Growing up with domestic violence

Writing this is hard. But I think it's important, as it's shaped me and talking about it means it might stop.

Women suffer in silence when it comes to abuse in the home. The 24/7 gaslighting and violence leaves you believing what your abuser is saying. It makes you feel shame and like a lesser person.

I know this as I grew up with an abuser. His target, 90% of the time, was my mum. The other 10% was reserved for me and my brother.

My earliest memory was being three or four years old. It was winter and the nights drew in early. Me and my mum went to visit a cousin on hers who lived a stone's throw away from us in Acton, West London.

I remember it being dark and I was scared dad was going to be angry. Even at that young age, I had a fear. And I was right.

We walked in and dad immediately threw mum against the coat cupboard. He was shouting at her, calling her names.

I called the police crying, telling them; "daddy was hurting mummy". Dad took the phone off me and talked to the police, saying he was just worried and I was scared. 

He was right. He was worried and I was scared, of him.

Over the years I watched my mum, a young, glamarous woman who had boxes of makeup and cupboards filled with cocktail dresses bought on Oxford Street, be mentally, verbally and physically abused until she became a husk of the person she used to be.

She stopped wearing makeup and heels. She was banned from buying expensive or "sexy" clothes. She was a trained hairdresser who was banned from going to the hairdresser.

I watched her become more nervous and shy.

Now, you need to know my mum. She grew up in a village in Cyprus. By all accounts, an idyllic childhood. But she wanted more. And by more, she wanted children.

She's the most selfless, warm and loving human being you'll ever meet. She cries at the news and wants to adopt all the Syrian and Yemeni children. She believes in god and, although fairly liberal, she has Victorian values.

This woman was subjected to an Eastenders type scandal. My dad had accused her of having an affair with his brother. Our household became unbearable.

At 16 years old, I had to hear things one should never hear about her mother. And so did my brother, who is 7 years younger.

I never believed it. If it was true, why would she stay with her monster husband and not runaway with my wealthy and good looking uncle?

She weathered the storm like a Spartan. All the while, feeling guilty about what we were subjected to.

I know dad chased her into the garden with a knife and she climbed the fence and found refuge with a neighbour.

I was there when he tried to kick mum before I stood in front of him, threatening to end him if he touched her again.

I was shouting down the phone when he decided to call all of the family to air our dirty laundry.

I spent all day at school waiting for the news that dad had hurt mum. I imagined them getting divorced, but I was scared of what he'd do if that happened.

He, not once, made me doubt my mum. I knew what he was capable of, I'd seen it and been a victim of it.

My mum isn't weak. She still fights him, she stands in between us when we're duelling with him. She defends us, even if it means facing his wrath. And she gets angry with us when we insult him or hurt his feelings.

The memory of that high pitched shrill of the house after a fight still sends chills through me.

It still goes on. He still makes her life a living hell. He doesn't touch her, both me and my brother have the means to destroy him, he knows that. But the mental abuse is something no one can ever prove.

Our empowerment has led to my mum's partial emancipation. I took her on holiday to the Israel and Jordan. We go on day trips. She comes round for dinner. And she grows in her ability to fight back, as me and my brother become more candid and brave about it.

He hates it but can't stop it. All those years spent telling me and my brother that we're stupid has backfired. He couldn't control us in the same way.

I wonder what we would've become if we had the right support and nurture from both parents.

In the meantime, we grow weary of dad. He's almost irrelevant to us, a bit of a nuisance really.

That's hard to say, as he does love us. He's not emotionally intelligent enough to show it properly, but if I were to call him for help, he'd be here in a shot. He's always been there and always provided for us.

And growing up with that has made me a pitbull in terms of what I want from a partner or how I expect to be treated.

It doesn't make me immune. The love of my life gaslighted me for nearly two years after we broke up. A most recent ex - who I was convinced I was going to marry - showed signs of gaslighting, so I cut ties to him, a lot later than I should have.

The moral of the story is your abusers are more damaged than you. It doesn't stop it being terrifying, but it's true. Once you see their weakness, they stop being scary.

More importantly, break the silence. It's them who should be ashamed, not you.