The Victim's Story

Over the next three pages you can read about domestic abuse from three perspectives: that of the victim, a Public Protection Unit police officer and a refuge centre worker.

The Victim

Sue, aged 28, from Worcester, has been married to Ian for five years. This is her story.

“I met Ian in a nightclub. He was tall and well-built, with dark hair and blue eyes – my dream man. The relationship became serious quite quickly, and six months after we had met we bought a house and started planning our wedding.

Looking back, he made all the decisions - what furniture we bought, where we went on honeymoon, and even what we watched on television. Because he earned a lot more than I did,at the time I guess I perhaps thought he deserved more of a say than I did.

He didn’t get on with my family and friends, so after we moved in together he started to put pressure on me not to see them as often. It was very subtle – he’d take me shopping on a weekend, when I would have gone to see my parents, or he would tell me not to be long when I popped around to a mate’s house for a glass of wine because he needed me to help him with some DIY.

Gradually I lost contact with my friends, and only saw my family rarely. At the time I found it flattering that he wanted to spend so much time with me. Now I know it was a way of controlling me. He also used to choose my clothes. He hated me wearing short skirts or tight fitting tops, saying he did not want other men to look at me. I was only in my 20s, but I used to dress like a woman twice my age.

About six months after we got married I discovered I was pregnant. It wasn’t planned, but I was happy and I thought he would be too. But he wasn’t. He called me a stupid bitch, and slapped me across the face. I was in shock. I went upstairs and lay on the bed, with tears running down my face. After a while he came up. He started crying too, apologising, begging me to forgive him, and saying it would never happen again.

Of course it did. When we had our baby boy he bought me a huge bunch of flowers and for a while everything was fine. But the baby took up a lot of my time, and the housework slipped. It was mainly verbal abuse – he called me stupid, a useless mother, a fat cow.

One day the baby was teething and I hadn’t been able to put him down. By the time Ian got home, the house was a wreck with washing airing everywhere, a pile of dishes in the sink, and nothing for dinner. He demanded to know what I had been doing all day, and lashed out, giving me a black eye. Then he walked out and went to the pub.

By the time I was pregnant again, the abuse was happening regularly. The slightest thing would set him off – just little things like us running out of bread. Once he pushed me against a door because I’d forgotten to get a present for his sister’s birthday. The midwife noticed the bruises on my arms and asked if I was
experiencing domestic abuse. I looked her straight in the eye and told her I’d fallen. I almost convinced myself that’s what really happened.

"Once he pushed me against a door because I’d forgotten to get a present for his sister’s birthday. The midwife noticed the bruises on my arms and asked if I was experiencing domestic abuse. I looked her straight in the eye and told her I’d fallen. I almost convinced myself that’s what really happened."
Sue, Worcester

I loved my baby daughter, but as I lay in my hospital bed,desperate to get back to my son, hoping Ian would not lose his temper while coping with a lively toddler, I felt trapped. Where could I go, a mother of two young children, with no job, no money, and, thanks to Ian, no relatives or friends I could have asked for help?
I had no self confidence, no independence. Ian controlled every pound I spent and demanded to see the receipts for everything I bought. And he would ring several times from work. If I was out he would demand to know where I had been. I had about an hour to get to the supermarket and back. If I was any longer,there would be trouble when he got home.

Sometimes several months would lapse and I would tell myself everything would be all right. But then something would set him off again. He didn’t hit the children, but they picked up on the tension between us, the atmosphere of fear in the house, and they were withdrawn, clingy, nervous kids. One day Ian punched me as I held our daughter. Blood was everywhere and she was screaming in sheer terror. I knew then I had to do something. I had to get out.

I telephoned a domestic abuse helpline from a call box outside the supermarket. I was too afraid to ring from home. The woman who answered, was fantastic. She gave me a lot of information.
Over the next few weeks I rang back several times, just to talk it through. I was determined to leave by now but I had to build up to it. Gradually I began to gather together documents I might need, like the children’s birth certificates.

I was put in touch with a women’s refuge and two of the staff arranged to meet me at the supermarket a week later. That day seemed to take forever to come. I waved Ian off to work as normal, my heart thumping. Would he realise something was going on? Would he come home from work for some reason? I waited until his car had turned the corner and then stuffed a few clothes and the children’s favourite toys into a couple of holdalls.
I couldn’t carry anything else apart from my handbag, which contained the documents, a couple of photos, and £50 – the housekeeping money Ian had given me that morning and all the money I had in the world. I walked away from our home without a backward glance.

I had just an hour before Ian would get suspicious about my absence and I was terrified the staff from the refuge would be late. But when I got there they were waiting. I got into the car with the children, who were confused but excited, and as we drove away I felt such a tremendous sense of relief it was hard
to hold back the tears.

I wasn’t looking forward to living in a women’s refuge but everyone was so friendly and the children soon settled down. After talking to some of the support workers I decided I would like to retrain, so I began a computer course, which I hope will help me get a job. I lived in the refuge for six months while I sorted my life out, and I now have a housing association flat. Money is tight, but I have no regrets. I am gradually starting to regain my self-confidence, re-establish my links with my family and friends, and the simple freedoms other women take for granted, like choosing what to eat, what to wear, and what to watch on TV, give me enormous pleasure, as does seeing my children thriving in a stable, loving home.

As for Ian, he was shocked when he discovered I had gone as he did not think that I would have the courage to leave him - nor did I. At first he tried to woo me back but when that didn’t work he showed his true colours and became very aggressive.

However the refuge staff supported and encouraged me to recognise that I had made the right choice. I am now in control of my own life. Ian does see the children and although he is always trying to win me over I know that he will not change.

Anyway I like my life just as it is. Do I still love him? No. I loved the kind considerate man that I first met but I know he is long gone.”

Read about domestic abuse from the perspective of a refuge worker >>