Sarafina Bianco, on reinventing herself five years after leaving an abusive relationship.
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Three years ago, I was angry. At myself, at the unsafe world around me, at anyone who didn’t understand. Two years before, I left my abusive boyfriend and found myself writing to clear out head noise. My post, “Five Things An Abused Woman Wants You to Know,” hit a thousand views the first day it was posted here, the highest amount of traffic I’d seen for my writing. People poured out comments, thanking me for my honesty or questioning my aggression.
Sucked into a whirlwind I didn’t expect, I found myself shuddering at the thought of dishing out advice to people who needed answers. I’m not an expert. I’m not a therapist.
I’m just a woman who loved a man who stole my money, my confidence and life. A man who beat me.
Then the post was translated into Spanish and shared with Mrs. Carolina Schmidt who, at the time, was the Minister of Women for the Chilean Republic. She thanked me for my strength, courage and transparency and I knew my life was better having written something about domestic violence, regardless of the questions left behind.
In the wake of its publication, my post left most people wondering the same thing they always wondered when speaking to a man or woman who admits they were abused:
“How could you love someone who hit you?”
I tried to answer this question in my responses and emails. I dug deep, trying to search for words I hadn’t yet said to myself, because I feared I was the problem. I didn’t wholeheartedly believe I deserved more than the abuse falling on my back. And I didn’t know how to explain to others what I so desperately needed to understand myself.
Three years of trauma therapy can change a lot.
I loved a man who hit me because his hands were kind at first. They were soft and warm, and when he lifted my chin and caught my gaze with his piercing blue eyes, I knew he held answers to questions I’d been asking myself forever. Because before the abuse, he let me blossom for him. And my past melted away, unnecessary to my future happiness. He taught me it only defined me if I let it. He made me believe I was better than my history and bigger than the future I planned for myself. My dreams presented like blue and red pills: take this one to go back to La-La Land, or take the other to see what your future holds.
The truth is any woman he tried to court would have fallen for him. Charismatic and handsome, successful and confident. I almost thought Mike was too good to be true. But he told me truths and mistakes, and he built the image of a man with blemishes only as big as my own. Baggage made him human, so I never questioned the other pieces.
He gave me imperfection. But we were perfect together because before the abuse he let me open vulnerable places and push out fear. I felt unstoppable. And our sex life was fantastic. He was five years older and much more experienced, so when he wrapped himself around my body in ways I’d never felt, I thought I saw the universe for exactly what it should be.
A year later, when it came time to face the despair I saw in the mirror, the exhaustion and pain he created, he lifted me into his arms and begged me to help him help me. And he wrapped me into him, carrying me back to the bedroom while tears fell from his eyes. He wanted me to heal again. He wanted to get help. And he wanted me to listen to songs reminding him of our love and the exceptional beginning of a relationship fantastic and human enough to write about. Then we went to therapy, separate at first, then together.
As I survived every cyclical event, love and praise and disappointment and guilt, he tested my strength to see how far I would let him go. He promised me change. His willingness to seek help made it easy to believe he was actually trying. But he was really pushing me harder or insulting me more than the last argument.
I believed unconditional love meant you stood by your mate through the thickest of times. And I didn’t believe it could get as bad as it did. So I convinced myself to prove my strength, to stand up to his hands and words, and to look him in the eye as he twisted that gun into my temple.
I believed he would see I was unaffected, even though shutdown is more accurate. And I knew that was the answer. Because I tried to leave him twice before and both times I failed. First because the police wouldn’t help me or believe my story. Which made me question myself more.
Maybe I was dramatic.
And the second time he was sick and needed help with his daughter.
It wasn’t her fault. And I was the monster if I turned my back on someone I loved.
I could continue this explanation of my life. I could give you a thousand more reasons I stayed after every horrible night. But you’ll still have questions. Shit, I still have questions.
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What I’ve learned is this:
As humans, when we fear something, we try to minimize it. To break it apart so it’s smaller and easier to digest. We accuse the unknown, the incomprehensible, of being the problem.
It’s why straight people fear gays.
Why black people were persecuted for only being as different as skin color.
Why we gossip about the new neighbor until we’re sure they’re safe.
And why half the population doesn’t understand people who have survived abusive relationships.
You don’t want to believe abuse could happen to you or your mom or your son. It’s too difficult to swallow the reality that sociopaths live in every neighborhood, some obvious in their destruction and others hiding well behind their suits and smiles.
High functioning society members beat people.
It’s scary, isn’t it?
July marks five years of recovery, two of which I fought to do on my own, I realized ignorance and avoidance breed abuse. If we don’t accept it could happen to anyone, if we don’t stop victimizing survivors, we’re never going to win the war.
Please stop saying it couldn’t possibly happen to you. Because it could. And it might. Just like it happened to me.
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Read also by Fina: 5 Things an Abused Woman (This Woman) Wants You to Know
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Photo: Megyarsh / Flickr
Poignant and resonating. My only notable quibble with this article was where she says “You don’t want to believe abuse could happen to you or your mom or your son. It’s too difficult to swallow the reality that sociopaths live in every neighborhood, some obvious in their destruction and others hiding well behind their suits and smiles. High functioning society members beat people.” Not all abusive people are sociopaths- in fact, none of the ones I’ve met are, and none of the sociopaths I’ve personally met are abusive (although that certainly isn’t to say they *can’t* be). And insinuating that… Read more »
“Before the abuse, he let me blossom for him…” What an insightful and heart-breaking essay…I am deeply touched by your words only because I know it all too well…abuse is so confusing…it is hard to remember what it was like in the beginning when the last few moments of flying fists, brutal kicks, and four letter words take up so much of my traumatic memories…it is hard to believe that someone so well spoken, so seemingly caring, and so sophisticated could transform into a wild brutish Tasmanian devil in the end…it is still hard to think that this was the… Read more »
Hi Sarafina, you are indeed an inspiration. I volunteer at Vancouver Rape Relief weekly and I constantly hear stories like this. Some nights, women call the crisis line weeping, and some nights, I have to go the emergency room to accompany a woman doing a rape kit. Some nights, I have to counsel the residents who lived through domestic violences, and some nights I have to read countless of gruesome reports. But I would like to say this, thank you Sarafina. Thank you. Thank you for reconfirming that women in abusive relationships can escape. Thank you for helping end the… Read more »
An unexpected and very appreciated comment. Thank you, Kristal. And thank you for your services. I go to weekly group therapy and individual therapy at a local non-profit for abuse survivors. Their 24 hour help line availability made making it through panic attacks so much easier. Volunteers like you have saved many women. I sure hope you know that. <3
The way I always explain it is that you wouldn’t stay with someone who abuses you. But by the time they are done with their manipulations, you aren’t YOU anymore at all. I’ve never been in a romantic relationship with someone who was abusive. But my father was. I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know that some people’s dads protected them, instead of being the thing they needed protection from. And I defended him. I made excuses for him. It took something pretty big for me to finally stand up and open my eyes. I’m so glad that you’ve… Read more »
I think you are doing a great job explaining it. Most of us find ourselves in abusing relationships at some point in our lives (lover, spouse, parent, boss, family member, friend…) but we don’t admit it to ourselves since we think it can’t happen to us. Healing and recovery starts with admission to yourself that you have a serious issue to solve and then you can take the steps right for you and the pace right for you to solve it. You did that and I thank you for sharing your experience so honestly. It will help others.
Humans and their relationships are very complex and not easily understood. Abuse and staying in an abusive relationship is even more complicated and hard to understand since we all think of ourselves as “above” such destructive behavior. Working through your issues and trying to salvage the good parts and the reasons you are with that person to begin with, is a difficult process and one most have to go through. It is not easy to just bail at the first sign of trouble and not always the best and right choice to make.
Very well said, Tsach. I stayed longer than I wanted because I needed to protect myself. It sounds counterproductive, but it’s true: he would have found me and I would’ve been hurt worse. There are so many people who don’t understand the dynamics of abusive relationships.
And I often find myself wondering if there is a way to better explain it to the public.
This post is a necessary and welcome contribution to the literature of abuse and the education of those who haven’t experienced it. You’ve shown how we fall for what masquerades as true love because we want desperately to believe in true love, so desperately that we minimize the pain of the abuse and shrink ourselves in that process. Well done.
As I’ve said before, one voice at a time. We can – and will – be heard. It’ll be a great day when society begins to understand this epidemic can be cured. We just need to learn how to address the actual problem, instead of pointing fingers in the wrong direction.
Thank you, GMP, for allowing me another opportunity to speak about my life-changing experiences.
It’s scary how instinctively we question the actions of the abused. Blame, shame and guilt only drive the cycle of abuse underground where it thrives. Your willingness to be vulnerable and share your experience flies in the face of what happens to thousands of victims. The way to break cycles is through digging up the ugly parts of our lives and exposing them to sunlight.
This is how we save ourselves. This is how we help save each other.
Go, Fina, GO.
You’re the best, Cab. And we’re getting there, just as we planned. Xoxo
One of the first posts I’ve seen a survivor write that reflects the process of healing so completely. You can move past the anger. And you can realize you’re not to blame for any of it, even if society doesn’t. Thank you for sharing. Good luck on the rest of your journey.
I think it’s important to note anger, depression, and relief are all emotions I feel at different points, but anger no longer runs my life. It’s a side effect of trauma, but it doesn’t own me. I hope my post reflects how we can overcome the negative and look forward, to a healthy future.
But you’re right. It’s not fair for us to be questioned instead of the abuser.