...But He Didn't Hit Me... (By Author H.R. Burkett)

He yelled at me today and called me a f***-up…but he didn’t hit me.

He told me I do stupid things today and made me feel worthless.

He made me do something I really didn’t want to do again today.

He berated me for the hour drive home – hitting the dashboard, punching the window and breaking things in the car until I was crying so badly that I could barely see the road I was driving on.

He sold my property without permission and spent the money on drugs and gambling.

But, he didn't hit me.

I broke up with him today.

He stalked me.  Wouldn’t stop calling my phone and texting me until I finally agreed to see him again. So I gave him another chance.

But he didn’t hit me.

He threatened to crash the car with me in the passenger seat today.  He locked the doors and sped through the streets, racing toward a concrete wall and refusing to stop to let me out...

He threatened to blow up my car today…

He threatened to kill me and cut me up into tiny pieces that no one would ever find today…

I broke up with him again today.

He brought a stolen truck to my house, harassed my father and then showed me the gun in his waistband when I refused to do what he wanted me to….

But in the two years we were together, he never once hit me – so it wasn’t abuse, right?

I filed for a restraining order; wrote down the entire situation for the judge, provided bank statements, and even provided screen shots of the countless calls and texts.

I was denied without ever being seen.

That means it wasn’t abuse, right?

My father and I went to the police station about the stolen truck and the gun he brought to our home.  

They wouldn’t even file a report for me.

It must definitely not be abuse.

For months, I carried mace with me everywhere I went and I worried relentlessly for the safety of my family.  I began experiencing severe panic attacks that left me on the brink of consciousness.

But I must have been overreacting. I'd never been hit, so I wasn't abused.

Years later, I still don’t know how I got myself into that situation.  Perhaps it was because I was lonely and terribly insecure.  Perhaps it was because I have a loving heart so full of compassion and forgiveness.

Maybe it’s a mixture of the two.

But, I didn’t think it would ever happen to me.

I was intelligent with a terrific upbringing and a good life.  I’d been raised by parents who made sure I was aware of situations like these and knew what to do.  I worked in the domestic violence unit of the State Attorney’s Office and knew all too well the dangers of being in a situation like this.

But yet, there I was.

And it was even more frightening, daunting, overwhelming, and traumatizing that I could have ever imagined…even though he never hit me.

I was suicidal.  It felt like the only way out of the situation – the only way to ensure that he couldn’t hurt me or my family anymore.

My only saving grace at the time was the suicide prevention hotline and a very, very dear friend who stuck by my side through it all.  I will forever and ever be indebted to her.

And the only way I truly found freedom from the situation is when God introduced me to my Angel, who gave me the strength, confidence and bravery to truly break free from the situation.

These days, I'm finally beginning to undo the damage he caused. I don't worry or panic about him like I once did, though I admit to occasionally checking if he's incarcerated, just for my peace of mind.

I’m embarrassed that I let things get so out of hand.  I’m ashamed that I let all of this happen.  Guilt-ridden that I put my family at risk and then made them go through the harrowing experience of watching me recover.  And for those reasons, there are few who know what I went through or exactly how bad it got.

But, another part of me has always wanted to share my experience because I think most wouldn’t have expected that I was “the kind” of woman who goes through something like this.  Hell, if I thought it could happen to me, maybe I would have made smarter choices.

Please know, there is no “type” of victim.  Perhaps we have something in common.  Perhaps we are lonely, or insecure.  Or, perhaps we simply have loving, forgiving hearts that are too big for our own good.  Maybe it’s a combination of the two.

But we come in all shapes, sizes, ages, races, creeds, backgrounds.

We are your daughters and your sisters and your friends.

We are your next door neighbors and the ladies buying fruit in the grocery store.

We may not look beaten; we may not be the bruised and battered women that walked through the door at the State Attorney’s Office.  But just because they didn’t hit us, doesn’t mean we weren't abused.