My first real boyfriend in high school was not a good guy. I don’t mean he was kind of douchey and annoying. He was mean. He was emotionally and physically abusive and for some reason I stayed with him for way too long. Somewhere along the way I learned that staying with him was a noble thing to do. There’s definitely a narcissistic piece to this where I saw my life as superior to his and wanted to save him to have the kind of great life I had, but still…what the hell would make me stay with someone who treated me like total shit?
I don’t have the answer to that question yet. Over 20 years later and I’m honestly still working on it. I have some ideas that are related to my 16 year-old self-esteem (or lack thereof) and my belief that having a shitty boyfriend was better than having no boyfriend at all. Looking back on that scares me and it makes me want to go to every single middle school and high school in the country and tell my story and look all those young girls in the eye and say, “Don’t buy into the bullshit! You are worthy of someone treating you well and recognizing that you are fantastic!”
I wasn’t the girl who one might look at back then and think, “Wow, she’s vulnerable to getting involved with a prick who will convince her she’s worthless and no one else would ever want her.” I was popular. I had great friends. I was voted Friendliest and Miss Oxford High School and was in the homecoming court. And all of that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. I was a total after school special. I was horribly insecure, people-pleasing, wanted desperately to be liked, and I fell prey to someone who saw through my façade of red lipstick smiles and knew that I was actually scared shitless most of the time.
My parents (who totally rock, by the way) knew that this guy was bad news almost immediately. They overheard him on the phone being disrespectful to his mom in a way that makes you go, “Hmmm, something’s not right here.” They saw how he barely spoke to them and avoided eye contact, but not just in a way that said, “I’m kind of shy.” It said, “I have something to hide.” I think they were worried, but not sure what to do and I get that. Telling a teenage girl she can’t see a boy is more like a dare than a boundary. I was already rebellious enough (as most teenage girls can be) and I think they were afraid of pushing me farther away. They saw me changing and they were scared.
I remember one day when I was at home after school and my boyfriend stopped by before I went to my job at a mall jewelry store. We were fighting, probably because I had spoken to another boy or not been exactly where he thought I would be or some other ridiculous thing. He pulled me around to the side of his car where we were hidden from the view of any windows at my house. Then he punched me in the stomach. Hard. When I came back in I told my mom I had a stomachache and needed to lie down before work. She knew there was more to the story. She asked me soon after that if he was hitting me. I lied.
I was fortunate enough back then to have friends who cared about me enough to go to my parents and tell them what was happening even though they knew I would be angry. They found a way to get me out of the house and 4 of them showed up and told my parents the truth: I was being abused. I remember one of my friends commenting later that she had never seen my father angry before that moment. The abuse had evolved to stalking when I had tried to break things off and I think my friends knew this was beyond what they could do to help me. I was asking them to follow me home after nights out because I was afraid he would follow and try to run me off the road.
This intervention by my friends led me to have my first ever counseling session. That was one of many good things that came from a horrible situation. I also took this experience later and used it in my work as the Violence Prevention Coordinator at a university. I was able to connect with young women who were in abusive relationships in a way that was truly authentic because I had lived it. I trained students about Green Dot bystander intervention and I could tell them about how my friends intervened to help me.
I don’t buy into the notion that everything happens for a reason. That just doesn’t sit well with me. I do buy into the notion that good can come from even the darkest times in our lives. I have found a way to channel what happened to me back then into something useful. I became a counselor when I realized how much counseling helped me and I knew I wanted to help others.
If you have a daughter and you are afraid she’s in an abusive relationship, be it emotional or physical, I hope you are paying attention. Talk to her. Ask the hard questions. Even though I lied to my mom, when the truth came out I knew she cared and wanted to help. Talk to your daughter about what a healthy relationship looks like long before she’s ever in one.
This has been on my mind this week because this guy actually had the nerve to send me a friend request on Facebook. As my friend so eloquently stated upon receiving a friend request from her ex-husband, Facebook really needs an “Are you fucking kidding me?!” option. No, I do not want to be your friend. Ever. I may be able to forgive, but I will not forget.
Today I know my own worth and I know what I deserve. I am smart, talented, and blessed with a gift for speaking that I hope to continue to use to reach more young people and share my experience in an effort to help them. I’m shining my light into the world and I hope it touches someone and makes a difference.
Back then I was too scared to use my voice. Now I know my voice is worth sharing.
(This post originally ran on Happy Lonely Girl)
About the author: Linda Abbott is a single, mostly happy and sometimes lonely counselor and eternal optimist living in Florida. She works in college mental health and advocacy and hopes to one day get the whole love thing figured out. She sometimes shares her adventures in life and love at www.happylonelygirl.com.
