Why I Went Back Even After He Hit Me
The world felt upside down and I wanted to return it to right-side up.
doidam10 | Canva We had been together nearly two years the first time he hit me. It wasn’t just one hit either; it was a brutal attack. To say that I was surprised is an understatement. So often, people ask, “Why don’t you just leave?” Or they state emphatically, “I would never stay if he ever hit me!” I have been guilty of making both shaming statements.
As I learned firsthand, the decision and process of leaving and staying are highly complex. Nothing is straightforward; there are no cookie-cutter solutions. There were many reasons why I stayed as long as I did. Leaving the relationship was a long process.
The first time
It was the early 1990s. Like most weekends, my boyfriend and I were drinking with my roommate and another friend. Everything seemed to be okay. I sat in a rocking chair with my legs folded. He was crouched in front, facing me with his arms on either side of the rocker armrests. We had just been laughing.
He turned to my roommate and told her to watch as he beat me up.
I felt startled and frightened in this vulnerable sitting position, even though he hadn’t been violent toward me before. I jumped up with my palms outstretched, connecting with his chest. I pushed as hard as I could away from me. He stumbled back into the door.
Then, chaos erupted. It was one of the most terrifying nights of my life. I don’t know how long the attack lasted, but it seemed like hours. I screamed for help, but nobody came. Eventually, he left the house. I locked the doors and got into bed because it was a work night.
Two male police officers came to the door. I said I was fine. Annoyed, they told me in a condescending tone that they arrested my boyfriend, and he said nothing happened. I didn’t want to press charges. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and confused.
A short time later, a domestic violence advocate called to offer support. I was mortified that someone else knew about this and declined support.
In the morning, my roommate returned, and we went to the emergency room. Every inch of my head had a bump; my bottom teeth were chipped, my eyes were black and had burst blood vessels in them, my face and especially my nose was swollen and painful, and my ribs were bruised.
Later, at home, a female neighbor I had never met knocked at the door. She had called the police the night before because her children saw what was happening, and she couldn’t have them see things like that. Her visit solidified what I already believed: what happened was shameful and reflected poorly on me and my choices.
Disbelief
I could not believe this happened to me. The whole life we shared is over in an instant. So many questions swirled through my mind. How could the man I love, spend time with, and laugh with do this to me? How do I reconcile the loving, funny man I knew with the rage-filled man who brutally attacked me? Where were the warning signs, the build-up to this level of violence?
I cannot adequately explain the amount of shame I felt. I was ashamed I could love someone capable of doing this to me, that it happened, that I let it happen, that other people knew.
Talking with anyone else about his vicious attack on me was unthinkable. I felt betrayed. I believed he loved me, but now I wondered if that was true. I trusted him, and this is what he did to me.
In the following days and weeks, I was in a daze. The entire world seemed on tilt as all my hopes and dreams vanished overnight. Everything I previously believed felt untrue now. The event had me so unbalanced. I wished for it to have been a nightmare and would have given anything to have that night not occur. I just wanted everything to return to normal, to stop the world from falling off its axis. I wanted to return my life from upside down to right side up.
Returning
That night hurt me physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I couldn’t convince myself that everything before that night meant nothing. How could one night negate everything else, all the love we shared, the fun we had? I still loved him, no matter how much I told myself I shouldn’t. I thought our relationship was different from others.
I told myself that wasn’t the real him; that wasn’t the man I knew. When we finally talked, he confirmed this thinking, saying he “snapped.” Guilt was added to the shame I already felt. He told me the police handcuffed him, took him to the alley, and beat him up.
I knew how often this happened in our city and distrusted the police. We were an interracial couple and experienced the displeasure of others toward our relationship. He regularly experienced discrimination in his life. The police’s use of violence did not “teach him a lesson,” nor did I feel safer. Instead, it caused me to believe it was my fault he suffered unfair and inhumane treatment. I also felt guilty because I put my hands on him first. I was frightened and reacted; he reacted to me. He said he wouldn’t have hit me if I hadn’t pushed him first.
He expressed remorse for hurting me, although he did not acknowledge the brutality of his attack. He believed it would not happen again. I wanted to believe it wouldn’t happen again. It wasn’t long before I was swayed to return to the relationship. I wanted my equilibrium to return, to rewind to a time before the violence.
The next times
Hesitantly, at first, I did return to the relationship. There was no violence for about a year. The longer we were together, the more I believed it was a fluke and would not happen again.
But it did happen again.
Then, I was even more ashamed than the first time. I knew the saying that if he hits you once, he will hit you again, yet I went back anyway. I told myself it was my fault for returning to him and putting myself in this position. I wanted to keep it private and not let anyone know I put myself in a position to be hurt once more.
I thought the abuse might be de-escalating, though, because it was much less violent than the first time. I left for a few days and then returned to the relationship. Too ashamed of the violence and myself. I wanted to show I was not wrong to trust him.
A shorter time passed before the next time he hurt me. Again, I left and then returned to the relationship. I wanted to be able to fix this relationship. I loved him and believed in him. Months passed.
The Last Time
One evening, he angrily threw his dinner plate across the room. At some point in the argument, he got a knife from the kitchen and came for me. I got safely out of the apartment. I knew I could not return home. This was not the end of the disagreement, only the beginning. I felt the tension and knew the signs; if I returned, he would hurt me.
Later that evening, I asked for help. That was the night I finally left.
Turning Point
I had a standing arrangement with someone to pick me up for the weekly AA meeting on Monday. I had been clean and sober for more than a year at the time. This happened on Monday evening, so I went to the apartment lobby and waited about an hour for my friend to arrive as scheduled.
I said nothing about my situation on the drive, nor did I say anything about my situation during the meeting. When it was nearing time to leave, and only a few people remained, I turned to my sponsor and said, “I don’t think I can go home.” I then finally told him what was happening at my home.
My sponsor was dumbfounded and heartsick. He didn’t know what to say. The visitor beside me gently spoke up. Incredibly, she worked in the domestic violence field and offered to find me a shelter for the night.
I knew I had to do things differently. On previous occasions, I went to stay with my sister and family. It was a tight squeeze at her home, and he could easily reach me. I knew doing that would result in my return to the relationship. So, I accepted her offer and was invited to stay on a futon in the living room of a full shelter. Someone picked me up and drove me to the secret shelter location.
An advocate stayed with me until 2 a.m., completing the document to request a temporary Order of Protection. In the morning, I was driven to the courthouse wearing donated clothing. After the judge finally signed the Order, I went to work.
Leaving for the final time
There are numerous reasons that night was different than previous nights. The primary difference for me was that I was in recovery. Being clean and sober for more than a year made positive improvements in every part of my life. I found a Higher Power I could trust and rely upon. I could see the movement of the Spirit in my life. For the first time, I believed my life had a purpose. I knew I was not alone, and I didn’t have to do everything on my own.
In sobriety, I gained confidence in myself and my ability to make good decisions. I learned about my character defects and my character assets. I no longer accepted his assessments of my character and personality. I learned to take responsibility for my actions and not take responsibility for the actions of others. I was not responsible for his behavior.
Being out of the fog of substance use meant that I had more clarity. I could no longer deny the reality of my situation. I had to accept that I was a victim of domestic violence. There is no other way to look at it. I could better see the realities of the relationship and was less susceptible to gaslighting. Sober, I knew exactly what happened, and I didn’t need to rely on his version of events. Sober, I could also see the buildup of tension that would result in violence. Based on my experience, I knew plate throwing was only the beginning — it would escalate.
I also finally saw that I could do nothing to change the trajectory — unless I left. My situation could not change until I became honest about what was happening — honest with myself and others. Only after I shared could anyone offer help. That night, I finally realized I could not do this alone; I needed help.
Admitting that there was a problem, asking for and then accepting that help changed my situation. Those were skills I learned in AA.
For over a year and a half, I built relationships with the members of my AA group. They knew me well yet they knew nothing about the violence. It was a relief to share with my sponsor what was happening finally. Honesty is essential to gaining and maintaining sobriety. It felt dishonest to keep the violence I was experiencing to myself.
I was learning to live my life differently and relate to people in new ways. That night, I knew I needed to make different decisions. I chose to accept the help offered and go to a shelter. Staying overnight at a domestic violence shelter is a reality-inducing experience. I learned from that experience that many people are willing and ready to help.
Acceptance
The days and months following my decision were anything but easy.
I had to inform my employer and colleagues of the Order of Protection because I feared he would appear there. I shared with others that we broke up and why. Most had no idea, and some could not believe he could be violent toward me.
I missed the fun and loving person with whom I had shared many memories. I once heard a description that really resonated with me: We don’t want the relationship to end; we want the violence to end.
About six months after I left, his eldest sister called. She was very concerned because he was in a deep depression. She thought it would do us good if I joined the family at the cabin. Of course, this pulled at my heartstrings — I missed the large family, I missed him, and I was concerned about him suffering from depression. I declined and shared with her about her brother’s violence. She was unaware. I realized it was not my responsibility to try to ease his conscience or to reduce his depression.
The end of the story?
Not quite. Five years later, he reached out to me. He apologized and accepted responsibility for his actions. He was turning his life around — he had a job he enjoyed and drove a nice car.
He told his co-workers he lost the love of his life. He wanted another chance for us and asked me to marry him. We talked on several occasions. He told me all the things I wanted to hear. Oh, how I wanted this to be true. I was hesitant, though, and refused to agree to marriage immediately.
Soon, he became angry and frustrated at my reluctance to accept marriage. Once again, he began to blame AA for all our problems. In that instant, I knew that we could never be together again. Perhaps he had changed; I believe wholeheartedly that people do change. He may never hit another woman; however, he would likely hit me again. That line had already been crossed. I would always fear that one day, it would happen again.
Healing
It has been nearly 30 years since I left him. I have continued my sobriety and grown in my relationship with my higher power. My life and I are entirely different than they were so long ago. With some great support from my sponsor, AA, therapists, spiritual directors, friends, and family, I have done a lot of healing.
My relationship with my Higher Power continues to grow. In hindsight, I know that God was with me even then, and was heartbroken by what happened. Though I have not experienced physical violence in any subsequent relationships, it took many years before I started dating healthy men.
Most days, this relationship is a lifetime ago. On other days, it seems like only yesterday. My trauma response is not activated as often or easily as it once was. I continue to grow and learn.
A piece of the story
I shared here a little bit about some of my experience and focused mainly on the physical violence and not the psychological, emotional, financial, and spiritual aspects of the abuse. There is more to my experience, both negative and positive — the beautiful and the horrifying. There is always more to the story, more than what you see. Just as there is more to my story, there is more to his.
I have compassion for the man so plagued by his wounds that he lashes out. Compassion for him, however, doesn’t negate my compassion for myself, nor does it mean I could be in a relationship with him. Those are separate things.
I don’t regret this relationship. I regret that violence entered it. I hope he receives the help he desperately needs to change his life.
If you know someone experiencing abuse, ask them how you can best support them rather than asking why they don’t just leave. As is true of any relationship, it is complex and multilayered. I could leave only when I was ready, not when anyone else thought I should be. If you are experiencing violence, know that you are not alone. You have nothing to be ashamed about or for. Their violence is not your fault in any way. You cannot change them. You can change your situation. Many will help you.
If you’re experiencing domestic abuse, you’re not alone.
The National Domestic Violence Hotline reports that approximately 24 people per minute are victims of rape, physical violence, or stalking by an intimate partner in the U.S. More than 12 million women and men over the years have suffered from instances of domestic violence and abuse.
Experiencing domestic abuse can happen to anyone and is not a reflection of who you are.
The National Domestic Violence Hotline defines domestic violence, domestic abuse, or relationship abuse as a “pattern of behaviors used by one partner to maintain power and control over another person in an intimate relationship.” Anyone of any race, age, sexual orientation, religion, or gender can suffer from domestic abuse. According to NDVH, close to 3 in 10 women and 1 in 10 men in the U.S. have experienced rape, physical violence, and or stalking by a partner.
If you or someone you know is suffering from domestic abuse or violence, there are resources to get help.
There are ways to go about asking for help as safely as possible. For more information, resources, legal advice, and relevant links visit the National Domestic Violence Hotline. For anyone struggling with domestic abuse, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). If you’re unable to speak safely, text LOVEIS to 1-866-331-9474 .
Michelle Pederson is a writer, spiritual director, labyrinth facilitator, clergy and sociologist. She can be found on Medium and at her spiritual direction practice.