WHat domestic abuse can actually look like

I thought abuse had to look a certain way. I know differently now.

There are things I understand now that I didn't understand while I was living through them.

For a long time, when I heard the words domestic abuse, I had a very particular picture in my head.

Violence. Bruises. Someone being hit. Someone obviously afraid of their partner.

And because my life didn't always look like that, I didn't necessarily have the language for some of the things that were happening to me.

There were good moments.

There were holidays, laughter, affection, plans for the future. There was a wedding. There were photographs where we looked happy.

And there was also a version of me constantly trying to work things out.

Was I being unreasonable?

Had I communicated badly?

Was I asking for too much?

Should I have said it differently?

Maybe if I explained myself one more time, he'd finally understand what I meant.

I spent a lot of time trying to understand him.

I didn't spend nearly enough time asking what was happening to me.

I didn't realise abuse could be psychological

One of the biggest things I've learned is that domestic abuse isn't defined only by physical violence. Sometimes it's a pattern.

It's being manipulated and then questioning whether you've interpreted something correctly.

It's feeling as though affection, communication or peace can be withdrawn when you don't behave in the way someone wants.

It's being ignored as punishment.

It's threats, intimidation or behaviour that makes you alter what you say or do because you're trying to prevent the next reaction.

It's repeatedly having your reality challenged until you start wondering whether you're the problem. And sometimes it's incredibly subtle.

That's part of what can make it so difficult to recognise while you're inside it.

I didn't wake up every morning thinking, I'm in an abusive relationship.

I woke up trying to make my relationship work. There is a huge difference.

I thought my job was to communicate better

This one has probably required some of the biggest unlearning for me.

I believed so strongly in communication.

Talk things through. Understand each other's perspective. Take accountability. Try again. All good things in a healthy relationship.

But communication assumes that both people are participating in good faith.

I could explain how something made me feel. Then explain it differently. Then soften my words. Then consider his childhood. His attachment style. His feelings. His perspective.

I became very good at looking for the reason behind someone else's behaviour.

And because I'm naturally reflective, there was almost always another question I could ask myself:

What could I have done differently?

There's value in reflecting on ourselves.

But I've learned there is a difference between self-reflection and taking responsibility for somebody else's choices.

Understanding why somebody behaves a certain way doesn't make harmful behaviour acceptable.

And no amount of perfect communication can make another person choose honesty, empathy or respect. That was a painful lesson.

I didn't understand that sexual abuse could happen within a marriage

This has been one of the hardest parts of my experience to process and one of the reasons I think these conversations matter.

I used to think about sexual violence in the way many of us are taught to think about it: something obvious, perhaps violent, committed by a stranger or somebody you already knew was dangerous.

I didn't understand enough about what consent could look like inside a relationship. I didn't understand the freeze response.

I didn't understand that being married to somebody doesn't create permanent consent.

I didn't understand that crying, freezing or becoming unresponsive are things that matter.

And I certainly didn't imagine that I would one day have to look back at experiences within my own marriage and find completely different words for them.

There are parts of that story I may never share publicly in detail.

I don't need to. What matters to me is saying this:

A relationship does not remove your right to your own body.

Marriage doesn't either.

I didn't realise punishment could look like silence

There is a difference between somebody needing space to regulate themselves and somebody using withdrawal as a way of controlling or punishing another person.

I didn't always know that. And context matters.

Someone saying, “I'm overwhelmed and need an hour to calm down, but we'll talk later,” is very different from deliberately withholding communication or affection in order to make somebody anxious, compliant or afraid to upset them again.

This is actually something I want to write about separately because I've since learned about the differences between taking healthy space, stonewalling and the silent treatment.

They aren't automatically the same thing.

But when silence repeatedly leaves you scrambling to restore peace, apologising to end the punishment or becoming afraid to say no because you know what will follow, it's worth paying attention to the pattern.

I didn't realise how much I had started managing someone else's emotions

This is something I can see much more clearly looking backwards.

I became careful.

Careful about how I raised things.

Careful about when I raised them.

Careful about how something might be interpreted.

Careful about upsetting someone.

Careful about saying something in the "wrong" way.

And when you've spent enough time doing that, it can start to feel normal.

You don't necessarily think, I'm changing my behaviour because I'm afraid of the consequences.

You might simply think:

I know what he's like.

So you adapt.

And adapt.

And adapt.

Until one day you realise just how much of yourself you've been editing.

But there were good times too

I think this part is important.

People sometimes talk about abusive relationships as though every minute must have been terrible.

Mine wasn't. And that can be incredibly confusing.

You can love somebody who harms you.

You can have beautiful memories with somebody whose behaviour was abusive.

You can miss somebody and still know you weren't safe with them.

You can grieve what you believed the relationship was while simultaneously understanding things about it that you didn't understand before.

Those truths can exist together.

Recognising abuse doesn't require me to rewrite every memory as horrible.

It requires me to stop using the good memories to explain away the harmful ones.

"Why didn't you just leave?"

Because first you have to understand what you're experiencing.

Because you might love them.

Because you might believe things can change.

Because you remember who they were at the beginning.

Because you've built a life together.

Because there may be children, finances, a home, family, faith, shame, fear or hope involved.

Because you've been told you're the problem.

Because you've become accustomed to explaining things away.

Because leaving an abusive relationship isn't always a single dramatic moment where everything suddenly becomes clear.

Sometimes clarity arrives slowly. Mine did.

What I'm learning now

I'm still learning.

That's something I want to be very clear about on this website.

I'm not writing this from the perspective of somebody who has completed healing, packaged it into five steps and now has all the answers.

I don't.

I'm writing while I'm rebuilding.

I'm learning about boundaries.

I'm learning to trust my own perception again.

I'm learning that I don't have to over-explain every decision so nobody is disappointed in me.

I'm learning that being compassionate towards somebody doesn't require me to abandon compassion for myself.

I'm learning that peace doesn't mean keeping everybody else happy.

And I'm learning that healing isn't only talking about what happened.

Sometimes healing looks like understanding.

Sometimes it's crying.

Sometimes it's therapy and difficult conversations.

Sometimes it's prayer.

Sometimes it's movement.

Sometimes it's travelling somewhere beautiful.

Sometimes it's dancing simply because your body finally feels like somewhere you want to live again.

And sometimes it's laughing and realising that, for a few minutes, you weren't thinking about any of it.

That counts too.

If you're questioning your own experience

I can't tell you what your relationship is or isn't.

And I don't want my story to become a checklist somebody uses to diagnose theirs.

But I can tell you something I wish I'd understood sooner:

You don't have to wait until something fits the picture of abuse you once had in your head before you allow yourself to become curious about how a relationship is affecting you.

Pay attention to patterns.

Pay attention to how you feel.

Pay attention to how much of yourself you're changing in order to maintain peace.

Pay attention when your boundaries repeatedly come with consequences.

And perhaps, instead of only asking:

Why are they behaving like this?

also ask:

What is this relationship doing to me?

That question changed a lot for me.

And perhaps it will help somebody else ask a question they need to ask too.

A gentle note

I share my personal experiences, reflections and things I'm learning through my own research. I am not a domestic abuse specialist, therapist or mental health professional, and nothing I share here should be taken as professional advice.

If you're experiencing abuse, feel unsafe or need support, please reach out to an appropriate professional or support service available to you.

Pippa x

Still healing. Still learning. Still choosing myself.