When I was a young girl, perhaps seven or eight years old, one of my cousins married a woman who, for the sake of privacy, I will refer to as Amanda.
Amanda was such a nice person. As soon as I met her, I was drawn to her fun personality and her sweet disposition. We became very close, and I would sometimes spend the night at her and my cousin’s house. Amanda taught me how to play cards — solitaire was my favorite. We did fun things like watch soap operas, play dress up and do our nails. Amanda also exposed me to what is still a favorite of mine: eggs made over easy.
Though Amanda and I had many good times, I noticed a difference in her when my cousin, her husband, was around. She didn’t seem quite as fun or carefree. In my young, naive mind, I figured Amanda and I didn’t have as much fun when my cousin was with us because he was a guy, and guys were weird and gross. However, as time progressed and I became more observant, I began to notice things like the way my cousin would look at Amanda if she made a mistake. He didn’t say anything, but the look was stern. And when he did speak to her, sometimes he would do so in a very mean way. And then there were the times when the three of us would have a great time laughing and joking. All seemed well during those times, until my cousin would suddenly get mad about something Amanda jokingly said or did. It was all very strange to me how his mood would change so quickly. But again, my young mind dismissed his actions, because he was a boy and boys were weird.
As even more time progressed, my cousin became more overt with his treatment of Amanda. No longer was he careful of what he said or did when I was around. I remember one defining moment during their marriage that changed things for me. I had spent the night at their house, and when I woke up, my cousin was about to leave for work. As he opened the front door, he very loud and meanly told Amanda, “You better have all that laundry washed, dried and folded by the time I get home.”
When he walked out the door, tears streamed down Amanda’s face. Not only did they not have a washer and dryer, but Amanda also didn’t have a car or even money to go to the laundromat.
How were we going to get the laundry done? What would he do to Amanda if she didn’t wash the clothes?
It was the first time I felt panicked at their home. Amanda was panicked, too.
I don’t remember if Amanda made a phone call or what, but what I do remember is she and I leaving the house each with a bag of dirty clothes. I don’t know how long we walked, but it seemed like forever. Finally, we made it to a distant relative’s house where Amanda hurriedly washed the clothes. Because time was slipping away quickly, Amanda said we would fold the clothes once we returned to her house. She and I walked back to the house and began folding clothes. I went to the restroom just as she was finishing the last few items. When I came back to the room, my cousin had just walked in as Amanda was folding the last shirt.
Apparently because that last shirt was not in the folded pile with the others, my cousin felt Amanda hadn’t “finished” by the deadline he’d given her. She literally had one shirt left to fold.
My cousin went off. He began yelling and cursing her out, and then he hit her right in front of me. That was a defining moment in my life for a multitude of reasons: 1. I had never witnessed a woman being slapped or beaten. 2. I lost respect for my cousin at that moment. 3. I was sad for Amanda, but also angry that she allowed him to hit her. 4. Right then and there, I vowed I would never tolerate a man violating me in such a manner.
All big revelations for a girl so young.
I went home that day and told my mom about the experience. From that moment on, my mom never allowed me to go over to their house alone.
I remember asking Amanda why my cousin acted that way and why she allowed him to treat her in such a manner, but she casually dismissed it all.
Eventually, Amanda and my cousin had a son. Shortly after that, Amanda left and we lost contact with one another.
What I realized later in life is Amanda had Battered Woman Syndrome (BWS). BWS “is a mental disorder that develops in victims of domestic violence as a result of serious, long-term abuse.”
There are three stages of BWS that result in a cycle:
1. The abuser engages in behavior that creates relationship tension.
2. The tension explodes when the abuser commits a form of abuse: physical, psychological, emotional or sexual.
3. The abuser tries to “fix” his actions by apologizing or being nice. This is referred to as the honeymoon stage.
Amanda went through several cycles of abuse, and as the abuse continued, Amanda began to think it was because of something she did wrong. Her taking responsibility for her abuse is known as “learned helplessness.”
None of the abuse Amanda experienced was her fault. There was nothing she could have done to alter my cousin’s violent reactions. My cousin was wrong for his treatment of Amanda.
Years later, Amanda and I spoke sporadically, but with the wonder of technology and social media, she and I now have direct ties to one another.
I’m glad Amanda was able to leave her abusive relationship, even though that meant also abandoning the bond she and I shared.
There are countless abused women out there. They have to take the steps to leave their situations, but there is something you and I must do, too. We must stop punishing the victims. The more knowledge we have about the complexities of abuse, the less tolerant we will be of abusers.
March is Women’s History Month. Let’s celebrate the accomplishments of women while also working to empower others who are victims of abuse. If you or someone you know is being abused, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at (800) 799-7233 or, if you’re hard of hearing, (800) 787-3224.
