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