Chapter 9: I Just Wanted Peace
Last Saturday, I told you about something that took me years to understand.
Men can be victims of domestic violence too.
I know because I was one.
But recognizing it today is much easier than recognizing it while I was living through it.
Back then, I didn’t call it abuse.
I called it a bad marriage.
I called it arguing.
I called it stress.
I called it anything except what it really was.
Because admitting that I was being abused meant admitting something I wasn’t ready to face:
My marriage wasn’t going to become what I kept hoping it would become.
So I kept trying.
I tried to avoid arguments.
I tried to watch what I said.
I tried to figure out what kind of mood I was coming home to.
I learned when to stay quiet.
I learned when not to push an issue.
I learned how to swallow things that hurt because sometimes saying nothing seemed easier than dealing with what might happen if I spoke.
From the outside, people may not have known anything was wrong.
That’s one of the strange things about domestic violence.
You can go to work.
You can laugh with people.
You can carry on conversations.
You can look completely normal.
And then you go home to a life nobody knows about.
I became very good at keeping things inside.
The Things You Don’t Tell Anyone
There were things that happened in that marriage that embarrassed me.
There was public belittling.
There was betrayal.
There was physical violence.
There were moments when I wondered how the person who said she loved me could also treat me this way.
But I didn’t tell my friends.
What was I supposed to say?
“My wife is abusing me?”
I imagined the reactions before I ever gave anyone the opportunity to have one.
Maybe they would laugh.
Maybe they wouldn’t believe me.
Maybe they would ask why I didn’t fight back.
Maybe they would tell me to grow a pair and handle my own problems.
So I did what a lot of men do.
I carried it.
And I kept carrying it.
Until the weight became heavier than I realized.
I Didn’t Want to Fight
There’s something else people sometimes misunderstand about men who experience domestic violence.
They assume a man can simply overpower a woman.
But I didn’t want to hurt anyone.
I didn’t want to fight.
I didn’t want revenge.
I didn’t want another war inside my own home.
After everything I had already survived in my life, what I wanted was actually very simple.
I wanted peace.
I wanted to come home without wondering what was waiting for me.
I wanted to have a disagreement without it becoming something bigger.
I wanted to be respected.
I wanted to feel safe in my own home.
I wanted the person beside me to be my partner, not someone I had to protect myself from.
That shouldn’t have been too much to ask.
But somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself that enduring things was the same thing as being strong.
It wasn’t.
I was exhausted.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
Spiritually.
I was tired of pretending everything was okay.
Tired of wondering what I had done wrong.
Tired of hoping tomorrow would somehow be different.
And eventually a realization began growing inside me.
Quietly at first.
Then louder.
I can’t live the rest of my life like this.
Reflection
There may be somebody reading this who understands exactly what I’m talking about.
Maybe you’re not looking for revenge.
Maybe you don’t want to destroy anyone.
Maybe you don’t even hate the person hurting you.
You just want peace.
Please understand something:
Wanting peace in your own life is not asking for too much.
Wanting respect is not asking for too much.
Wanting to feel safe is not asking for too much.
And you don’t have to wait until the worst possible thing happens before you decide something needs to change.
Sometimes survivors believe they need one enormous moment before they’re allowed to seek help.
You don’t.
Your pain doesn’t have to compete with somebody else’s pain.
Your experience doesn’t have to be worse than somebody else’s before it matters.
If something inside you keeps saying,
I can’t keep living like this…
listen to it.
You don’t have to know every step that comes next.
Sometimes the first step is simply admitting to yourself that you deserve something different.
That’s where organizations like Riders Against Domestic Violence come in.
RADV isn’t here to tell survivors what decision to make.
We’re here to help them understand that they don’t have to figure everything out alone.
We can point toward resources.
We can help someone find information.
We can remind someone who has spent years being torn down that their life still has value.
We can help them find the next bridge.
Because sometimes the person asking for help isn’t looking for someone to save them.
They’re simply looking for a way toward peace.
I know.
Because once, that person was me.
Next Saturday, I’ll tell you about reaching the point where wanting peace was no longer enough.
I had to make a decision.
And walking away would mean confronting something I had feared for years:
What happens when you finally choose yourself?
My story. Our mission. Their hope.
— Dave “Grizzly Dave” Beatty
Founder, Riders Against Domestic Violence (RADV)