*TRIGGER WARNING*
The other day on the radio I heard another song that got a strong reaction from me. This one reduced me to a blubbering, screaming mess in my car within seconds.
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s all right because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s all right because I love the way you lie
With these words, sung in an unfortunately catchy melody by the alluring voice of Rihanna, I was transported suddenly, once again, to that dark corner in a house of misery, sobbing uncontrollably on the floor for hours as he watched with indifference. But I was also screaming in my tears, "NO, I DON'T! I DON'T!" I didn't like the pain, didn't love the lies. I hated it. I hated the way it hurt. I hated the way he lied, manipulated, gaslighted, accused.
Eminem and Rihanna's collaborative work, "Love the Way You Lie," (part 1 and 2) is supposedly intended to be a "critique" of domestic violence (DV). However, it falls far short, as many anti-DV advocates have stated. Some say it glorifies and eroticizes DV. (The common lie that abusers use: "I love you too much to let you go.") The part that personally offends me the most is the implication of some masochism on the part of the victim. In part 2, Rihanna actually sings, "And it’s sick that all these battles/ Are what keeps me satisfied...So maybe I’m a masochist/ I try to run but I don’t wanna ever leave."
This phenomenon is popularly described by people as "codependence," -- a word originally used to described alcholic-enabler relationships. It's often applied to abusive relationships, i.e., She chose this relationship, she chose to let him treat her that way, she chose to stay, she chose not to speak out. I had a friend once tell me straight out that my abusive marriage proved I was codependent, and then get upset with me when I categorically denied it. In my required post-separation psych evaluation, my missions organization asked the psychologist to "assess [my] understanding of co-dependency and other unhealthy relational dynamics and how they negatively impacted [the] marriage." Both of those felt like kicks in the gut. Victim-blaming. I understand why society, and especially the church, do it. Because if they don't find something pathological in the victim that explains the abuse, it means anyone can be abused. People from good families. Upper middle class educated folks. Christians. Your sister. Your daughter. Your friend. You.
It was my personal honor to meet a hero of mine recently, Lundy Bancroft, the author of Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men, which I believe is the best book out there on partner abuse. Bancroft is a long-standing expert on partner abuse, and he's unbelievably savvy on the topic, having started out working in programs to rehabilitate abusers. Bancroft dismisses most claims of codependence in partner abuse cases, noting that nearly all abusers charm and seduce their victims with sweep-you-off-your-feet-in-love behavior. It's that charm, that promise of happiness, that draws in victims. Not a desire to be abused.
"He didn't abuse you on the first date, did he?" he asked a group of abuse survivors. We all shook our heads vehemently. "If he had, you'd have been out the door. You would never have gone on that second date. That's not codependence. If codependence were really the reason victims stay, why are there so many women who read my book and then immediately get out?" It was true. Nearly all of us had thanked him for writing the book that had ripped the blinders off our eyes. Once we understood that it was abuse, we got the heck out as soon as we could. We were women from all walks of life: beautiful, intelligent, sassy women, professionals, mothers, academics. We didn't ask for the abuse. We didn't like it. We didn't want it. We wanted to be loved, not mistreated.
The videos behind "Love the Way You Lie" don't help at all. They paint a picture of a mutually destructive couple -- both screaming, fighting, hitting each other, spitting. This is another misconception of abusive relationships. But the reality of partner abuse is that the destruction is largely one-sided. Even when victims lash back, as most do at some point, it's in self-defense, trying to get the abuser to stop abusing, not trying to control the abuser in the first place. My ex would deliberately push me to the point of craziness to get me to scream or act out, then ride on the misery of my penitence and gleefully expose me to other people as a crazy screaming wife based on my one, final reactionary behavior. He kept trying to convince me and others that I was the sinful one because I'd finally screamed. I'd helplessly try to point out that I'd sat through the hours and hours of verbal abuse and gaslighting before screaming, but he'd said it many times: "When you 'lose your temper,' you trump all of my sins." The problem was that I really did feel like I was sinning before God when I lost control, that I had no right to point out my husband's (log) while I was still dealing with my (speck). I was perpetually in a state of repentance and begging God for forgiveness, trying to focus on my own sin and let my husband focus on his, and trying not to mind that he wasn't trying to change or repent in the least, even though his sin was destroying me. In front of counselors, when he'd point out my screaming, I'd lowered my head and taken it. I knew I couldn't say, "But you did such-and-such first," because then the counselor would patronizingly interject, "Now let's not get into a battle of who did what," and talk about forgiveness and mutuality and good communication and what we could BOTH do to make things better. And he'd smile in counseling and agree to move forward, and I'd be sobbing and being a hot mess, and the counselor would look concernedly at me and write down things like, "The wife is out of control, while the husband is being cooperative."
At some point I realized that my husband was actually trying to get me to lose it. Once, when I was heroically taking his every verbal blow and responding gently, he barked viciously at me, "You know you hate me! Say it! Say it! You know you want a divorce! Say it!" I stared at him openmouthed, the game exposed. "You...want me to lose control," I finally said. "So you can say the whole thing is my fault." It was true. He was frustrated at my patience, almost desperate for me to lose control in order to justify himself. It was a game of nerves. I realized I could not lose control, could not cry, could not sin in the slightest, could not even allow myself a less-than-loving word or he would leap on it victoriously. Even a tear was called aggressive. I could not express any negative emotion. I could not raise my voice in the slightest. I could not move my hands or he'd say I was threatening him. He had a whole list of words I was not allow to say, including, "I can't take this any more."
The last year of our marriage I became a silent, impossibly patient robot as he pelted me with words. And he grew crueler and pettier in his desperation to make me sin. Don't cry...don't scream...or he'll win. Eventually he went so far that I accepted what Bancroft's book said. He knew what he was doing. He was doing it on purpose. And he wasn't going to change.
I eventually forced myself to listen to the whole song (so I could write this blog), and this is another part that reduced me to tears:
Now I know we said things, did things that we didn't mean
And we fall back into the same patterns, same routine
But your temper's just as bad as mine is
You're the same as me
When it comes to love you're just as blinded
Baby, please come back
It wasn't you, baby it was me
Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is I love you too much to walk away though
Come inside, pick up your bags off the sidewalk
Don't you hear sincerity in my voice when I talk
Told you this is my fault
Look me in the eyeball
Next time I'm pissed, I'll aim my fist at the drywall
Next time? There won't be no next time!
I apologize even though I know its lies
I'm tired of the games I just want her back
I know I'm a liar
If she ever tries to fucking leave again
Im'a tie her to the bed and set this house on fire
Well, at least they got that part of it right. (According to personal history, both Eminem and Rihanna know this story firsthand.) The blame shifting, the fake apologies, coaxing you and your bags back into the house. He perfectly timed his apologies to coincide with the bag rolling over the threshold of the door. And then there's me, standing there with the bags. Listening to his words, wanting to believe, wanting to forgive, wanting everything to be all right, finding him so helpful in carrying my bags back into the house and helping me unpack. I sob through the memory, screaming at myself, "Don't believe him! Stop talking! Run away!" But in my memory I smile at him, wipe away the tears, tell him I want to help him, and forgive him again, and again, and again, and go back in to be abused some more.
I obviously should just stop listening to the radio.
The other day on the radio I heard another song that got a strong reaction from me. This one reduced me to a blubbering, screaming mess in my car within seconds.
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s all right because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s all right because I love the way you lie
With these words, sung in an unfortunately catchy melody by the alluring voice of Rihanna, I was transported suddenly, once again, to that dark corner in a house of misery, sobbing uncontrollably on the floor for hours as he watched with indifference. But I was also screaming in my tears, "NO, I DON'T! I DON'T!" I didn't like the pain, didn't love the lies. I hated it. I hated the way it hurt. I hated the way he lied, manipulated, gaslighted, accused.
Eminem and Rihanna's collaborative work, "Love the Way You Lie," (part 1 and 2) is supposedly intended to be a "critique" of domestic violence (DV). However, it falls far short, as many anti-DV advocates have stated. Some say it glorifies and eroticizes DV. (The common lie that abusers use: "I love you too much to let you go.") The part that personally offends me the most is the implication of some masochism on the part of the victim. In part 2, Rihanna actually sings, "And it’s sick that all these battles/ Are what keeps me satisfied...So maybe I’m a masochist/ I try to run but I don’t wanna ever leave."
This phenomenon is popularly described by people as "codependence," -- a word originally used to described alcholic-enabler relationships. It's often applied to abusive relationships, i.e., She chose this relationship, she chose to let him treat her that way, she chose to stay, she chose not to speak out. I had a friend once tell me straight out that my abusive marriage proved I was codependent, and then get upset with me when I categorically denied it. In my required post-separation psych evaluation, my missions organization asked the psychologist to "assess [my] understanding of co-dependency and other unhealthy relational dynamics and how they negatively impacted [the] marriage." Both of those felt like kicks in the gut. Victim-blaming. I understand why society, and especially the church, do it. Because if they don't find something pathological in the victim that explains the abuse, it means anyone can be abused. People from good families. Upper middle class educated folks. Christians. Your sister. Your daughter. Your friend. You.
It was my personal honor to meet a hero of mine recently, Lundy Bancroft, the author of Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men, which I believe is the best book out there on partner abuse. Bancroft is a long-standing expert on partner abuse, and he's unbelievably savvy on the topic, having started out working in programs to rehabilitate abusers. Bancroft dismisses most claims of codependence in partner abuse cases, noting that nearly all abusers charm and seduce their victims with sweep-you-off-your-feet-in-love behavior. It's that charm, that promise of happiness, that draws in victims. Not a desire to be abused.
"He didn't abuse you on the first date, did he?" he asked a group of abuse survivors. We all shook our heads vehemently. "If he had, you'd have been out the door. You would never have gone on that second date. That's not codependence. If codependence were really the reason victims stay, why are there so many women who read my book and then immediately get out?" It was true. Nearly all of us had thanked him for writing the book that had ripped the blinders off our eyes. Once we understood that it was abuse, we got the heck out as soon as we could. We were women from all walks of life: beautiful, intelligent, sassy women, professionals, mothers, academics. We didn't ask for the abuse. We didn't like it. We didn't want it. We wanted to be loved, not mistreated.
The videos behind "Love the Way You Lie" don't help at all. They paint a picture of a mutually destructive couple -- both screaming, fighting, hitting each other, spitting. This is another misconception of abusive relationships. But the reality of partner abuse is that the destruction is largely one-sided. Even when victims lash back, as most do at some point, it's in self-defense, trying to get the abuser to stop abusing, not trying to control the abuser in the first place. My ex would deliberately push me to the point of craziness to get me to scream or act out, then ride on the misery of my penitence and gleefully expose me to other people as a crazy screaming wife based on my one, final reactionary behavior. He kept trying to convince me and others that I was the sinful one because I'd finally screamed. I'd helplessly try to point out that I'd sat through the hours and hours of verbal abuse and gaslighting before screaming, but he'd said it many times: "When you 'lose your temper,' you trump all of my sins." The problem was that I really did feel like I was sinning before God when I lost control, that I had no right to point out my husband's (log) while I was still dealing with my (speck). I was perpetually in a state of repentance and begging God for forgiveness, trying to focus on my own sin and let my husband focus on his, and trying not to mind that he wasn't trying to change or repent in the least, even though his sin was destroying me. In front of counselors, when he'd point out my screaming, I'd lowered my head and taken it. I knew I couldn't say, "But you did such-and-such first," because then the counselor would patronizingly interject, "Now let's not get into a battle of who did what," and talk about forgiveness and mutuality and good communication and what we could BOTH do to make things better. And he'd smile in counseling and agree to move forward, and I'd be sobbing and being a hot mess, and the counselor would look concernedly at me and write down things like, "The wife is out of control, while the husband is being cooperative."
At some point I realized that my husband was actually trying to get me to lose it. Once, when I was heroically taking his every verbal blow and responding gently, he barked viciously at me, "You know you hate me! Say it! Say it! You know you want a divorce! Say it!" I stared at him openmouthed, the game exposed. "You...want me to lose control," I finally said. "So you can say the whole thing is my fault." It was true. He was frustrated at my patience, almost desperate for me to lose control in order to justify himself. It was a game of nerves. I realized I could not lose control, could not cry, could not sin in the slightest, could not even allow myself a less-than-loving word or he would leap on it victoriously. Even a tear was called aggressive. I could not express any negative emotion. I could not raise my voice in the slightest. I could not move my hands or he'd say I was threatening him. He had a whole list of words I was not allow to say, including, "I can't take this any more."
The last year of our marriage I became a silent, impossibly patient robot as he pelted me with words. And he grew crueler and pettier in his desperation to make me sin. Don't cry...don't scream...or he'll win. Eventually he went so far that I accepted what Bancroft's book said. He knew what he was doing. He was doing it on purpose. And he wasn't going to change.
I eventually forced myself to listen to the whole song (so I could write this blog), and this is another part that reduced me to tears:
Now I know we said things, did things that we didn't mean
And we fall back into the same patterns, same routine
But your temper's just as bad as mine is
You're the same as me
When it comes to love you're just as blinded
Baby, please come back
It wasn't you, baby it was me
Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is I love you too much to walk away though
Come inside, pick up your bags off the sidewalk
Don't you hear sincerity in my voice when I talk
Told you this is my fault
Look me in the eyeball
Next time I'm pissed, I'll aim my fist at the drywall
Next time? There won't be no next time!
I apologize even though I know its lies
I'm tired of the games I just want her back
I know I'm a liar
If she ever tries to fucking leave again
Im'a tie her to the bed and set this house on fire
Well, at least they got that part of it right. (According to personal history, both Eminem and Rihanna know this story firsthand.) The blame shifting, the fake apologies, coaxing you and your bags back into the house. He perfectly timed his apologies to coincide with the bag rolling over the threshold of the door. And then there's me, standing there with the bags. Listening to his words, wanting to believe, wanting to forgive, wanting everything to be all right, finding him so helpful in carrying my bags back into the house and helping me unpack. I sob through the memory, screaming at myself, "Don't believe him! Stop talking! Run away!" But in my memory I smile at him, wipe away the tears, tell him I want to help him, and forgive him again, and again, and again, and go back in to be abused some more.
I obviously should just stop listening to the radio.
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