Abuse – Not Always Physical

By  |  9 Comments

Abuse is not always physical.

For three years, I spent every moment I could with my boyfriend. He was my boss. He was charming, had a flare in his personality that was captivating, and his eyes spoke to me like no other’s had. He was a father of 3, and spoke so wonderfully about his kids that I was hooked from the start – even if there was 16 years between us.

Looking back now I see the abuse; but when I was in it, I saw love and compassion.

It started with asking to marry me after 3 weeks of dating. Humbled, I said no. He wasn’t even divorced yet – they were separated for a year and a half before we met – and I hardly knew anything about him. He asked me to move in with him, and since I had no where to live (my ex kicked me out in a fit of rage), I agreed. We spent every day together from the moment we woke to the time we went to bed, and we got along great. A few months later, our first argument – I encouraged him to fight in court for his kids, but he chose not to.


The holidays rolled around and my family was suddenly unwelcome because he didn’t like them, so I told them no, and we went to his instead. Fast forward 4 months (we’re now together 7 months) and I find out I’m pregnant. As soon as I gave him the test, something in him changed. He looked at me differently, he talked to me differently, and the verbal abuse began. I was called a slut, a whore, accused of cheating, told to have an abortion, I was told I was crazy and psychotic, and even though I was throwing up 6-8 times a day, he still made me work my ass off at work (we worked in a steel shop together) and I became exhausted. He closed off emotionally, would neglect to talk or be affectionate towards me, be intimate and wouldn’t even hug me.

We’d argue, and he’d call me things like “vile, disgusting, gross,” and one time he pushed me at 8 months pregnant and spat in my face.

Still, through it all, I thought this was normal. I thought this was just how he dealt with change and a new addition. Then labor came. My water broke in the morning and I texted him to let him know that we didn’t have to go in until contractions started. He stayed at work, and when he got home, he argued with me (seriously) about why we weren’t going to the birth centre. I explained that things were different with a midwife, and he decided to go nap. I woke him up an hour later, cause it was time to go, and he lost it. He was screaming at me through contractions saying things like “you’re the one who wanted this. You’re the one who didn’t want the drugs” and on the drive in -37•C, he yelled at me the whole 40 minute drive.

Baby arrived, and not even five mins later, he says to my midwife “how much longer will we be here. I’m tired and my son has school tomorrow” (it was 9:30pm). She sent him home, and within minutes, I was being sent off to the OR with a retained placenta and severe hemorrhaging. My best friend was with me and called him to have him come back, but he never came. Not for me. Not for his brand new daughter. Instead he stayed home and got drunk. Not just for one night, but for 2.

I was in the hospital from 10pm on Jan 29 to 2pm on Jan 31st. I had 3 blood transfusions, was so weak I could barely move, my daughter was lethargic due to low iron from my blood loss (we nursed through it though!) and he still was no where to be found. When I arrived home, I found mountains of beer bottles and he told me his kids were on their way there with his mother (as if I wanted to see people after almost dying and him disappearing).

Fast forward for the first 9 months of my daughter’s life: no diaper changes, no baths, no help with cooking, belittled because I ate my placenta, told I was hideous for having stretch marks, and on one occasion, he passed out drunk while watching our daughter at 4 months old (he was never left alone again).

He sold my car, refused to leave the new vehicle with me because he needed it for work, and I was stuck in a home I hated. I never wanted to have sex with him, and he’d push me and push me until I’d cave so he’d go away. On our daughter’s first birthday, he was supposed to come out to celebrate with my sister, me and our birthday girl, but instead he stayed home pretending to be sick.

When I arrived back, he was drunk. He was always drunk.

April rolled around and we finally got into a massive fight, this time about me trying to stick up for his other kids who alleged their mother was hitting them with objects. My boyfriend decided to throw his phone at me which almost hit our now 14 month old, and he called me the most despicable names in front of her and his 12 year old.

I told him I was leaving until he was calm. This made him snap. While I was holding my baby in my arms, he pinned us against the wall telling me I wasn’t going anywhere. By now, she was crying and I was leaving regardless of what he said. I ran upstairs to grab my stuff and leave; he chased after us. I made it into my room, put my baby down and began to pack – he’s screaming at me now and my daughter is crying – and he grabbed my suitcase, threw it across the room and told me “I wasn’t fucking going anywhere”.

I said yes I am, I’m not staying here with you anymore. It’s over.

I began to pack again, and put my daughter on my bed. She climbed into the suitcase, and her father grabbed a dresser drawer, viciously swung it, nearly hitting her (within an inch of her head) and said “here I’ll fucking pack for you, you stupid cunt” and threw the drawer. I pushed him out of the room and told him he almost hit her and if he didn’t leave I was calling the police. Once he was out of the room, that’s when he grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and right arm, body slammed me onto the ground repeatedly while dragging me into his 12 year old’s room. He began to yell at his son telling him to videotape me assaulting him so he could throw me in jail. My 14 month old was standing in the hallway screaming bloody murder while her father had me in a semi-choke hold and spitting on me. I got away, grabbed her and told him to leave as I was calling 911. He left. Police were phoned. No charges were laid, and I never looked back. I left with my daughter, diapers and our clothes and went to a safe place.

It’s been 6 months. I haven’t looked back. I moved across the country and he’s lost all contact with all of his children. He’s only allowed supervised visits with his other 3 and nothing with my daughter until we go to court. I’m filing for sole custody and all parenting rights.

I know my story is not a typical abuse story with punching, hitting etc. But abuse comes in so many forms. Isolation, control, name calling, shaming, guilt, neglect.. These are all forms of abuse. Just because someone’s skin isn’t bruised does not mean their heart and soul isn’t.

The scariest part in all of this was finding out about his past and why he never fought for his kids. He was charged for assaulting his ex wife in front of his children, and had sexual assault charges on his record from many years prior. The lesson I learned was to always ALWAYS know the person you’re with.

My worst nightmare has come to life: I had a child with a rapist. DNA does not define who you are, your character does. My daughter and I are safe from his abuse, and safe from his manipulative ways. I don’t even know the person I had a baby with because the person he pretended to be is no where close to the person he really is.


— Sunni P.

Sunny P

I AM A Badass Breastfeeding, Babywearing, Attachment parenting, Pole dancing, Yogi Momma! And I inspire and empower women My WAY! Ms. Wrights Way