Learn to Recognize Your Abuser

A Gift for Mom! 🤍

Since October is domestic violence awareness month, I thought I would share my story. Most people who know me personally or through my various newspaper and magazine columns would consider me an intelligent woman. I’m well educated, but I’m also very naïve in the ways of the world and did not realize I was stepping into a relationship that outwardly appeared perfect, but inwardly would tear me apart.

Eighteen years ago I met my abuser. I thought he was the perfect man. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Extra weight, Walmart eyeglasses, and K-Mart clothes gave him the appearance of a “regular joe.” He was four times divorced and praised his former wives saying he was the stink hole. This is a tactic common among some abusers. They blame themselves which makes them appear vulnerable, a characteristic that appeals to many women.

One look at “Tony” and I was smitten. I had been divorced for 13 years and didn’t realize I was lonely until I met him. He was charming and his humor was contagious. Little did I realize he was feeding me the same old lines he had been using for 40 years.

He lived in a different state, so a long distance relationship was perfect. I didn’t have to see him every day or change my lifestyle. When we visited on the phone, I did all the talking. He said he liked the sound of my voice. I believed him, unaware this is another tactic abusers use. As the woman tells her story, the abuser is taking notes. Every word you say is being locked in his memory if not actually written down. Each little detail you consider innocent, he considers future ammunition.

The abuse I received didn’t happen right away. Well, maybe it did, but I didn’t notice. I knew Tony was always angry, but I knew his anger couldn’t be directed at me because he barely knew me. I overlooked his white hot rage, the foul names he called me, and his sarcasm. All I wanted to do was heal this man who was obviously in so much emotional pain it was hard to look at him without feeling pity.

It took me a long time to realize Tony was a predator. The longer he was part of my life, the more I began to loathe myself. I knew he was no good for me, yet I couldn’t break free. Every time I tried, he charmed his way back into my life. In 2008 he relocated to Michigan. Although we never lived together, I had to answer for my every move. I was like a dog on a short chain.

What kept me in an abusive relationship? Fear. No matter how intelligent or well educated you are, you won’t leave your man because you fear him. There, I’ve said it. I’ve said the “f” word most women refuse to admit, thinking it makes them look stupid. Why, people ask, would anyone stay with someone they’re afraid of? I used to ask the same question. It didn’t make sense to me, but now I understand.

Tony frightened me in 2002 with a few words that became ingrained in my mind: “If I ever hear you’ve been seen with another man, I won’t kill you, but I’ll make you wish you were dead.” I thought I could heal him with my love. After all, anyone who meets him thinks he’s a real catch, a keeper, a super great guy. It took me years to realize when a man is as emotionally damaged as Tony, there’s no such thing as healing without professional help.

What finally gave me the strength to tell him to get out of my life and stay out? Sheer exhaustion. I could no longer allow him to mentally, verbally, and sexually abuse me, but my experience helped me understand why women stay with their abusers. The notion we are loved is enough to keep us silent, but when self-hatred consumes us, it’s time to move on. It’s not easy. Leaving takes strength, but staying with an abuser will kill you. If not physically, it will eat away at your self-respect until your spirit is broken and you cannot stand the sight of yourself.

Domestic abuse occurs regardless of education, financial status, age, or anything else. Do not keep silent. Tell someone. Dig deep and find the inner strength you need to free yourself. There are agencies that will help you. My situation may be different from many. I’m 70 years old. It took me a long time to make the final decision, and it will take time to recover, but I want my last years to be my best. There’s one thing worse than being alone and that’s being with someone who abuses you.

So if you think you’re in an abusive relationship, you are. Get out as fast as you can. Don’t let fear or shame stop you. Try not to look back. Look forward. If after all these years I can do it, so can you.

NOTE: The Bay Mills Journey to Healing program is an excellent resource. You can reach domestic and sexual assault counselor Anna Rogers-Stott at 906-248-8311. If you are in immediate physical danger, contact the Diane Peppler Shelter in Sault Ste. Marie at 906-635-0566.

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

abusive relationships domestic violence predator

Sharon Kennedy

Sharon M. Kennedy is a freelance writer from Brimley, a small town on the shores of Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Sharon writes a general interest column for a number of local newspapers. She admits she’s a late blooming “Boomer” and tends to forget that most women her age are enjoying retirement while she’s embarking on a new career. After teaching English Composition at a local university, Sharon turned to her real love. Writing stories that tug at your heartstrings or make you chuckle is her hallmark.

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

In: Grief

In his last years, Dad spent his days in a chair by the big picture window. From there, he could survey all the comings and goings of the ranch. He watched the weather, the dogs, and our Arabian stallion, Axum, galloping through the pines and calling to the mares across the hill. Occasionally, Dad would alert us that a certain dog had escaped or that a storm was coming in. He was looking out. He was keeping track. He needed help to move even a few steps. At night, my husband or I cleaned him, dressed him, and tucked him into...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

In: Grief

Young woman holding red umbrella walking next to canola field

Outside, the sky hung in a thick, dim slab, like a ceiling over the trees that stood crooked in the wind. Not the fresh spring breeze we’re used to in Florida, but the damp, cold kind that makes you pull your coat together with tight fists. I got there right on time, parked in a front spot in the almost-bare lot, and slid my violet boots with fluffy pom-poms onto the asphalt. I braced for the impact of the frigid air and tucked my body inward as I did a little hop-jog into the pub. Once inside, I let out...

Keep Reading

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

In: Grief, Loss

I lay in bed this morning, sweet boy. It is Saturday. Seven of them since you left. Half awake, I turned over and saw Grief staring right at me. She pounced then stood, haughty, on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. She yelled that she would be close today. If she feels like it, she might even be relentless. She is cruel. You were the reason, sweet boy, for me to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Actually, every morning you were my purpose from the moment I opened my eyes until the moment they shut. I knew on...

Keep Reading

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief

Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living

Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief

Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother. People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way. I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief

Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

One Simple Way We Now Put Our Marriage First

Journal

One Simple Way We Now Put Our Marriage First

I'm Done Letting My House Rule Me

Kids

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Sharon Kennedy

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

Learn to Recognize Your Abuser

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Previous Post

Next Post

You May Also Like