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When I was in my early to mid 20s, I experienced my first serious relationship. It took me more than 2 years to notice I was being manipulated, gaslighted, and psychologically abused. I lost myself in that relationship, I felt like a different person, constantly depressed, and lacking self love. My firsts attempts in getting out of that relationship were useless, he manipulated me into believing I was the problem and that I was the one who needed to change. I was cheated on multiple times, he didn’t want to say end time sith me or my family. I always founf myself making up excuses for him. He made me think that everything was my fault and that I was asking for too much of him. When I decided to leave him, he made me feel like I was the problem and like I was a burden to him. It’s hard to identify when the abuse is psychological, you’re not crazy, you’re not wrong for asking for attention, for dates, for quality time, which I never had with him. Don’t let anyone, humiliate, control, gaslight, or diminish you! You deserve love, support, peace, attention, RESPECT! Try to identify the red flags on that questionable relationship, it’ll get better and it’s never too late.

For a long time, a seemingly eternity, I have always felt ashamed at being at the receiving end of DV as a man. I always thought that it eroded my masculinity. After 12 years since leaving my abuser, and with age, I see things differently, but surely scars always remain. The thing about DV for men is that society, a big part at least, discard DV as reason why a husband would end a marriage with a wife. I guess the gossip of extramarital affairs has more of a ring than people confronting the ugly truth that a woman, and a charming one at social gatherings, can be abusive, mean, and violent. Without going into the long history of violence pre-marriage, as early as maybe the first six months of going out, I got delivered my first black eye in an elevator. Now I can laugh at it - picture having a heated argument with your girlfriend, you walk out towards the elevator, as you wait you hear footsteps approaching you, the elevator opens, you turn your back towards the footsteps and see you girlfriend, and think, she’s come around and maybe ready to talk. Instead, youre delivered a punch to your eye that pushes you to the back of the elevator, and the doors closed as you’re thinking what the hell just happened. The complexity of my story is that by the time I decided to leave her, 12 years after the elevator incident, there were 2 small children involved, a 3 and half little boy, and a couple of months old girl. Leaving your children is the must gut wrenching thing that any parent has to deal with. There was a certain stigma attached… why? Why did he leave this poor woman with two small children - he is a monster, untrustworthy, cheater, what kind of man would do that? And these were not comments for strangers, in some cases, they came from colleagues, ‘friends’. Truth is that it took many attempts. The defining one, surprisingly came for my little boy. In one of the final fights, my little one intervened. He stepped in, took me out of the room by the hand, took me to the living room and in his imperfect language told me that ‘mommy is angry right now, so stay here, but then she will be ok’. I will never forget the bravery of this boy to stop his mother from hitting his father. As I cried in the sofa, something inside me snapped. I would not allow my little boy, and infant girl, to see that kind of DV ever. That would be the last time, or so, that I would be abused. We separated, she moved to the US to her parents with the children. In that year I visited frequently. After a year she came back to the country where I was stationed, seeking reconciliation for the benefit of the children. I had moved on. Incredibly, I had met an incredible person who took what I call the most significant gamble in history - a leap of faith. She took a broken man and gave so much care and love, that I actually began to erase so much numbness. In the years that have passed, I’ve had so much time to reflect. To put it simply, no body ever should feel that there is no way out, even though it would seem that way. When I was in the deep end of things, I remember thinking that I was in this deep hole, but the only person in the world that could take me out of there was the person who put me there in the first place. That’s the thing about abusers, they hurt you, but after, they try to make it up doing things that you mistake for love and care - let me make you a chicken soup so you feel better. Or, you made me do this to you, but let me go get ice so your face doesn’t swell. In hindsight, I should have spoken more, be less ashamed. I feel I did not counter sufficiently the narrative that was put forth by my ex-wife. The narrative that I left her for another person, and that I never wanted kids, therefore, thats why I fled the home. The reality is that the impact of leaving the children was the heaviest toll that to this day I carry. After three court cases, in three countries, and a joint custody, I finally have a peace of mind that the children, now teens, are ok, and that seeing them happy, truly happy, and doing well at school and socially might have been a sacrifice worth taking. Their mother was never violent towards them, or at least not in a physical manner. Some takeaways: 1. There are signs, there are always signs. Do not ignore them as you begin entering more serious stages of relationships.. As one lady said to me one day on the street, when she witnessed my girlfriend hitting me. ‘If she hits you now, wait until youre married’. 2. Confided in family and friends, and listen to them! They know you better than perhaps, when youre young, you know yourself. After I got divorced, some school friends came to me and said…. Really? You thought that would work? 3. Be honest with yourself. You know if something is wrong. If there are red flags. Be honest with yourself. 4. Importantly, there are many people in the world and there is a special one that is willing to place all her/his chips to bet on you. You shouldn’t feel cornered and that you will face eternal loneliness once you leave your abuser, no matter how many times they will say that to you. 5. It is better to be alone than being in an unhealthy relationship. Your mental health will thank you for it. 6. Lastly, leaving an abuser is not an act of cowardice, throwing the towel, it’s an act of love, to yourself!

For years, I thought I had escaped the horrors of my childhood. My father’s overt abuse was a storm—loud, angry, impossible to ignore. So when I met him—the man who seemed so different—I thought I had finally found safety. He wasn’t my father. He didn’t yell or scream or raise a hand every other day. At first, he was kind, charming even. I thought everything was great. But over time, the cracks started to show. The cold, distant days where I felt like an inconvenience. The subtle digs and underhanded comments that weren’t enough to call mistreatment but were just enough to make me doubt myself. I’d lie awake at night, crying, unable to understand why I felt so anxious and stressed. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. After all, he wasn’t my father. Yet, deep down, I knew. I knew he could hurt me if I ever pushed too far, and that fear controlled me. As the years passed, the emotional manipulation evolved into something far darker. What started as control turned into sexual abuse. At first, I didn’t see it for what it was—maybe I didn’t want to see it. I clung to the idea that things would get better, that I could fix it, that it wasn’t as bad as it felt. But the progression was undeniable. I couldn’t look away anymore. By the time it ended, I found myself at a police station, hoping for justice, for someone to finally stand up for me. But nothing was done. Nothing. I left that station with no real resolution, but I did leave. That was the day I decided to start over. Healing wasn’t immediate. It’s still day by day. But now I get to choose what my days look like. I am no longer silent. I am no longer hiding. The mask I wore for years is gone, and I speak openly about what I endured, not because it’s easy, but because someone needs to hear it. Someone out there needs to know that they’re not alone, that their perfect-looking marriage may not be so perfect, and that they deserve better. I poured my story into a book, Book Title. It’s not just a story about abuse; it’s a call to recognize the subtle signs, to question the system that so often fails victims, and to challenge the way society dismisses our pain. I know how hard it is to rise, but I also know it’s possible. If you’re in that darkness, know this: you can rise too. Healing isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. And every day, you have the power to choose a better life. Because still, I rise. And so can you.

I was 17, he was 26. It was my first boyfriend and I was head over heels excited that I had my first boyfriend and that he was older. First year felt normal and I felt so happy. After I turned 18 there was a big shift. The following years were filled with coercion, manipulation and grooming. He hurt me for the first time while my friend was sleeping next to us at a house party. I had to stay silent while I was wincing in pain. When we got back home that night he hit even worse and it hurt to walk the next day. He cried and said it was my fault and said I made him do that. Manipulation continued, coercion got worse with threats like not letting me back into his apartment till I gave him what he wanted, another time he punched me in the arm out of anger and gaslighted me into thinking he never punched me after a bruise was visible. 4 years into the relationship, I always say to myself now it’s like a lightbulb turned on in my brain and told me this isn’t right I need to leave, I could have a better life than this. So I did, I opened up to those around me and found support in them. It was hard, I still had emotions to let go of and he tried so hard to keep me around by being extra sweet with me, but to this day I am so happy I didn’t fall for it again. Memories of him still haunt me, but I remember I am free now. People always ask DV survivors “well why didn’t you just leave?” It’s more than that. Once you’re in that cycle of abuse it’s hard to get out of. I pray to everyone experiencing this one day too has a lightbulb turn on in their head. I see you, i hear you and i wish you all the freedom

Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

Children are impressionable. Seeing your sibling mimic the aggressive behavior their parents do to each other and to us can make it seem okay for adults to act like this. Being the punching bag in the family is exhausting. If the parent doesn’t speak to the child that this isn’t okay behavior how will the child ever learn to not behave in this manner? South Asian culture has normalized domestic abuse and violence for so long it’s actually insane when you go to look at tv shows or movies. I can’t wait to move out and leave this toxic environment that I grew up in. Once I establish my career in nursing, I’m packing my bags.

I feel anger toward my father. To me, my father is a monster. He's bound by patriarchy. He's been a very problematic person since I was a child. He was verbally and physically abusive toward my mother. He had a big attitude at home. He put on a good face. My father moved around a lot due to his job, but I ended up skipping school. I was sexually assaulted in high school and went to a mental health clinic, which led to him calling me weird. I loved creating, but he said that was weird too. My older sister was also a victim of my father, but she was always smiling, no matter what my father did to her. He was emotionally attached to her. He was like a lover or a mother to me. I was rebellious, so he ignored me. My father used me and sexually harassed me (he did the same to me), and even when I told others, I was only victimized. He sometimes spoke as if he were some kind of great person. He was abusive toward my mother. Weird women give birth to weird children. Women become weird when they get their period. I myself wondered why I created art, and at times considered getting tested for Asperger's syndrome. I quit, but... My older sister was exploited by another man, married him, and committed suicide on their wedding anniversary. As my father gets older, I feel nothing but anger toward him, and in Japan, there's a culture that makes it seem like we have to take care of our fathers. My father deserved it, and I want him to take his sins to the afterlife, but unfortunately, he has surprisingly not changed his behavioral principles. Perpetrators never change. My mother's cognitive function is declining slightly. I may be the one who survives in the end, even though I'm the only one who's completely devastated. I'm wondering whether I should be present at his end or go to his funeral, but at this stage, I don't have any plans to be present or go to the funeral. I also have some memory loss about where my father's hometown is. On exhausted nights, I sometimes wish I could die. My doctor recommended that I publish my creative work. I'm considering my interests (Western music, etc.), the fact that I've earned a certain number of credits from a correspondence university, and the fact that I took the Eiken exam a long time ago. Taking these factors into account, I'm pondering how I want to live the rest of my life. Part of me is social anxiety, so I'm a recluse. Is my life worth living? There is still no answer.

No more feeling shame. The shame is my abuser's to bear. I was in an abusive relationship 7 years. She would Yell and throw items around the room. Tell me who I can and can't see, and where I could go. She would degrade me by playing on any insecurity I had. If I questioned her motives I was gas lighted to change my way of thinking. She would smack my chest and call it play fighting. She would convince me "I'm the only one who is looking out for you" she monitored where I was and how long I was there. I would hid in the bathroom, because I was terrified of her. She would convince me to cut people out of my life. She would manipulate me emotionally and physically. Everything was on her terms, she loved that I feared her. No more feeling afraid of speaking my truth. #yournotalone

There is something to be said about coercive convincing. Sometimes people can make an outwardly uncomfortable situation very appealing or just generally ok. It’s easier to fall trap to that when you know the person, think you know the person, have heard good things about the person from others you know, or you allow your curiosity to take over your instincts. You must learn to trust your gut. Don’t silence it. Be ok with their discomfort. You, your health, mentally and physically, are more important.

Free. That word has such a different meaning after feeling trapped and caged in an abusive marriage. I am free. I am free from the fear of what the next day may bring. I am free from the hateful words that cut so deep into my soul. I am free from his hands that bruised me. I am free from the emotional torture. I am free of being blamed for his misfortune and failures. I am free to love myself. I fought to get back my freedom and I will never sacrifice MY freedom for a man again.

Where to start when it is a life-long journey. A few moments of his pleasure has been a lifetime of recovery and healing for me. It has taken a lot of work, a lot of working through to live a life where I can more freely give and receive love.

I was in an abusive relationship for 5 years. I was 17 when it started and I had no idea what psychological and verbal abuse looked like. The physical abuse was so subtle that I didn’t even know until I got out of it that what he did to me was not okay. I started reading It Ends With Us right when I was liberated and it played a huge role in me understanding my own story. It’s been two years since then and I honestly still can’t get over much it radically changed me. I’m 24 now and I can’t be intimate or date anyone because I’m scared. I still haven’t told my close friends and family what actually happened in these 5 years. I’m so wired to blame myself at this point that I feel like I’m lying when I try to tell my story. I also feel like I don’t belong here because my Ryle didn’t give me bruises. If you’re reading this know that I love you and you matter and you deserve better.

As man who suffered abuse and watched as my mother and sister suffered it with me, here's my story. I have turned it into a book called Book Name that will be published in 2025, in the hopes my story will help others who have been silent to speak up and speak out. Growing up in 1960s City, my father’s explosive temper ruled our house like a storm that never stopped raging. His beatings were a ritual—unpredictable but inevitable. His belt was his weapon of choice, and I was the target. First came the verbal assault. “You’re worthless!” he’d scream, spitting his venomous words before unleashing the belt on me. The crack of leather against my skin was sharp, but what cut deeper was the fear that filled my every moment. His attacks were brutal and relentless, and I learned quickly that crying only made it worse. I developed a mantra to survive: “I’m not crazy; he is.” I scratched those words into the wall beneath my bed and held onto them like a lifeline, clinging to the idea that this madness wasn’t my fault. But no mantra could protect me from the pain or the scars that came with each beating. My body bruised and welted, and I carried those marks into adulthood, hidden beneath layers of clothing and false smiles. When I was six, a moment of curiosity nearly killed me. I had been playing outside, tossing sticks into a neighbor’s burning barrel, when a spark landed on my nylon jacket. Within seconds, I was engulfed in flames. As I screamed and ran, my back burning, a neighbor tackled me into the snow, saving my life. In the hospital, as doctors worked to heal my third-degree burns, my fear of my father overshadowed the pain. When I came home, still covered in bandages, my father’s violence continued. He slapped me across the face for not attending the party he had arranged for my homecoming. The message was clear: no amount of suffering would earn me compassion from him. His cruelty was unyielding, and I realized that nearly dying had changed nothing. As the physical scars from the fire healed, the emotional scars festered. I lived in constant fear, not knowing when the next beating would come. His footsteps sent shivers through me, each step a reminder that I was never safe. Even after his death in year his influence loomed over me. I was relieved he was gone, but unresolved grief and anger remained. I sought to reinvent myself in university, throwing myself into academics and work. I was determined to escape the trauma, but no matter how hard I ran, it followed me. The violence I experienced as a child soon became violence I inflicted on myself. In my twenties, bulimia became my way of coping. I would binge on food and purge, as if vomiting could expel the pain I had carried for so long. It was a twisted ritual of control, and yet I had no control at all. Afterward, I would collapse in a heap, my body drained but my mind still haunted by memories I couldn’t outrun. Each cycle promised relief, but it never lasted. Obsessive exercise became another outlet. I spent hours in the gym, pushing my body to its limits, believing that if I could perfect my exterior, I could somehow fix the brokenness inside. I built muscles to protect myself, but the mirror always reflected the truth—hollow eyes staring back at me, the emptiness never far behind. Even as I climbed the ranks in my career, becoming a corporate executive, the gnawing self-doubt persisted. I was successful, but success didn’t heal the wounds my father left. I also sought comfort in strangers. Fleeting encounters became a way to fill the void inside, offering temporary escape from the relentless pain. But after every encounter, the emptiness returned, more consuming than before. No amount of running, lifting, or sex could fill the gaping hole in my heart. I was numbing myself, not living. It wasn’t until I sought therapy that I began to confront the traumas I had buried so deeply. My first therapist suggested writing letters to my parents, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It took finding the right therapist—someone who pushed me to go beyond the surface—to finally begin the healing process. Slowly, I unraveled the layers of pain, facing not only the abuse from my father but also the self-inflicted harm I had continued to impose upon myself for years. My wife, name became my greatest support, helping me peel back the layers and confront the darkness I had hidden for so long. Together, we built a life of love and connection, but even in those happiest moments, the shadows of my past never left me. When my mother passed away indate, I found closure in our complicated relationship. Forgiveness—both for her and for myself—became an essential part of my healing. Today, I use my story to encourage others to speak up and break the silence around abuse. The pain I endured was not in vain. I believe that our past can fuel our purpose and that, ultimately, our pain can become our power.

Where to begin because abuse and shame has always been a part of my being. But at 55 I've come so far and built so much on my own, I cant help but feel proud and somehow I still feel like I didnt make it. I was born to an unwed mother and was taken from her as a baby, in foster care for maybe 2 years maybe more, no one has ever told me the truth about that. My mother did go and get me, and she married my stepfather and he adopted me. My mothers parents despised my existence. I can clearly remember the first time I can recall speaking to my grandmother, I was about 4. I called her name because my mother had asked me to tell her something. I remember standing there petrified to call my grandmothers name. Something a child should never feel. I just knew she hated that I was even in her house, but yet I didnt know yet why I knew this. Being there was like torture for me and I didnt understand why until I was an adult. I just felt like they just were so bothered by me. I never felt comfort there and we visited them quite a bit. Growing up, my mother was no prize either, thank god for my dad and his family or I'd never known any kind of love. I was constantly told she wished she'd never had me, and was beaten up or neglected pretty badly, though she's say you should know what a beating is, which at the time was scary, as an adult it made me feel anger at her and sorry for her at the same time. It seems I was always chasing someone to love me. It was never just given to me aside from my dad's side. My whole life was a battle. I used to go to the neighbors house to get away from her yelling or insults to why was I like this and why couldnt I be more like that. I never felt like I was enough again not understanding it but hating how I felt. At the neighbors Id play with an older girl that molested me for a few years. And sadly I wanted the attention. I felt gross after though. And embarrassed of myself. In school I always felt like a weird kid, even though I had friends I believed they didn't really like me. Oddly I'm still friends with the same girls now, crazy how abuse and self esteem can destroy ones sense of self. I was sexually active by the time I was 14. Met my future husband at 15. He was a horrible boyfriend and on drugs when we met but I was happy to get the one night a week we'd hangout. He was 5 years older than me, had no business being with a 15 year old. But I had a boyfriend and that was all that mattered. My mom left when I was 13 so the abuse and nastiness only occurred when I was forced to visit her which I tried to avoid. But when I was 16 almost 17 she decided she wanted to be a mother again. Now I was taking care of life on my own for awhile. She insisted I break up with my boyfriend. We'd been together a year and a half, I wasnt breaking up with him. The fights got worse, they became physical, I was alot older and stronger now and at 17 I ran away to my boyfriends apartment. And the next month I was pregnant and in high school. More shame more embarrassment. But i married my boyfriend on prom weekend and I thought I was set. We had a beautiful baby boy, then another boy when I found out he was a heroin addict, I wasn't as all set as I thought. I tried to help him get clean and all that. But ultimately he chose drugs and I found out I was having our third son. We separated. 3 babies no dad. My family shook their head at me. My mother told me my grandparents would never accept me as a single mother or if i lived with another man. I couldnt figure out how to do it on my own. When my youngest was a year and a half maybe almost 2 my mother took my kids claiming she was helping me get on my feet, I wasnt allowed to see my kids for 18 months. I was devastated and lost. I took a job at a bar bartending and got caught up in that world of drinking and cocaine. I wasnt a big drinker or drug user but I wanted to belong to something and there I did. I met a guy though that helped me get my kids back and helped me get an apartment and I thought Id found the one. We were together 7 years total, and in that time he reminded me how he should of left me in the bar where he found me and I was damaged goods and what ever other name I could be called. He used to tell me all these guys think you are all that but I get to see how you look with no make up and how gross I was. Who would want that? He'd kick me while we were out in front of people. I always kept trying to be perfect enough but i never was. There was verbal and physical abuse for years but he accepted me and 3 kids and who'd want that? My mother would say I was lucky to have found him. The final straw was he was verbally abusing my oldest. He was awful to him and he was worth getting away from him. Years later I found the abuse so much more than I couldve imagined and I didnt get my kids out soon enough. I then dated a guy who was on the run from the cops, I found out. It didnt last long but long enough to have my face bashed in and end up in the hospital. And my oldest son went to live with my sister. Because I wasnt good enough to raise him. It was all good though. He was safe. From there it was on to baby dad number 2, a ladies man married and in the process of a divorce. He thought he was the shit. And I found out I was pregnant about a year into "dating" . I had that baby on my own. He denied it was his child. I was a slut to him, even though I wasnt. We worked together so I had to act like it wasnt his and the whole job questioned it. My 2 other sons had issues with school and getting in trouble so it was us and the baby and trying to keep them in line. I never felt more defeated. The new baby was about 6 months old and dad wanted to play daddy. By the time my youngest was 9 months old we'd moved in together after his begging to let him be a dad, as if I'd ever stopped him. We moved in together and within a month I caught him cheating with multiple women. WTF was I going to do now. I gave up my house and moved all the younger kids in. So I stayed. The 2 boys from my first marriage were in and out of juvie. The babys father held it over my head and threatened me with it. So I kept trying to make it work. And he kept cheating. But at his insistence, we tried for another baby, he said he'd stop cheating. We got pregnant with my daughter, and he kept cheating. I mean like he was on dating websites. It was insane. He was a narcissist. He cheated on me while I was having our daughter in the hospital. He was all day telling me if I were more like this or that he'd stop or he'd take my babies because of the trouble my boys were in. I was 2 months post partum and he said if i wasnt so fat he wouldnt cheat. Who says that? Couldnt I ever just have a normal family? Maybe I was damaged good as Id heard all those years ago. After back and forth moving across the country to try and fix this, moving back after the housing market crashed, right before my daughters first birthday I threw him out. Out of his own house. Go be with the girl and he did. And cheated on her. Years go by constant berating and belittling because now I'm the ex with the kids and suing him for support. Years of it, Didn't matter that I had court orders and full custody, he was going to tear me apart, sooo many texts. Saying the most vile things that could be said. For years. So in the meantime he'd lived with about 7-9 different women I lived alone with the kids. But wait there's more... I had a good life and my shit together, when along came the worst of the worst, a loud, mean, life of the party type guy that everyone outside loved and anyone that knew him closely despised. And now he's my boyfriend. And in the beginning he was the sweetest. He wined and dined me and was sweeping off of my feet. I deserved it! After all the years I found my guy. Secretly, and slowly he showed who he was. We were together 4 years. Lived together 18 months. I hated him when we lived together 6 months. He hated my daughter with a vengeance. He was outwardly verbally abusive to her once we lived together. And I was having no part of it and asked him to leave, he did not. Mind you there were 2 and a half years of abuse, more vile than my kids father said to me and once again I keep effing trying. So desperate for normal. So badly wanting a family and happiness. So I moved in with him. And I said he was torturous. And god forbid Id make him stop abusing me, it was when it was my child yet again I got out. But this one not so easy, I asked him to go and he didnt and I couldnt get him out because the landlord insisted on having his name on the lease. So he wouldnt leave. And verbally, mentally emotionally and financially put me through it. One year to the day I asked him to get out, he left. After a final year of literal torture, verbally abusing my daughter and eventually my autistic son, he left. And went on to say he left me. Haha. 2 years later I moved to a small beach town with my kids, I bought a home. Reconnecting with all those I lost in the years with him. Havent heard a word from him since. Finding my way. Learning to trust myself and others. Im a full on work in progress. But I can say the strength is within and if you choose to use it , life can be a beautiful.

I’m currently getting a protection order against my husband. He told me God would punish me severely if I ever left him and my life would be awful. I stayed even though he punched a hole in the wall, drove erratically to scare me, slapped me, and slammed a chair next to me. He said it would get better when the baby was born. It got much worse during the birth of our child. He tried to deny me an epidural and pain medication. He yelled at me and fell asleep to leave me to handle labor alone. He got removed and arrested at the hospital and then taken to a psych ward. He blamed his behavior on being manic and I felt like I was betraying him. At first I didn’t understand why they were asking me if I was safe at home. I said yes. I answered their questions by protecting him all day. And then when my mom looked at me fearfully it all clicked what was actually occurring. I talked to the Doctors about it and they encouraged me to file a TRO. I am now in the process of filing an FRO. He is lying about everything and playing the victim. He is using the fact that I was protecting him at first to his advantage to make me look like a liar and using reactive abuse texts to look like the victim. His family is testifying against me because they want to protect him too. I can’t believe how charming he is to the outside perspective and it’s so scary to see the real him.

i moved to wheeling this blonde haired handsome cop took an interest in me he was going to leave his girlfriend for me last year. His girlfriend stalked me when he came to see me she was not far behind he went back and forth between me and her. He chose her over me after telling her he loved me he was hardly ever around he would spy on me i left then he blamed me he would throw parties celebratating our engagement i asked him if was going to see someone else please do not rub it in but that is exactly what he did not to mention all the insults i got he never defended me. He then accuses me of cheating saying I hurt a good guy he sent a third party to tell me he was married to someone else then told me he was not married he was supposed to have been engaged but shes now single there was this woman who went on facebook saying he was a bad boy.

After over a decade, I'm just now coming out of a fog and realizing I've been abused since before we even married. I feel so lost right now. I'm trying to forgive myself, love myself, and gain strength, all while still having to be married to my abuser. I want to leave but don't have the resources to. And I cannot stomach the thought of my children having to suffer even weekend visits with him without me there as a shield. I'm so exhausted. I'm so hurt and angry and sad. He's abused me physically, emotionally, mentally, and financially. I feel so trapped and don't really see a way out for me and my kids. When I watched It Ends With Us, I related so much because I knew exactly how it felt to look back and finally realize what had actually happened. I am just now processing so much that I didn't feel safe enough to even consider was abuse before. It's hard and sometimes I want to hide from it all, but I know the only way to heal and somehow leave is to face what I've been through head on and make a plan to escape.

We went to high school together, the prom, etc. My first love. 9 years after HS graduation we reconnected at a wedding and were married less than a year later. I liked our childhood connection, and how he liked to fix things. Everyone said it was “meant to be.” But there were many red flags. He abused me in every way. Mentally, by undermining my dreams and hopes (telling me I would never finish my degree). Financially, by spending money we didn't have, hiding major purchases from me, quitting jobs impulsively if he was ever “disrespected.” Physically, by spitting on me, shaking me, throwing me down on the floor. He lied to me, called me names, called me fat, threw away my cherished items then mocked me for picking through the garbage to find them. He also cheated on me and gave me an std then denied it saying I must have cheated on him when I hadn’t. He undermined my sense of reality. The tipping point was finding my 13 year old daughter's diary and reading about what she had heard and witnessed when I thought she was asleep. I couldn't raise her or her brothers around this anymore. The hardest thing was navigating custody. He had never once cared for our 3 children by himself–not even for an afternoon. He had connections in both police and social service agencies and was a former CPS worker so accusations of abuse never stuck to him. He dated and briefly married a lawyer so he had free and unlimited legal representation. He neglected our children, drank heavily (he is an alcoholic) and scared them many times with his rage and outbursts. Not being able to shield them from him was and remains the hardest part. My family is Catholic and takes marriage very seriously as do I. Right before I filed for divorce my mom was telling me how things weren't that bad. I told her that she could 1) either ask me to stop talking about my reality with her or 2) accept my reality–but that I would no longer accept her denial of my reality. She heard me, apologized, and has been fully supportive ever since. Please do not assume because someone is a social worker, calls himself an advocate, or a feminist, or even works as an advocate that he lives out these values in private. My ex was given an award by the police department for his work with homeless people the same week that he locked me outside of our house during a tornado (I had to ride it out in my car in the driveway). Obviously knowing that I'm not alone, that even though more than a decade has passed and that I'm very happily married to a kind and loving man, that this pain stays with me. On my children's birthdays I always struggle remembering how he abused me while I was in labor and recovering from childbirth. That is something very hard to share. Speak Your Truth allowed me to not be alone with those memories for the first time.

I got married when I was 25 years old. I truly thought it was going to be just an amazing thing. I had never lived away from home and was immediately now married and moving away from my home, friends and family for my husband's new job. The first few months were truly a honeymoon and I thought if this is the rest of my life then I scored!! My ex was in the military and had finished his service right before we married. We moved for his new job and after a few months the PTSD and stress took a toll on him. That's not an excuse it's the truth I saw it manifest and change. His outbursts always ended with the person closet to him, which was me. The first time I was in complete, utter shock. This could not be happening to me. I was from a good family, I was educated and intelligent, I was starting a great career myself, how could I allow myself to be hurt on a regular basis. Every time there was the apologies, the promise to get help, the cooling off time where we had some happy times and then here we went again. I didn't have the courage to leave, I was so ashamed and scared to tell my family. What would they think? Would they blame me the way he did? Would they tell me to stick it out because I was raised that marriage is hard and you have to stick with it and work it out. I tiptoed every day for 2 years but it still happened. Hospital visits for "falls" and other "accidents" became a regular thing. I was miserable and felt hopeless how did I end up there, how could this be my life. I finally confided in a co-worker who never judged me just listened. One day she said if you're not going to leave than don't be a victim, fight back. Give it as good as you get it. Not sure that was the best advice as it started a cycle of back and forth abuse that was in no way healthy. I took a baseball bat to knees while he slept and I ended up arrested. there was many more instances of him hurting me and me hurting him I was now 3 years in to being abused and one year in to becoming an abuser. NOT GOOD. I had some reprieve as my ex took a job in another state for a few years so did long distance but the abuse was still real when he was home. I never thought I would be happy to find out my husband was cheating on me but 8 years in a woman showed up at my door and said she was pregnant with my husband's child. I literally hugged her. I was free, it was over. I packed up up stuff and my car and left. I called him from the road to let him know what happened and said I wanted a divorce. He did not give it easily but I finally was able to go. I found out I was pregnant a month after I left. My ex has never and will never know he has a son. There was no way he would ever be able to teach him to be an abuser. After much therapy and many years of building an amazing life I can finally say I found healing. I have the most awesome son is truly a man and the kindest soul you'll ever meet. 25 years since I married and I still don't have the courage to meet anyone or get involved but life is good. I just want to do what I can to help others.

I had become accustomed to being called horrible names (fat, bitch, cunt, stupid,whore, hairy,pathetic, ugly) being screamed at, shoved, pushed, hair pulled, my wrist grabbed so hard that I think I have nerve damage. But the day he punched me, choked me and I thought I was going to die is when I had enough. It was the lowest scariest moment in my life. Before it got to that extreme I felt I had to tolerate the abuse what I then labeled bad behaviors because that’s what loving someone else was. I accepted it as part of his short comings and believed I was so mentally strong they did not affect me. I also believed I could change him if I just showed him I loved him enough. That I could heal his wounds. It was a lie I told myself not realizing how toxic that was. When someone that claims to love you and who you love treats you with such disrespect, it wounds even the strongest of us. Eventually, that love became hate for him and for myself. I carried so much shame too because I couldn't believe that I allowed him to treat me with such cruelty. I believed myself stupid and weak. I was vulnerable because I craved affection. I was codependent and did not know it. I was easy prey for a narcissist. After I left him a part of me was relieved but another part was so hurt and lost. I had days I felt like just crying and staying in bed, days going to work was almost impossible because I hated myself for everything specifically where I found myself at 27. I soon realized that what I thought was weak was actually the good in me. The understanding, emphatic and caring parts of me were not weakness, I was just giving that to someone that did not deserve it. Did not deserve me. I had to learn to heal by showing myself the compassion and love I gave him. I had to learn to love myself and I did. I realized I am strong and resilient and deserve to be happy. I found my joy to live and an inner strength I had no idea I possessed. To anyone that feels trapped in a cycle of abuse I say you are not alone and you are NOT crazy. I remember the first time I allowed myself to speak about all the abuse. It was to a therapist and I only seeked out therapy because I no longer recognized myself. I was either sad or angry and began suffering from anxiety. She said to me, I can't imagine how it feels to live with all those feelings and I remember crying. For the first time, I felt like my feelings mattered and I was not insane because I had been gaslighted and manipulated to the point I didn’t trust my feelings. Most of that hour I was balling and could not stop. It was like the flood gates opened and there was no closing them. I just had to wait for it to empty out. The pain I was holding in was indescribable. I just know I do not wish it to anyone. It was also the start of my healing. The last few years on my own have forced me to grow and really love myself. I can say today that I look back at that time and feel like this all happened to someone else. There are moments, triggers that remind me of the sad girl I once was but I am so much stronger now that they do not last. It took years to get here, and there is still work I got to do like learn to be vulnerable again but one thing I know for sure, I will NEVER go back to that version of me.