Behind Closed Doors: A Month in the Life of Domestic Abuse
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. A month dedicated to opening conversations, challenging assumptions, and encouraging us to look more closely at what happens behind closed doors.
But is a month really long enough to understand the lasting impact of domestic abuse? To comprehend what it does to a person's sense of self, their ability to trust, or their understanding of what love is supposed to feel like?
As a survivor of domestic violence, I lived with abuse for the first forty years of my life. Four decades of navigating relationships that hurt me, trying to make sense of things that should never have happened, and finding it almost impossible to break free from the people who caused me harm. In the end, I had to move halfway across the world to put enough distance between myself and my abusers to begin finding my way out.
Forty years.
Let that sink in for a moment.
Why did it take me so long to walk away? Why didn't I just leave? The answers are far more complex than many people realise. They require more than a passing glance at a headline or a quick judgement about what someone should have done. They require compassion, an open mind, and a willingness to look beyond what we think we know about domestic abuse.
So, this October, I want to share something of my own experience. Not simply to tell my story, but to offer a glimpse into what a month can look like when you're living under the oppression of domestic violence. The fear, the confusion, the invisible battles, and the slow erosion of your identity.
As you read, I ask you to do something that can be far more difficult than it sounds. Instead of asking yourself why someone doesn't leave, try to imagine what it feels like to live in a world where leaving doesn't feel possible. Put judgement aside, even if only for a moment, and make room for understanding.
Because domestic violence doesn't happen only to other people. It can happen to anyone. It could happen to someone you love. Someone you work with. Someone you pass in the street.
Someone just like you.
And sometimes, the person suffering behind a closed door is the last person you would ever suspect.
Every survivor's story is different. Our backgrounds, circumstances, cultures, beliefs, and relationships vary enormously. There is no single profile of a victim, just as there is no single profile of a perpetrator.
Abuse doesn't discriminate according to age, education, social standing, or how a family appears to the outside world. Men can be victims, too. And not every abusive relationship leaves bruises that others can see.
Yet beneath these individual stories, familiar patterns often emerge: coercion, control, intimidation, humiliation, bullying, and, in many cases, physical violence. Different faces. Different circumstances. But the same underlying message - your freedom, your voice, and your sense of self are no longer entirely your own.
Domestic abuse is not always one explosive incident that leaves everyone in shock. Sometimes, it is a gradual tightening of control. A thousand small cuts to your confidence. A shifting of boundaries so subtle that, before you realise what has happened, the life you once knew becomes something you barely recognise.
So, let me take you behind closed doors.
Let me walk you through a month in the life of someone living with domestic abuse - the moments others might never witness, the realities that are so often misunderstood, and the things that can happen in the space between one ordinary day and the next.
This is what a month can look like when home is not a place of safety, and the people who should care for you are the very people you have learned to fear.
Week One - The Calm Before the Storm
It has been building for days. You can feel it in the air, in the silence between words, in the tension tightening around you. It is a pressure cooker reaching boiling point, the whistle growing louder, warning you of what is coming. The ringing in your ears rises to a high-pitched alarm. Your body knows before your mind catches up.
So, you tread carefully.
You tiptoe around conversations, weighing every word, reading every expression, searching for clues. Your people-pleasing skills are impeccable. You have learned to appease, accommodate, and anticipate, forever trying to stay one step ahead of the storm. But even kindness must be measured. Sometimes, being too nice can trigger an explosion, too.
Then they smile. Perhaps there's a chuckle, a little light-hearted conversation. For a moment, you breathe.
They're happy. I'm safe.
For now.
But the peace is fragile. One word. One look. One wrong move. Suddenly, the volcano erupts, and chaos pours through the room like molten lava. Every instinct screams at you to run, but escape only fuels the fury.
How dare you walk away?
Before you can react, you are caught in a physical headlock. His arm tightens like a giant snake, constricting your breath. And every time this happens, you have the same thought...
This time he'll kill me...
You are trapped. You try to reason, to negotiate, to find the words that might make it stop. But reason has no place here. Negotiation is futile.
All you can do is endure, ride the waves of his rage, and pray the worst will soon pass. And when it is over, the world outside carries on as though nothing has happened.
But something has happened. And you will carry it long after the silence returns.
Week Two — Walking on Eggshells
The tension still lingers in every conversation. You have apologised a hundred times, taken responsibility for pressing his buttons, and carefully constructed every word you speak. You pour out love and empathy, explaining how sorry you are for making him feel unloved, dismissing his feelings, or disrespecting his authority as a man.
You take responsibility for his anger, too. Somehow, his actions become your fault.
Perhaps you receive an apology, a hug, or a cup of tea. A small gesture of kindness that feels like a lifeline. But even this comes with an unspoken expectation. You must show gratitude, acknowledge your flaws, and accept your part in what happened.
For the rest of the week, you turn everything inward. You replay conversations, question your intentions, and pick yourself apart. Your inner critic is relentless. Slowly, you begin to believe you are the problem, so you try harder to become the perfect wife. You minimise potential triggers, anticipate his needs, and pray each day that this time, you will be enough.
You learn to survive on crumbs of affection, feeling eternally grateful for the smallest scraps of tenderness.
But affection rarely comes freely. There is always a caveat, an expectation, a price to pay. Love becomes something you must earn, rather than something you deserve simply because you exist.
Week Three — When Everyone Turns Against You
Your mind is spinning, running on empty, no longer feeling like a safe place to be. Your body aches with exhaustion, yet sleep brings no relief. Nightmares follow you into the darkness, leaving you no space to recover. Desperate for something to quieten the pain, you reach for whatever offers temporary escape.
Alcohol, painkillers, drugs. Anything to silence the torment.
But your struggle is noticed, and turned against you.
Your family arrives with accusations disguised as concern. “We've heard you have a problem. You need to sort your life out! Think of your kids.”
What they don't see, or perhaps refuse to acknowledge, is where the dysfunction began. Your family was the very place you first learned that abuse, violence, coercion, and control were normal. That keeping the peace mattered more than speaking the truth. That protecting the abuser was often easier than standing beside the person being hurt.
Imagine having a mother who not only condones violence but dismisses your reactions to it as unstable and erratic. Growing up with a violent father and an emotionally disconnected mother can shape your understanding of love, safety, and self-worth long before you are old enough to question it.
And when your own family sides with your abusive husband, the betrayal cuts deeply. The people you hoped might protect you become another source of pain. The psychological scars run deep.
When you are surrounded by people who hurt you, excuse the abuse, or blame you for reacting to it, the message becomes impossible to escape.
You are the problem.
And when everyone around you seems to believe it, you begin to believe it, too. You question your own sanity, turn your anger inward, and punish yourself for the very things you are struggling to survive.
Soon, everyone sees you as the unstable one. Nobody asks what happened to you. Nobody looks behind closed doors.
Week Four — When You Become the Villain
Now, the anger is rising. His words, his smears against your character, spread to anyone willing to listen, have lit a fire in your belly. Looking back, I came to understand something: anyone determined to turn others against you cannot truly love you. Anyone willing to lie, twist the truth, or destroy your reputation shows little respect for you.
And yet, despite the cruelty, it is familiar. It is all I have ever known.
I am human. I have feelings. And keeping them contained is like sitting on the lid of a boiling pot, desperately trying to hold back the pressure. Eventually, something has to give. The relentless baiting, bashing, and provocation would test the patience of a Tibetan monk.
He monitors your every move, listens to your conversations, and questions your every thought, word, and action. You are exhausted, cornered, and running out of ways to keep the peace.
Eventually, you snap.
The perfect wife you have tried so desperately to be disappears, and the rebellious, furious woman you have buried for so long finally erupts. You fight back. You shout. You become someone you barely recognise. And suddenly, you have crossed a line. Now, you are standing alongside the very person who has pushed you to breaking point, and the focus shifts to your reaction rather than what led to it.
If you lie down with dogs long enough, you begin to act like them.
This time, you manage to call the police.
You spend hours in a confined interview room, your PTSD raging, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee even from the people who are supposed to help. The questions feel like another interrogation. You feel scrutinised, judged, and utterly alone, as though the whole world has turned against you.
Your family hears his version of events, carefully twisted to paint you as the monster - unstable, unhinged, out of control. He is released without charge, and you are left terrified, waiting for the sound of the door unlocking and the wrath you fear will follow.
You cannot turn to your family; they already blame you for the chaos. You are too frightened to call the police again. Instead, you pray that perhaps a neighbour will hear something and call for help.
And so, you shut down. You bury your feelings, swallow your fear, and accept the unacceptable because, somewhere along the way, this has become your normal.
Or, as my mother would say, “Bury it and move on.”
Behind Closed Doors - The Lasting Impact
Living in a dysfunctional, abusive environment doesn't end when the shouting stops. It seeps into your bones, your beliefs, your relationships, and the way you see yourself. It teaches you to question your worth, distrust your instincts, and to mistake survival for normal living. The damage can follow you long after you escape, leaving wounds that aren't visible to the outside world.
I know, because I have lived it.
But our past does not have to dictate our future. Healing takes time, and finding your way out may feel impossible when you are still trapped inside the cycle. You may have been made to believe you are the problem, that nobody will believe you, or that you somehow deserve what is happening to you. None of that makes the abuse your fault.
You deserve to feel safe. You deserve to be treated with dignity. You deserve a life without fear.
If you recognise yourself in any part of this story, please know that help and support are out there. You do not have to live this way. Reach out to someone you trust or contact a specialist support service. You don't have to have all the answers, and you don't have to navigate this alone.
There is hope. There is a way out. And there is a life beyond survival.
Please, reach out and get the support you deserve. You matter, your safety matters, and your story is not over.
You are not alone🌹
Help and support in New Zealand
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic or family violence, these services offer confidential support, information and guidance. You don't have to wait until the abuse becomes physical to ask for help.
New Zealand Government
+1
Women's Refuge
0800 733 843
Free, 24/7 crisis support for women and children experiencing domestic violence, including help with safety and refuge accommodation.
Find Your Local Refuge
Are You OK? — Family Violence Information Line
0800 456 450
Free, 24/7 support for people experiencing family violence and those concerned about someone else. Phone or use the online chat.
Are You OK
Shine — Family Violence Support
0508 744 633
Free, confidential, 24/7 support, information and advice for anyone affected by family violence. Online webchat is also available.
Shine - Shine
Shakti — Culturally Specialist Support
0800 742 584
24/7 specialist crisis support for Asian, African and Middle Eastern women experiencing domestic or family violence.
Ministry for Women
Emergency — New Zealand Police
111
Call if you or someone else is in immediate danger. If it is unsafe to speak when calling from a mobile, follow the emergency operator's instructions and press 55 when prompted.
New Zealand Police
Safety note: If someone monitors your phone or internet use, consider whether it is safe to access these resources. Women's Refuge offers a Shielded Site and private webchat designed to help people seek support more safely.
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