Double Abuse: A Hidden Wound Beyond Domestic Violence
Double abuse is a term many haven’t heard, but it’s a reality for too many survivors. Even though Domestic Violence Awareness Month has ended, I feel compelled to share my story. Double abuse occurs when those around you discredit or dismiss your experience with abuse, often compounding the trauma you’ve already endured. I experienced this first-hand in my relationships with my ex-husband, Brad, and later with Swain. After extensive research and healing work on domestic violence and narcissistic abuse, I recently discovered a term for what I went through during and after those relationships.
So, what is double abuse? It can manifest in two ways: sometimes accidentally, stemming from people’s own unresolved issues or lack of understanding, and other times intentionally, as if to protect the abuser or silence the victim. I want to share my experiences with both types, illustrating how they shaped my journey.
Double Abuse with My Husband
During my marriage, I faced double abuse from those who should have supported me. There was a harrowing incident where my husband reversed my car, while drunk, striking me in the ribs with the side mirror while I was in a dangerous spot. I knew it wasn't an accident, but the friends who witnessed it insisted I was “seeing things wrong.” Their dismissal cut deeper than the physical pain, leaving me feeling invisible and unheard.
One of my bridesmaids, who lived with us, witnessed the cycle of abuse I endured—weeks of walking on eggshells until he would provoke a reaction out of me. Yet, she sided with him, believing I was the problem. After I left him, I stayed with her and her devout Baptist parents. I remember a moment when her mother suggested that wearing makeup might “fix” the issues with my husband, despite knowing my Pentecostal faith prohibited it.
After my departure, my bridesmaid's mother urged me to return to my husband, claiming that breaking a covenant with God would be unforgivable. Unbeknownst to her, I had distanced myself from my faith, rendering her guilt trip ineffective. I quickly left that household, seeking refuge with an uncle who was abusive in his own ways.
Even my mother subjected me to double abuse, trying to convince me to return to my husband for the sake of health insurance, which he would soon lose due to his drinking. Ironically, my uncle was one of the few who supported my decision to leave, understanding my husband’s issues on a level I hadn’t yet grasped.
Double Abuse with Swain
By the time I was with Swain, I had distanced myself from many religious influences, reducing instances of double abuse. However, one significant source of this abuse came from Ahri, a friend who knew of my struggles but repeatedly proclaimed her love for my abuser. After our breakup, she callously told me she didn’t care about my pain, despite being considered part of my chosen family.
My mother, who once pointed out some of Swain’s abuse, now entirely denies having witnessed anything. On Mother’s Day this year, she called, expecting acknowledgment but instead delivered emotional torment. I should have known better than to expect normalcy. She inquired, again, if I was sure Swain’s suicide was accidental and repeatedly expressed her love for him, emphasizing how wonderful he was to her, despite my reality. This conversation solidified my decision for low-contact with her—not as punishment, but as self-preservation.
Understanding, Healing, and Moving Forward
Confronting double abuse taught me how to reclaim my narrative. I learned that just because others denied my experiences didn’t render them any less valid. Accepting this truth was my first step toward healing. I had to untangle my experiences from the expectations and beliefs imposed on me by others. It was a challenging journey, but ultimately, it led me to trust myself and my perceptions.
Writing became a powerful tool in my recovery. Documenting my experiences allowed me to view them outside of others’ opinions, helping me recognize the endurance and resilience within myself. I learned to let go of the need for validation from those who disbelieved me.
Setting boundaries became another vital aspect of my healing. Once I recognized patterns of double abuse, I could choose who I allowed into my life. I began prioritizing relationships with those who respected my story, who believed in me without requiring proof. Letting go of unsupportive people was challenging, but I realized that keeping them around meant silencing my truth.
The journey to healing isn’t linear; some days feel like a return to the beginning, filled with self-doubt. Yet, I persist because I know there’s something real and meaningful on the other side of the struggle. I’m learning to believe in myself, even if others do not.
If there’s one thing I can say, it’s this: if you share your story and someone doesn’t believe you, you’re in the wrong company. Sharing your narrative, whether through conversation or writing, can be an empowering act of healing. Remember, your story deserves respect and validation. Trust your own experiences, and seek support where it’s freely given.
Love,
Mia Marie
Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Part Swain
Domestic Violence Awareness month is still young as I am writing this, not when you are reading it; and already I am feeling the weight of reliving my own trauma and listening and engaging with other survivors in private and on social media. Awareness is so important, so while I am crying for all of you that survived - because you survived beautifully, I will share my final story this month, joining the chorus of shared sorrows. I’m struggling to write this verse of my story for a few reasons; one I am still in community with *some* folks that were also in community with this human, two this person no longer walks the earth with us, and finally it is the most recent and not yet scarred wound of my repeated and finally closed cycles. Reader, if you have consumed too much heaviness this month please skip this post, as an act of self-compassion. You have my permission. I wish I could but each of our voices make up the chorus of solidarity, of community, and of healing.
Swain was a funny man, a thoughtful man, a charitable man - just like his daddy before him. And just like his daddy before him, he was different behind closed doors. If you knew what you were looking at and for, you might have seen it. To the average person we looked like a happy family because by the time I met him, I had chipped away at myself to become smaller, quieter, more submissive. That’s the hard part for any abuser - breaking, grooming, or otherwise molding them into something just a shell of their former self.
The things about me that Swain loved in the beginning; my intelligence, strength, and love were the very things that he would have an easier time undercutting behind the scenes because I was conditioned to be smaller if I was too much. It’s taken me years to feel strong and intelligent again. He never did take the love out of me - he severed that for himself but not others. When we met, I had just gotten into my own apartment after leaving my husband and having lived with roommates for about a year. So to set the scene; I’m healing from spiritual abuse and emotional abuse from my church and my husband and I’m freshly out of a not-relationship (roommate) and raw. I was looking for something to numb the pain and fill the void.
Looking back, this whole relationship might have been an act of self-harm. The first red flag that I can see looking back was the very first time we ever Netflix and Chilled. I didn’t actually have Netflix, I think we played Pokemon Snap or something on my vintage N64. The next day when I was kicking him out so that I could go to work he joked about staying with me forever. Living under my table specifically.
What I didn’t know then was that this remark was a boundary test. I laughed it off when I should have blocked him. What he displayed with that cute remark was indicative of more than boundary testing. If I knew then what I know now I would have seen this scenario as a lack of respect for my independence, using charm as a manipulation, and potentially foreshadowing for future positioning of power plays. I choked it up to him being maybe a little insecure and potentially in a living situation he wanted out of. Which were also true, hence using charm as manipulation.
Soon into the relationship he invited me out to his mother’s home, where he was that weekend. I should have asked more questions but I was thinking with my dick. When I got to his mom’s an hour away his three year old answered the door and let me right in. This should have been another clue about what was in store for me. We hadn’t discussed meeting his child prior to this day and why the fuck was the baby answering the door?! Thank GODS I am a nurturer by heart and not someone that would seek to take advantage of that situation. Where was Swain? On the couch knocked the heck out. I had a conversation with this three year old. Aurelion was able to answer my questions and seemed to understand that answering the door while an adult was sleeping was not something they should be doing. I woke Swain up and spoke with him, telling him that was irresponsible.
He acted like I kicked him but acknowledged my concern and reinforced what I told Aurelion. I stayed the weekend and met his mom. His mother has a powerful story of her own, one that I was able to piece together by reading between the lines in the five or so years I was around. That weekend I witnessed Aurelion have an accident despite being fully potty trained. I raised my concern with Swain who was unconcerned that what happened could potentially be regression and that it could be indicative of SA. That weekend he would also speak poorly of his child’s mother - IN FRONT OF THEM. I pulled him outside and explained how fucked up that shit was. We talked about the “no child in the middle” concepts and how disparaging the other parent in front of the child sends a message that half of them is “bad” or “wrong”. He never did that again.
How I handled this first meeting was also a test of my own morality. I passed. I also learned more about the dynamics between Swain and his mother. His mother was a lovely woman who has experienced many different kinds of abuse and maybe didn’t always know how to navigate in those, relatable, waters. I hope one day, his mother feels empowered to add her verse to the song of sorrows. He treated his mother like she was stupid, despite the fact that she attained many things that she wouldn’t have been able to if she hadn’t been intelligent. However, she accepted this treatment because of Swain's daddy before him, and her own sister and mother before Swain’s father.
I spent most weekends there with Swain, Aurelion, Medusa (mom) and less often Jinx (sister). Jinx and I became fast friends. She wasn’t stupid or crazy like Swain had told me. She was intelligent, funny, self-aware - HEALING. This dichotomy was a red flag, just like how he treated Medusa was a red flag, and Aurelion, and how he spoke about his ex. These were all indicative of how he felt about people he viewed as having less power than him. We broke up a couple of times. I was led to believe that it was “girl-brain” and my overreacting. He was able to pull this off because of a calm demeanor, a high level of intelligence, and the ability to fake empathy to get what he wants.
Eventually, I would cheat on an emotionally and physically safe boyfriend (who has since forgiven me and is one of my dearest friends to this day) with Swain. It was this time that I decided I was all in, I would treat us getting back together as I might a marriage. Not my marriage but you understand. I was locked in when Lux, Aurelion’s mother, asked to have a difficult meeting with us. Lux and I got along well, I could feel pain in her, I assumed from childhood and folks don’t like when you pry. I would later find out that YES but also… Swain… She withheld her story with Swain as a way to protect herself and her child. Lux needed to move and put herself in an uncomfortable position to progress in life and needed help.
I spent the rest of that year creating a home for Aurelion, Swain and myself. I made sure that Aurelion got to school, had breakfast and dinner, got tucked in and had bedtime stories. Later we would do self-care projects together, play games well beyond their years and have deeper conversations than most children would be capable of. By the end of that year I was burned out. I was working hard at work, working hard to be the best version of me for the sake of a child that wasn’t mine, navigating and largely ignoring stupid arguments with Swain and of course providing a clean and safe environment for a child.
I’m in no way perfect, I have regrets about my time spent as a part of this family. Things I could have done better - for Aurelion. Swain eventually convinced me to quit my job and help him run his business and it was hurricane season. So I did. I quit my job and became a storm helper for him. We traveled around after hurricanes Harvey and Irma and wrote insurance claims. We were on the road for months at a time. I was scheduling everything, all of our hotels, travel accommodations, meals, jobs ect. I called the claimants to schedule them, I organized his files, I labeled his photos, I did everything but take the pictures and write the final document. He was the face but I was the force - ya feel me?
I also got to get very familiar with Swain’s father and his step mother. His step mother was a lovely, caring, compassionate and damaged person. Her’s is not my story to tell so I’ll just say; I saw her, if she ever speaks out I know she’s telling the truth. We deserved men that loved and valued us enough to install a fucking backsplash to make our lives EASIER. I miss my coffee buddy. She got out, a couple years after I did if I recall correctly. I sighed in relief as Jinx told me the news.
We made bank that year. We also had my mother living with us. So, at some point, I was doing his job, keeping a spotless house, hosting two family gatherings on holidays, taking care of the child, and trying to heal with my mother, my first narcissist, living in my space. I was also trying to heal. I was doing yoga, self-medicating with cannabis (away from kiddo), journaling, practicing gratitude and meditating. Leaning heavily on the unsung hero in this story, Jinx. The woman that saw it all, understood the weight I was carrying even if having me around made her life easier. Even if it was just a witness to remind her that she wasn’t unscathed, that she was stronger than she knew.
I’m going to touch on one more behavior that I witnessed because it’s important and easy to miss. Swain would tickle Jinx, Aurelion and I until we had panic attacks. Thank you to my mother for pointing out how damaging that is and how indicative of abuse that is. It happened with my uncles growing up so I never even questioned it. So I looked into it and she’s 100% right.
So quick recap, I was healing going into this, I was healing throughout this even in active abuse. I was then in active burn out, given more and more responsibilities, carrying the weight of generations of abuse in my family and his, and I was depressed by the end of it. I wanted to ctl+ALT+DEL off the planet. Maybe that was his plan all along. I suffered *mostly* in silence. I confided in a mutual friend that I wanted to run away after a particularly wild argument.
Our heater went out and he tasked me with finding a company to come fix it, on top of all of my other responsibilities, despite my repeated attempts at garnering help and support for my already full plate. So I found an HVAC company. They came out, told me the furnace was too old, they wouldn’t be able to fix it or find an appropriate part and left. I called him, as directed, and explained the situation. Folks, when I tell you what ensued was 20 minutes of being yelled at while I calmly defended myself. “Okay Swain, I’m just telling you what they told me. I’m not sure why you are yelling at me.” “Okay Swain, I hear that your frustrated but I’m just the messenger.” and finally, “Okay Swain, then do it yourself like I asked you to in the first place.”
I’m not sure what he was telling our friend group about me but the mutual friend that I confided in told him. I had offered this friend care, support and a locked container to hold her secrets and she told my partner how I was feeling the very first chance she got. I suspect one day she’ll add her own voice to this chorus. Swain confronted me about it. I explained we had been arguing a lot and I had been asking for help and not getting it from him. (He paid Jinx to come clean once a week instead of just picking up after himself.) My mom had JUST moved out and I was still reeling from her presence in my home. I confided in him that I was ready to perish.
He broke up with me and went to our friend’s to remain until I vacated the house I made into a home. I sobbed, I screamed, I called his sister who showed up in a hurry. By the time she got there, I was laying on the bed planning my bright new future. The one in which I never experienced this kind of love ever again. The one in which I poured everything I was giving him into me.
As hard as this story has been to write and share with the world I’m doing it because on the other side of leaving an abusive situation there is healing. There is safety. There is the part where you get to go forth and create your FAVORITE version of you. Not your best. Not your most perfect. Your favorite you, your favorite life. It’s just past the leaving. I promise.
If you are actively struggling with DV, please know that you are not alone. There are more of us than we will ever fully know. You don’t have to stay where you are, there are resources available. It’s hard but the folks that came before you, the folks that have navigated these waters long enough to sing the chorus are your best resources. You gotta be resourceful and crafty and we can help. Please share your tips on leaving in the comments below.
P.S. – When I posted this story on TikTok, someone alluded to in the story reached out to me, providing a clarity I wasn’t expecting. The husband of the friend who I believed had betrayed me revealed that it was actually he who delivered the proverbial knife in my back. He apologized for who he was at 23—because really, who truly likes who they were at 23? While his actions may have deepened the wound, the knife, it turns out, was still hers. As further conversations unfolded, I realized she had intentionally made me an unwitting accomplice in her own turmoil. Her cruelty at the time, and the way she manipulated the situation, have led me to believe that, if my suspicions are correct, it may be his voice we hear adding their verse to this song —but I doubt it will be hers.
P.P.S - It is also possible, of course, that both parties here were just young and dumb with poor coping skills. I do hope that is the case. However, there was a stark difference when the husband in question reached out and when the wife in question reached out. I got the sense that one of them genuinely wanted to set the record straight and own their part. The other party seemed to be confused as to what they could have done wrong. Asserting that trauma and alcohol blocked their memory. While, I can see that as possible, the fact remains that I would have never done either of them the way they did me. Either way, I hope they heal.
Facing Domestic Violence: My Journey with DV and the Fight for Freedom
For the third installment in this series where I am sharing my story to bring awareness to Domestic Violence, we are discussing my husband. I am opting not to change his name. While I still carry his last name, I will continue to use his real name. He has kept us linked despite my repeated attempts to legally divorce him. Brad. Just Brad, not Bradley.
I met Brad after I sabotaged a relationship that was actually healthy in comparison to the others we’ve discussed. When you’ve been fed dysfunction, healthy environments feel like the problem. Once again, we start out strong with love-bombing. Everyone leads with their best face, few seem to be able to keep that same momentum.
When Brad and I met I was living with my friend’s family. She had just experienced a massive set of traumas and I wanted to be there for her and I wanted out of the life that I was building. It’s important to recognize one’s own patterns. My friend had a large family and a small home, as such there was no privacy.
Due to this, it wasn’t long before Brad rented an apartment directly next to my friend's home. It wasn’t long after that that I moved in with him. Brad had a child that he literally tricked me into meeting long before I was ready. I should have walked then. This was a clear overstepping f my boundaries, we had discussed how I was fine with him having a child but I was in no uncertain terms not ready to meet him. He invited me out on a date the following weekend without telling me that he had his child.
This was a test of my boundaries, and I failed. I remember using this as a point later when I said I felt tricked and trapped while trying to convince anyone to let me play Runaway Bride on my wedding day. I swear not one person at my wedding actually loved me, I wouldn’t realize that until many many years later, unfortunately.
I remember that shortly after we started dating I told Brad something that I didn’t know why I felt was important. I told him that if he ever hit me he needed to make sure he could knock me out. I black out when I’m hit and my ancestors fight for me. (This is true and tested.) Further, he had better make sure that if he knocks me out I never see his face again, because if I saw his face no one else would. Sure, I was still carrying the trauma of Tyson, but I think my spirit knew I was in danger.
The first time this was confirmed for me was when he picked a fight over something stupid, I'm sure. I tried to leave to go calm down. Have I mentioned I have anger issues? Well, really I have I won’t be mistreated issues and a fear of jail, but not death. When I tried to leave he blocked my exit. I don’t remember HOW it came to be but the next thing I know my friend’s father is pounding on our door. He quickly and succinctly reminded Brad that his behavior was unbecoming of a Christian man and that mistreatment of his daughter (me, not my friend) would not be tolerated.
It was shortly after that interaction that Brad decided we needed to find an apartment in town. So we found the cheapest apartment we could. Y’all it had carpet in the bathroom. If you find yourself in a situation that has carpet in the bathroom this is the universe's way of telling you you do not belong there. 😂
I spent most of the time in my relationship with Brad walking on eggshells. Between him starting stupid fights, reacting unpredictably to normal, everyday frustrations, and my involvement with the Pentecostal church I made myself smaller and smaller to fit the patriarchal ideas of what it meant to be a Christian Wife.
To highlight the emotional immaturity that presented itself as abuse; I have two stories for you.
We went camping with a few friends one weekend. I was working, so I drove to and from the campsite every day. One day he and his friend decided to rent some kayaks or something and go on a little river trip. They took a wrong turn somewhere, got lost and didn’t have service for hours. By the time Brad was able to call me, he had no idea where he was. He had been drinking, and that didn’t help. It took my friend and I at least an hour to find these fellas.
The whole time we were on the phone Brad berated me. This was clearly all my fault. I hadn’t properly prepared him. How I was supposed to do that I have no clue, I didn’t touch my first kayak until 2021 and hadn’t been on or in a river until 2024. I wasn’t fully silenced just yet so I defended myself. To my recollection, I tried to de-escalate him several times before finally losing my temper.
By the time I lost my temper, we were back where our other vehicle had been parked. He, drunk, hopped into the driver’s side of my beat-up Buick. I was trying to take the keys out of the ignition from outside the driver’s side of the vehicle. He threw that bitch in reverse and punched the gas - hitting me with the side view mirror. I was gaslighted by the ENTIRE group of witnesses. To my recollection, it was my friend, his friend, and my friend's brother. They told me it was an accident. Do y’all want me to dive into the dynamics of that family and why they would gaslight me? I have Tea. Let me know in the comments.
The second story is about the night I left. Leading up to this night there was a denial of intimate relations, cyclical fights every two weeks, a refusal to leave me alone when I asked for space, and chasing me out of the house to continue arguments on the public streets of our neighborhood. There was also the day that I lost my patience and I backed him 15 feet across our apartment telling him that if he ever denied me space to process again there would be hell to pay.
The night I left, Brad was drunk because he had been invited out by co-workers. Before he left for work that day we agreed that I would pick him up from the bar later and that I would be asking my uncle for the title to the vehicle we were buying. This request didn’t sit right with me, I gently tried to explain that I knew my uncle and he wouldn’t be doing that. Didn’t matter. Brad - Husband. Me - Wife. Me must submit. (grammar is a style choice due to the absolute cave-man mentality of it.)
So, I brought it up with my uncle who laughed in my face. As I predicted. I assured my uncle that I understood and it was not me asking. We had a normal visit and I went home to clean and wait for Brad to call me. Around 1 AM I went to get him. He was in the car, in a good mood until he asked me about the title. I had to tell him that my uncle said no. My fault, clearly. I wasn’t good enough at persuading him. I was stupid, worthless, a bitch. I was scared, that’s what I was. So I flip a turn signal on to make the turn to take him to his father’s to cool off.
Brad always hated it when I would take alternative routes anyway. Very controlling that way. That night it further enraged him. How could I take him to his father’s just who the fuck did I think he was. He grabbed my thumb and the steering wheel and yanked in the opposite direction. He almost broke my thumb so we just went home.
When we got home I started packing my bags and called my friend. She was on speaker as he continued to rage on and on. She heard him threaten my cats, her, her brother, her father, my uncle, and eventually me. Before she got there, he had me backed into a literal corner where he threatened to take my life, fist cocked back and everything. I remember locking eyes with him, I remember wanting to goad him but thinking better of it I remained silent as we were deadlocked for what felt like lifetimes.
We are still in a kind of deadlock to this day. I’ve tried to initiate a divorce on a couple of occasions only to have him refuse to work with me in any way. He acted like he would and when it came down to the wire, he went silent. Partially, I am at fault. I know there are ways to go around him to get it done. They are emotionally and financially more expensive than remaining married to him. I lost so much to this man and I am stubborn in that I would rather die married to him than spend another dime trying to untangle our connection.
That being said, I feel bad for his current and future girlfriends. I’ve made his current girlfriend aware of the back story and underscored that he has been refusing to divorce me since 2013. I have proof of that. I also underscored that the reason WHY he refuses is that it is the last game of power and control he has over me. While I recognize that people heal, grow, and change, given my husband’s most recent display I don’t think he has. To the current girlfriend, I hope you can get out. You deserve better.
I deserved better and I am thankful that I was able to recognize that. I am also thankful for the support system I had in my life at that time. Even if my friend's mother, and my own mother, would encourage me to stay with him. My friend’s mother came at it from a Christian perspective. My mother came at it from a health insurance perspective. I was physically safe, but it would take years to find emotional safety.
If any of my stories have felt familiar to you, I am so sorry. Abusers use the same toolkit. This is actually good news because if we educate ourselves on that toolkit we become harder to manipulate, harder to abuse and can better help our loved ones identify the signs and symptoms of abuse. Please seek help if you are in an abusive situation. You can find resources HERE. You deserve to be safe, loved, and cared for. Even if you have to find a way to provide that for yourself with help, of course.
With love and compassion,
Mia Marie
Embracing Self-Love: Navigating Boundaries, Online Drama, and Personal Growth
You are as good as the best in me, and I am as bad as the worst in you. This thought came to me several days before writing this. I knew it mattered at the time but I couldn’t think of how I wanted to expand on this thought. Today I am ruminating on some Facebook drama I conjured a couple of days ago. I *cough* have an occasional flair for dramatics. Hear me out. Stick with me as this story unfolds, I promise it all connects.
I have been unemployed and have maybe too much time on my hands and its political theater season. If Abstention was counted as a valid option I would take it, believe me I have some thoughts on where our nation is. I do think that the average person can agree that while the stock market is up, many of us are not feeling that in our day to day lives. Even when I was working a full time job at a little better than the proposed minimum wage of $15 an hour … it's hard out here. Again, I’m kind of chronically online right now, I’ve seen the stories, I know I am not the only one. I know the majority of Americans are struggling. Not just financially; many of us are emotionally burnt out chronically exhausted from the perpetual grind.
When I put something out online, whether in my personal space or for a larger audience I try to be sure that what I am saying isn’t overly harsh or hateful. I see too much hateful content, if your honest, I bet you do too. I am not saying I expertly navigate the online space, I am not saying that I never put anything out that isn’t critical. I know I give the impression that I am a “Love and Light” brand of spirituality, however that is not the case. I actually believe that by ignoring and burying our more “dark” qualities we do ourselves and others a disservice.
“Mia, your brand is built on love, isn’t that paradoxical?” - you probably. Sure, on its face it can be seen as paradoxical. Remember that MY focus is on loving yourself better. When we love ourselves better we are better able to navigate a world that does not always appear to love us. We are better able to show love when we are connected with the parts of us that protect us, in a healthy way. If I allow anyone into my energy, into my space, and treat me anyway they want I am signaling to myself and to the inner child I have worked so hard to heal that I do not love myself enough to be protected. For me this echo’s what I was taught in childhood. I was taught that in 1000 small ways that MY comfort, MY opinion, MY feelings did not matter. Every time I allow someone to disrespect me publicly or privately I am undoing all the love I have showered on my inner child because I am reinforcing the message that I received as a child: your comfort should always come before my own.
So, I woke up and chose violence just days after my initial revelation that is the first sentence. I posted on my own personal Facebook page about my opinions of folks based on how they were voting. I wasn’t 100% sure why I was making that post, I’ve been pretty non-confrontational for years now. I even took a year long social media hiatus back in 2020 because I didn’t like the person I was in the comments section. I determined that I needed to learn to not call names, to not be a dick for no reason and here I was in essence, being a dick. (I stand by everything I said though.) In the initial post I went through the right, left and 3rd party candidates and then had to add abstention at the request of a friend. It wasn’t long before I had two, male, former co-workers in my comments. One, in essence telling me to calm down. The other, lashed out -exactly- as I detailed in the post that a particular candidate's constituents would. He missed the point, proved my point and called me the only thing men ever call me once they realize I can’t be shut up, NARCISSIST. I genuinely laughed out loud. This man, who sought to throw me off the horse that I saddled, had no idea the journey I’ve been through with that word.
There is some discourse in my family about who the original narcissist was and if my mother is in fact a narcissist or if she was borderline personality disorder. Borderline would be the result of narcissistic abuse. Why am I telling you this? Because when I was reading about the trauma, symptoms, and tactics of narcissistic abuse I saw myself in them. I saw myself in it and went to my therapist and I said “I think I am a narcissist.” It’s worth noting that my mother and a couple of emotionally immature men had already used this word against me in arguments. I didn’t realize they were telling on themselves. My therapist laughed and told me that I wasn’t a narcissist, but that I had learned behaviors from one. Beyond that, I’ve been called an empath way more often. Which, some folks will tell you, is just another expression of narcissism. Those folks probably lack a nuanced understanding and context.
I do not identify as an empath, but I do feel energy. Did you know that every emotion has its own energetic signature? I had to learn. My family had a lot of big emotions and sometimes were unable to control them in healthy ways. I learned how to navigate those energies to survive. I will not be made to feel guilty for learning how to cope with toxicity. I instead learned how to observe my toxic traits and, this is crazy, learned how to stop them. I learned how to identify my triggers, how to sit with them, how to make sure they did NOT become someone else's problem. So, when folks tell me about myself, or think they are, it gives me a giggle. I know the work I’ve done, on my own and with professionals to show up in this world with authenticity and vulnerability.
Protecting yourself and your space from people that are harmful to you is an act of self-love. Even if you are perceived as “mean” or “narcissistic”. (Afterall NPD was often developed as an unhealthy coping mechanism.) Remember, what we see in others, whether “good” or “bad”, often reflects something within ourselves. The person who lashed out at me is likely blinded to the good in me because he can't yet see the good in himself. I recognize his potential because I’ve come to recognize the light in me, but that doesn't mean I’ll allow him into my space again. Boundaries are essential.
And speaking of boundaries, sometimes navigating life’s stressors and toxic interactions requires a little extra support. For me, finding balance means using natural remedies like CBD to help manage stress and maintain my peace. If you’re dealing with the emotional weight of these interactions—or just need to take the edge off from the grind—I highly recommend it. You can still use coupon code MIAMARIE at https://swampyetiproducts.com/?ref=Practicinglove for $5 off your CBD or Nootropic needs.
With love for myself first and you second,
Mia Marie
Recognizing Abuse: My Journey with Lewis and Tyson - A Domestic Violence Awareness Story
The next part in our Domestic Violence Awareness series is the story of Lewis. I hope it’s obvious that I am changing the names. Please do not try to identify, find, or dox anyone you think you might know. Lewis is a man that I met online when I was 18. I spent my 19th birthday alone in his apartment while he went to some convention. He picked me up from 2 hours away, drove me to his home, made sure I had what I needed for a couple of days and dipped. This was exactly what I asked for. I was in a very chaotic time period when I met Lewis.
Lewis and my connection started off strong. There was love bombing. There is always love bombing. As someone that had poor boundaries and poor love in the home, it always felt right when someone love bombed me. Of course I didn’t know what it was then. I expected that Lewis would keep that same momentum throughout our relationship. Eventually he moved me into his apartment as a way to help me escape my foster sister and her husband. (As always, that is a different story.)
I lived with Lewis for several months without a job. During this time I was taking care of the home and being lazy otherwise. Eventually he lost his patience for this, understandably. Instead of having a conversation with me first, he decided that he lost interest in me. Unbeknownst to me, this man was still on dating websites, meeting up with women on his lunch break, sending and receiving dirty pictures and apparently fucking a 16 year old. She might have been 17.
What was so odd was that I knew the child. She was my sister’s ex-boyfriend’s daughter. She lived 2 hours away. I don’t remember exactly how I found out, but I remember that Lewis had to be tested for herpes after this. I was livid, not because of the potential for STDs, well, not solely because of that anyway. I was livid that he had been sleeping with a child at the age of 29.
This guy should have helped solidify my gut instincts. Everything I ever suspected about him would be confirmed. I logged onto his computer one day to find him setting up a meeting with another woman on his Facebook page. We worked through that. And by that I mean he drove me to a friend's house, 1.5 hours away, gave me money for the weekend, and was put on notice that I would be doing whatever I wanted. I remember I found out about the girl and the woman he was meeting the same week. I was, no doubt, terrified by the… creative threats I spit at him for an hour and a half. Beyond all of that, he intentionally made me feel like I was at fault for his proclivities. He tried to make me feel bad about myself. This relationship started to break my relationship with myself. He made me question my intuition and my emotional intelligence.
Lewis and I had broken up after the above situation and I moved in with a neighbor/new boyfriend that I had made friends with. Let’s call him Tyson. (I’m so sorry you’ll have to bear with me, we aren’t done with the Lewis story - but we are about to connect 2 abuse stories.) Tyson was also a love bomber. He made me feel like I was his whole world for a time. I was, he was unemployed, had a baby, spoke poorly of the child’s mother, was behind on child support, and never saw his child. I later found out that was because he had a domestic violence charge on him from the child’s mother.
Tyson was a different kind of abusive. He would accuse me of cheating on him. I was working full-time as an assistant manager for a dairy place. Sometimes I would get held over with closing duties, and other times I would take a couple of minutes to buy groceries to feed us. One night in particular, I was about 5 minutes late walking home in about a foot of snow. I had also purchased a few items I needed for his requested BLTs.
I walked in the door of our apartment that I was paying for, and Tyson dropped down on his knees in front of me to sniff my crotch. He was certain he would be able to smell another man on me. He legitimately could smell my period coming, so I don’t doubt that if I had been sleeping around he would have caught it. You would think this would have been the end of the conversation. Most nights it was. He went and sat down while I started frying bacon for his fucking BLTs. The kitchen was small with only one small opening to get in or out.
It wasn’t long before he was screaming at me while blocking my exit. I think it went on for about 5 minutes, all the while my blood was boiling. Did I mention I have anger issues? But also, what he was aiming for was reactive abuse. He wanted me to do something that he could showcase as crazy. He almost got his wish as I picked up the cast iron skillet I was using and told him if he didn’t “back the fuck up I am going to throw this bacon and oil on you.” He backed up, I cut the stove and walked out to go calm down.
He followed me outside to continue the argument. When we went inside he continued to rage and knocked the vacuum over while making direct eye-contact. I was intimidated but hadn’t yet lost my voice or my backbone. Had I stayed, I learned later, that he would have hit me. This display of physical violence was meant to scare me and wear me down. This behavior is what I call abuse ramping up. It is a precursor to future abuse.
I don’t remember how that night calmed down but it wasn’t long before I went home to spend some time with my family. He called me constantly, picked fights with my ex, and tried to monopolize my time. This is a tactic that if I had stayed would have resulted in isolation. Having to fight the entire time one is spending time with folks who love them would eventually condition the target to spend less and less time with the people who could see and say something. Abusers will isolate you from your support system, this is just one example of how they do it.
While he was acting crazy, my sister reaffirmed that he was, in fact, acting crazy. She looked so concerned. It was her concern that caused me to text Lewis. Lewis, for all his many failings, has a hero complex that saved my ass. When I got back to town, my first stop was Lewis to iron out the details of my stay. While we were discussing, I got a call from the neighbor across the hall from Tyson telling me he was throwing my shit into the hall.
This was actually less of a problem than Tyson wanted it to be. It was helpful. I did try to enter the apartment to make sure my things were out. I had been paying, and I got mail there. He should not have been able to bar me. He and I argued through the door. Eventually he got me to react the way he wanted me to the whole time we were together. I kicked that metal entry door hard enough to break a chain lock clean off. He immediately called the cops, eerily calm, to report that I had broken his nose.
I took this time to tell Lewis I was going to jail, he had been ferrying my things up the stairs. I gave him my debit card so that he could bail me out. He had a date that night but he promised me he would make sure I got home. The cop apologetically arrested me after hearing both sides. I spent about 30 minutes in that jail cell before I was released on a promise to appear.
Lewis, although he had saved me, was still not a true hero in this story. He continued to use sneaky tactics with the intention of cutting down my self-esteem. One last story to round us out and finish this chapter of my life. Lewis had a female friend that insisted on meeting me while I was with Tyson. She, to this day, claims she had a morbid curiosity about what kind of woman would date Lewis. I loved her immediately.
Lovely and I were both bigger gals. She had about 15 pounds on me, I knew, we went shopping together. Lewis wouldn’t let me sit on his lap one day, because I was too heavy. Later that night Lovely came over and he encouraged her to sit on his lap. I called him out on it and he admitted this was done with the intention to hurt me.
There is one more piece to the Lewis story that I forgot. Consistently, when I would call him on mistreatment, he would become self-hating. I didn’t recognize that as abusive until later but it never sat right with my spirit. I am a compassionate person so it worked for a long time. The night it stopped working he grabbed a katana and threatened to kill himself. I stand by how I handled it. I called his father to come get his weapons. Next time, I’ll call the cops and let them handle it because his father just determined he didn’t mean it.
So, in conclusion, we have talked about love-bombing, manipulation, undermining, escalation, gaslighting, isolation, reactive abuse, suicidal threats, control of the physical environment (trapping me in the kitchen), isolation using finances, and finally reactive abuse. For more information on other ways those things can present please click HERE for additional education and resources.
I have been fortunate in my stories so far that I; one, recognized that something wasn’t right before things got too bad and two, was able to find support to leave when I needed to. Not everyone is as fortunate. My story of leaving within the first time or two of trying is uncommon and not representative of the norm in these situations. If you are struggling to leave, I hope you can find the resources available. You are not weak, you are not deserving of abuse, and you are not consenting just because you can’t see a way out. I love you and I will help in any way I can. Even if it is just holding space for you while you find your voice.
With love and compassion,
Mia Marie
