His Words Kept Me Hostage, But Now I’m Speaking Out

Issue

Domestic Violence

The combination of intimate partner violence and access to guns is an especially deadly mix.

My ex-husband was diagnosed with depression and bipolar disorder. My son, Wyland, and I experienced emotional manipulation and verbal abuse at his hands, and I was held hostage by the fear that he would hurt me, my son, or even himself. I worried my ex-husband would take his own life, causing our son to suffer emotionally for the rest of his life. 

But I wasn’t physically abused. Maybe if I had a black eye, others would have noticed—or I would have. But mental abuse doesn’t work that way, at least not for me. While there were no visual manifestations of violence, his emotional abuse created small bruises on my psyche. After eight years of marriage, I became a shell of a person. I was worried I might be caught in an outburst or manic episode, and that I wouldn’t be able to decode his messages and actions. If he took too long to respond to a text message, I worried about Wyland’s safety.

Since Wyland’s tragic death, I’ve become even more aware of the signs of abuse. I’m aware of the pain and exhaustion, of the word “filicide”—which means the killing of one’s son or daughter—and of the need to warn others of what to look out for. I’m aware that I was a victim of domestic violence—and that was a huge awakening for me. There are probably others in similar situations who have no idea they’re victims as well.

Though I didn’t witness my son’s death, I suffer from PTSD and secondary trauma. I replay the event in my head often, trying to put together the pieces of the real-life nightmare. I will never forget the crime scene, blocked off with barricade tape. In the months after, the sight of caution tape on TV would make me cry. Having to say goodbye to my son in a hospital bed in the emergency room, hours after he passed, was the worst moment of my life. 

I think many trauma victims don’t share their stories because they don’t know what to say, or are afraid of saying the wrong thing. Victims and survivors often feel alienated by our responses to trauma, like forgetting thoughts, having trouble speaking, or crying and shaking. But we must support survivors—and this includes listening to them when they have a story to tell, even if it comes out in broken segments. 

Each time I question whether or not to speak, I remind myself that my voice is powerful. If I chose to avoid embarrassment or fear by not speaking at all, how would I share my story? How would people learn that this can happen? 

It’s too easy for those who pose a threat to themselves or others to access guns, and it’s especially dangerous when this happens around children. Each time a survivor shares their story, we take another step forward, towards progress.