The Real Reason that Abusers Abuse: It’s Not Why You Think

Redefining Power

I began writing my book, I’m Sick, Not Crazy: How I Took Control of My Health When Western Medicine Told Me it Was All In My Head, as a way to take my power back after an incredibly disempowering experience.  It seemed to me that if I could understand the story of my own debilitating physical illness, then I could reclaim the control over my body and mind that the medical system had taken from me.  Even better, I could help others to reclaim power and control over their own bodies.

When I became ill, I did what most people do.  I went to my doctor and explained my symptoms, expecting to get a diagnosis and a treatment plan.  Instead, what I received was a long series of dismissals from medical professionals.  They minimized my symptoms, insinuated that I was exaggerating, and told me that I was “probably just anxious.”  

By the end of a year and a half of severe illness, my energy to ask Western Medicine for help was utterly depleted.  I realized that I was just one small person, and that the medical system was vast and powerful, and my voice was simply too tiny to be heard.

Instead of giving up, however, I gathered my energy back to myself and began to find other ways to heal.  By taking my power back and seeking my own wellness, my own way, I saved my own life.

Unfortunately, many people going through similar situations don’t realize that they even have the option of reclaiming their own power, which is what I want to talk about today.

For centuries, power has been defined as having power over others; the might makes right philosophy.  Kingdoms were created where one person had ultimate power over others.  People with physical strength, or with superior weaponry or technology have subdued others in order to take resources from them.

Hierarchy can be found today in all areas of life.  In the corporations that we work for, where labor is underpaid in order to concentrate wealth in the hands of a few, and in governments that take from the people they govern, and give little back.  And, of course, in the medical system, which over-charges for care that is questionably helpful, and often leaves people bankrupt.

These hierarchies don’t work.  They concentrate wealth, resources, and authority in the hands of the few.  They define power as having power over others.

Yet, I believe that power is something very different.  I believe that power is found in all of the ways that people take control of themselves and their own futures.  And I believe that power is found in communities of equals who work together towards a common goal that is helpful and enriching to everyone.

When I realized that asking Western Medicine to save me wasn’t working, I had to re-evaluate.  I had to practice radical acceptance of the fact that my body was likely never going to be the same, and that mainstream sources of medical assistance weren’t going to help me.  I had to start researching other ways to get what I needed in order to get well, and I had to trust my own intuitive knowing that there are many ways to heal–not just the one that capitalism says is right.  I had to take my power back to myself and take charge of my own life and health.

There could be many ways that you are giving your power away.  You could be staying in a relationship that doesn’t serve you and will never give you the future that you want.  Possibly you’re working in a job that makes you feel unimportant and pays you less than you’re worth.  Perhaps you’re relying on a person, or a bureaucracy, to take care of you, your health, or your safety, and you’re finding that it isn’t actually working out the way you’d hoped.

Consider, are there ways that I could take my power back?  Are there ways that I’ve been giving my power away that aren’t serving me?  Is it possible to move away from hierarchy and toward equality and community?

After asking myself these questions about my interactions with Western Medicine, I decided that there were ways that I could take control, take my power back, and make myself whole again.

The first thing that I did was join a yoga studio, and I will forever maintain that this move saved my life.  By joining a community of wellness seekers that accepted my body in all of its brokenness and make me feel acceptable, and then showed me how I could still move my body in ways that felt good, I began the process of taking my power back and moving toward healing.

As I slowly began to regain my physical strength, the strength of my mind and heart began to grow as well.  I became a seeker of wellness in my own right, and the doors slowly opened.  After yoga, massage became part of my healthcare routine, and the stuck and stagnant parts of my body began to move and soften.  Then acupuncture and craniosacral therapy became pieces of my healthcare puzzle.

I know that my body will never be like it was before my illness, and that I will always need to work to maintain my health.  However, I am thrilled to be able to tell you that by taking back my power over my own body and healing, I succeeded in creating a body that works.  

Not only am I well enough to function, but I thrive.  People laugh at how much energy I have to be productive, and they joke that I accomplish as much as two or three people usually do.  They’re right, and it’s because I embody my own power now.  I don’t wait for permission.  I decide what is right for me, and I go after it.  I trust myself.

If you’ve given away your power, taking it back is a process, but awareness is the first step.  Once you’re aware, you can start to make moves away from the old definition of power-over, and towards the new definition of power-within-yourself, and power-in-community.  

Rather than calling you out, I’m calling you in to a new way of being with yourself and those around you, and I support you in every step of the journey.

The Person I Truly Needed to Fall in Love With

I realize that I’m a few days late, but I have some Valentine’s Day thoughts to share. Valentine’s Day is always a difficult day for me, whether I’m coupled-up or not. This year I’m not in a relationship, so I had plenty of time to reflect on past romances. In the initial incarnation of my book, I’m Sick, Not Crazy, I weaved in a subplot of my relationships getting healthier as I did the things that made my body healthier. However, after some initial feedback, it looks like that plot may end up being my second book, but since this is my blog, and I can write whatever I want, I have a few things to say about love.

When I was 18 years old, I married my high school sweetheart. Even writing that line makes me feel painfully embarrassed, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. We’d been dating the entire four years that I was in high school, and I was raised in a conservative Christian home, so marriage seemed like the obvious and right next step. I was excited to get down to the business of being a wife, but the very first week that we were married, I realized I’d made a grave error. My ex-husband was in the Marine Corps, which had been the source of small problems between us while dating, but after the wedding, he began treating me like a drill sergeant treats a recruit.

During that first week of our ill-fated marriage, he became angry with me because I forgot to do something that he asked me to do. It was a small something, and I offered to do it as soon as he brought it up. Instead of accepting my offer to complete the task, he backed me up against a wall and screamed in my face for what seemed like a half an hour. I held my breath and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the punch that I expected, but didn’t come, while tears streamed down my face. Not only did I never forgive him for that, but it happened again . . . and again. Over the six years that we were married, he humiliated me in public, spoke to me like I was an idiot, screamed at me, and generally abused me. I didn’t realize that it was abuse at the time. I believed what he told me; that it was my fault, and if I could just be better, he would treat me right, but no matter what I did, things failed to improve. Now that I’m a therapist, and have training in matters of power and abuse, I realize that he didn’t abuse me because of anything I had done. He abused me because of him; because of his own internal feelings, and there was nothing that I could have done to change them. When I was 24 years old, he left me for another woman that he’d gotten pregnant, and I was relieved.

After my ex-husband left me, I met a man at work that I’m going to call Justin. There was an instant and strong attraction between us, and after he put up some initial resistance, we started dating. One day I was putting on makeup in his bathroom before work, and the bottle of liquid foundation slipped out of my hand, flew through the air, and splattered everything around me, including the carpet. Frantically, I started trying to clean it up, hoping to have it done before Justin saw, but I heard Justin coming into the room, and my heart started to pound. My ex-husband would have lost his mind over something like that. In his mind, there were no accidents, no mistakes, and no forgetting. Instead, Justin laughed and started helping me clean up the mess. I fell in love with him, hard, in that very moment, and our relationship is one of the more positive experiences of romances I’ve ever had. Justin and I had beautiful long talks about everything, and I believe that he loved me just as strongly as I loved him.

Unfortunately, he kept finding ways to sabotage the relationship. He told me that he didn’t ever want to get married and have children again (he already had two daughters from a first marriage). At age 24, I definitely envisioned having children of my own, so I broke up with him. However, he kept changing his mind, and after breaking up and getting back together over and over again for the next 10 years, he finally proposed marriage. We started planning a wedding, and I thought that I was actually going to get the relationship that I had always wanted with a man that I thought I couldn’t live without. It wasn’t meant to be. A few months before the wedding was supposed to occur, Justin announced that he was going to move to Texas because his ex-wife was going to be retiring there after getting out of the Navy, and he needed to be near his daughters.

If they had been little girls, I would have completely understood, but they were aged 16 and 18, and I was in the middle of establishing my career as a therapist. Plus, I was never going to be in a relationship again where my needs were not considered. Justin telling me that he was going to move to Texas, and that I could choose to either come with him or not, triggered my abuse trauma. I didn’t have the language for it at the time, but I felt it in the deepest part of my being that I couldn’t form a life with a man who didn’t talk to me before making a decision about where we would live as a couple. I gave the engagement ring back.

Justin contacts me here and there, but we’ll never get back together. Not because of his moving to Texas just before we were supposed to get married, but because of what happened afterward. After Justin left, I felt bereft and didn’t know what to do with myself. I needed something to put my energy into, and I found it in the local San Diego swing dancing community. The love I’d felt for Justin easily transferred to dancing, and I was dancing 4 to 5 nights per week, until one night a man I was dancing with dipped me so roughly that I sustained a serious whiplash injury. Within a week of the injury I was so sick that I couldn’t keep any food down, my vision doubled, and my cognition was so wonky that I couldn’t even make basic decisions, like whether to turn right or left. This went on for over a year, and at the worst of it, I was certain that I was going to die, whether of starvation, or by my own hand, I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to say goodbye to Justin before it happened. I called him and told him that I was sick. His response was to tell me that he couldn’t keep doing this. I didn’t expect him to do anything except say goodbye back, but instead he made even my illness about himself. That was the moment that I knew it was really over between us.

After a year and a half of an illness that nearly killed me, I was walking down the street toward Mission Beach and I met a man we’ll call Andrew. He was beautiful. Probably the most attractive man that I’ve ever dated. We had a lot of fun together, and traveled all over the world: Australia, England, France, Thailand, and more. Andrew and I moved in together after 3 years of dating, and lived together for two years before I moved out. Living with him was impossible for me. He spent all of his time in front of the television, completely numbed out. The TV noise was overwhelming to my sensitive nature, and living with someone so absent made me feel more lonely than being alone.

After moving out, I decided that I must be doing this dating thing completely wrong. I’d missed the training that most people get in early dating by being with my ex-husband so young, and for so long, so I did what I always do when I need to learn something new–I took a class. Dating coaching was extremely helpful and motivating, and I spent most of my time outside of work on dating apps and going on dates. After an exhausting few months of fruitless dates, I met a man I’ll call Steven, and fell crazy in love with him. Steven was almost divorced when I met him. If he’d told me on the first date that he was in the middle of a divorce, I wouldn’t have gone out with him again. Unfortunately, he waited until a few dates in to tell me, and I was already hooked. I’ll never know if Steven felt the same way about me that I did about him. I believed that he did for the 10 months that we dated, and he was the one that initiated each next big relationship step. He suggested that we go on a trip to Kauai together. He suggested that I go with him to Connecticut to meet his family. He suggested that we move in together.

That last suggestion ended up being the death knell for our relationship. Steven lived about a 40 minute drive away from me with no traffic. With traffic, it would have taken me about an hour to get to work from his place. He worked about a 10 minute drive closer to where I lived, so it seemed logical to me that we could move somewhere in between where I lived and where he lived and we would both be happy with our commutes. However, Steven’s comment about where we should live was, “I’ve decided that I’ll watch the condos across the street and we’ll move in there when one opens.” You’ve decided? Flashbacks to Justin deciding to move to Texas, and my ex-husband backing me against the wall to scream in my face whenever I did something he didn’t like engulfed me. After giving it a day or two to think, I approached Steven and told him that his location posed difficulties for me, and that we should talk about where we would live together and make the decision as a couple.

This proposition seemed completely reasonable to me, but in my heart I had already decided that if he insisted that we live in his area, I would drive the hour to work each day because I loved him so much. All that I wanted was for him to be willing to talk to me about it.

He wasn’t.

Instead of talking to me about the issue and coming to a resolution, he told me that he “didn’t have it for me,” and that he really wanted to re-engage in fighting with his ex-wife. I was beyond shocked . . . and heartbroken . . . and broken.

It’s been over a year since then, and I’ve been engaged in the deepest and most intense self-healing work I’ve ever done, and that’s coming from a licensed psychotherapist. What I’ve discovered about myself is that I’ve been relying on others for my sense of value. This strategy was the one that I was taught by movies, and songs, but it’s unsafe because I can’t control the behavior of these other people. When they leave me, I lose my foundation, and I’m left shaking and alone. Unfortunately, I’d been abandoning myself for these others all of my adult life, when what I really needed to do was stay with myself and love myself first. Loving myself first sets the model for the love that I receive from others. When they see how I love myself, they know that they have to love me with that same intensity and kindness, and nothing less will do. Most importantly, if they leave me in the end, I still have myself to love, and my foundation is still strong.

I don’t know what your history is with romance, but no matter what is going on with you, I invite you to also love yourself first, and to cultivate your relationship with yourself. The more you’re good to you, the more that you will inspire others to be good to you. Best of all, if you are your own best partner, you won’t be hungry for love, and you will only accept the very best.