When I met Steven*, I’d recently left an unhealthy relationship. He was an acquaintance initially, and our connection developed slowly and organically. There was no pressure, only support and patience from a man I felt completely at ease with.
At the time, awareness of non-physical domestic violence – such as coercive control, financial abuse, stalking and other forms of psychological abuse – had been increasing. Extensive media coverage and the sharing of deeply personal stories are what helped me recognise what was wrong in my previous relationship and leave it.
As part of my job, I decided to delve deeper into this topic. I wanted my work to mean something. Domestic and family violence became the central focus of my work; advocacy became my passion.
I did this work with Steven by my side; a man who seemed to believe in my advocacy and share my values. A man who offered support without expectation, as I navigated the family courts in the aftermath of my previous relationship and who, importantly, offered unconditional love to my children. Marrying Steven was an easy choice.
It would be years before I was able to see my relationship for what it was, or rather, what it had become – a union based on control. Because despite my knowledge of domestic and family abuse, of coercive control, of the insidious strategies and tactics used by perpetrators, I had failed to recognise them in my own home.
***
For me, there were two distinct periods in our relationship: before the marriage and after. Before is when the foundations of control were laid. What I saw as dedication, commitment and love from a man willing to take on my children as his own, was, in fact, active love-bombing.
Steven used the specific vulnerabilities and values I entrusted him with – my past relationship, my children’s trauma, my hopes for the future and, ironically, my understanding of coercive control – against me, strategically love-bombing both me and my children, establishing indirect dependence and ultimately adherence, built (at first) on deep gratitude and eventually a desire to return to what once was.
As the children grew older, they didn’t always adhere to Steven’s rules. And neither did I. We wanted to evolve as a family and as individuals. Slowly, subtly, Steven changed too. Before long, I found myself scrambling each afternoon in the hope he’d come home to an environment that he was happy with and would once again be the man we all loved. A man who was happy to be home, whose actions matched his loving words.
After we married, it became less subtle. The children and I came to know the repercussions of not falling into line – stonewalling, indifference, disdain, words that were not loving but cruel. My children began to withdraw. I tried harder.
Cognitive dissonance set in. I saw the signs. I knew domestic abuse went beyond the physical, beyond overt verbal abuse and threats. I even questioned Steven about his actions. But I would leave each conversation believing I was the problem – or rather, the children were. I wasn’t parenting well enough. They weren’t obedient enough. I was undermining him. We needed to support Steven’s decisions more. If we did that, then he’d love us the way he used to.
If I were watching this conversation unfold in front of me, I would immediately recognise it as gaslighting. And yet I found myself chastising my children, shamefully gaslighting them in turn, by reminding them how much Steven loved them while they now believed the opposite to be true .
They withdrew even more, their behaviour declined. This only served to prove Steven’s point, and exacerbate the cycle.
This is isolation. Some perpetrators isolate their victims from friends or family – whoever is getting in the way of their ability to maintain control. Steven befriended the family with whom I was close, over time, attempting to convince them too that my children were the problem. That I was the problem.
This is also a form of DARVO – Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender – a technique where a perpetrator uses a person’s response to abuse against them.
Eventually, I found myself saying no to work and social opportunities because the psychological cost of leaving him with the children wasn’t worth it. I didn’t blame him though – that decision was always on me.
This is emotional manipulation.
All the while, sporadic love-bombing continued, providing glimpses of the man I believed I knew. And once again, I told myself Steven was a good person. I’d made the right choice.
***
How did this happen? How did I fall victim to the very tactics I have dedicated my life to warning others about? Coercive controllers are highly skilled at identifying vulnerability and using it against their victims. For me, it was my children and the prospect of losing my blended family in whom I’d heavily invested both emotionally and financially. It was being made to feel responsible for its potential demise.
Part of me couldn’t reconcile what I was now experiencing with the experiences of our early relationship – the man I thought I knew. Part of me couldn’t face the possibility that I had got it wrong. That I didn’t see those early signs. That I thrust this man into my children’s lives, because I believed I knew him.
Coercive control can happen to anyone. Regardless of education, even previous experience; we may recognise domestic abuse in other relationships; we may even be experts in the space, but that doesn’t mean we will recognise it as it’s happening to us.
Because perpetrators are experts too; experts at covert coercion, manipulation, and control. They play a long-game, they do the groundwork first.
None of us are immune. But no matter how much time passes, it’s never too late to break free.
I pushed what I ultimately knew to be true to the depths of my psyche due to denial, and then later, shame. But the shame isn’t mine. Not anymore.
* Name has been changed
