowhere to go and his daughter needed both her parents. I look back on that moment with shame. Shame that I’d gone from being a strong, independent, happy and resilient woman to somebody who needed a man that clearly didn’t love her. I’m certain he smirked when I pleaded with him. It was all a big game to him.

The next day he was helping me around the house. I now know this flip-flopping is typical of an emotional abuser. They change the goal-posts so often, you haven’t a clue where you stand with them.

Whilst our daughter grew into a beautiful, smiley toddler, my sense of identity ebbed away as James gradually destroyed my self-esteem. Everything I did at home was wrong. If I cooked, the meat wasn’t cooked well enough. If I tidied his clothes away, I’d put his T-shirts in the wrong drawer (even though he’d only ever dump them in a messy pile on top of his dresser himself).

NO ESCAPE

He was intensely controlling and tight with money. If I turned a light on, he’d immediately follow me into the room and turn it off. Same with the heating if I was cold. I wasn’t allowed to use the tumble drier – at all. And if I ran a bath, he’d check that it was only half full and monitor the taps to make sure I’d turned them off properly. I gave in to his demands - if only for an easier life.

But I felt suffocated, bullied, miserable. I wanted to leave, but I felt powerless and trapped. I had no place to go to, no family I could stay with, and no money to survive on. I worked as hard as I could to keep my business running from home whilst looking after my daughter because we couldn’t afford childcare. I didn’t earn enough to manage alone.

James also rarely went near me in the bedroom and when he did, he was cold, aggressive, and detached. I still felt grateful because at least he’d noticed me instead of either ignoring me or verbally abusing me.

People I confided in asked why I didn’t leave him, but the truth was that I was terrified of being on my own, part of me still loved him, and, most importantly, it would break my daughter’s heart.

I get that children are tougher than we think, but when your daughter sits by the door waiting for Daddy to come home so the three of you can be together, taking that family away from her is easier said than done.

sticks and stones

And at least when James was out working or seeing friends, I could get some respite, or take myself off to the movies if things got too bad. That all changed during lockdown of course. I’ve spent most of it hiding in my bedroom.

Coupled with the stress of worrying about coronavirus, being stuck indoors almost 24/7, and in a small space where we cannot escape each other, the abuse has become unbearable. He’s losing his temper every few days. Normally I’d stay quiet, but with no time out from him, I am fighting back. The difference is that I am never personal and rarely raise my voice. I tell James he’s being abusive, hurtful and ask him to stop. He just call me names – idiot, lunatic, stupid bitch, loser, pathetic, psycho, arsehole, the list goes on. He’s started shoving me too or cornering me against the door whilst spitting all this venom in my face.

The old saying about sticks and stones isn’t true. Words may not break your bones as sticks do but they can break your heart. And James has broken mine countless times. I don’t know how to deal with the pain anymore other than shutting down.

There have thankfully been some good moments during this lockdown, usually when I’ve emerged from hiding in the bedroom for a few days after a blowout. He tries to be nice, we sit and watch the news together, tutting at the tragedy of all the people who’ve lost their lives to Covid-19 and telling ourselves we are lucky.

blame

And when things are good between us, I do feel lucky. We laugh together, have hour-long walks in the park with our little girl and dance around the kitchen singing songs. I tell myself that maybe he’ll return to the old James he’d been when we first met.

The one who used to send me sweet texts, tell me he loved and cherished me, and would spend hours just talking to me. But the nice days are always replaced by surliness, frostiness and a demeanour that has me convinced he hates me. He’s also made me hate myself.

Victims of emotional abuse – any abuse – become so convinced that they are to blame, they start to see themselves in the same disdainful way their abuser does. In lockdown there’s been no respite when James feels like being nasty, and no distraction from my own self-pity.

When I look in the mirror now, I don’t see the bubbly, bright, passionate, woman I once was. I see only her shadow - now a weak, pathetic, needy, useless person who has nothing to offer to anyone. That girl is someone I don’t recognise or like at all.

The only thing that makes up for this is when my little girl puts her arms around me and says she loves me more than anything in the universe. I remind myself that I’m sacrificing my own happiness for hers, for now at least. Maybe post lockdown, I’ll be brave enough to leave. Maybe one day.

*If you are a victim of domestic abuse, coercive control or gaslighting, you do not have to stay home during this lockdown. You can call Refuge 24/7 on their National Domestic Abuse helpline on 0808 2000 247, or visit the site to contact them online if it’s not safe for you to call. In an emergency, always dial 999. Even during lockdown, there is help available and Refuge can help you get out of your dangerous situation safely.

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