Secrets

 I had a case once that started as a frantic 911 call from the victim, an intelligent, educated woman with two lovely children living with her husband of twenty years in a home fit for kings.  During the call she frantically whispered, “Dear, God.  Please help me.  He’s going to kill me…he’s got a gun.  Please hurry…” 

All the while an angry male voice could be heard in the background demanding that she show herself.  His anger intensified as he yelled that he would kill her if she didn’t stop hiding.  The dispatcher heard a rifle shot, and was greatly relieved when the woman asked her to hurry once more after a few seconds of dead silence.  The call went on like that for three minutes, at which point two officers arrived and quickly took the ranting husband into custody. 

            The woman was bruised around both eyes and her tongue was bleeding.  Dark imprints in the shape of four fingers and a thumb nearly encircled her slender neck.  The children were traumatized beyond belief, having thought until moments before that they were about to witness their father murder their mother.  They were almost right.  The officers recovered a large-caliber rifle on the billiard table in the “family room.”  One round had been fired, and there were nine other bullets loaded and ready to go. 

            The husband, a professional of good and long repute in our city, had gotten drunk, and taken out some frustration on the wife because she had not gotten his salmon-colored shirt to the cleaners yet.  We later learned that he’d done this many times before.  The family had been living in hell for years, and the wife had all but resigned herself to believing she would one day die at his hands. 

            Within a week of my meeting her for the first time and learning all these details, they were back together.  She told officials and teachers at the children’s school that the police had lied to the newspaper about what really happened, and that her bruises were caused by a car accident.  She called the chief of police and the mayor and threatened to sue the entire department if we didn’t “drop the charges” against her husband.  Their neighbors wrote letters of support for the husband, telling the prosecutor in the most wonderful prose what a fine man and upstanding community leader he was.  

            Secrecy prevails in many of these instances, which is why I’ve often said that crimes such as domestic violence, sexual assaults against children, and stalking thrive in this environment.  Batterers are by and large very charming people to the outside world.  They also tend to be fairly crafty about the injuries they leave.  While it isn’t uncommon for police officers and paramedics to see damage to the eyes and face, it is much more common to find injuries underneath areas covered by clothing.  This, obviously, makes detecting the problem more difficult for friends and loved ones who might be willing to step in. 

            The result is a contract of secrecy between the abuser and the victim.  She doesn’t involve social services, friends/family, or the police and prosecutor because of shame, financial dependence, fear of retribution, or loss of her children.   He, in turn, promises to stop using violence in order to get his way and, in exchange, he provides a sense of security (albeit a false one), stability, and even some sense of hope for a better tomorrow. 

            The problem, obviously, is that this contract is non-binding, unenforceable, and hopelessly unfair.  You can’t form a true partnership with terrorists, and you don’t accept a ride across the river on the back of a creature that lives to hurt you.  These alliances, forged in secrecy and shame, are as lopsided a way to live life as can be imagined.  There can be no lasting joy or hope in an environment where you live with the knowledge that physical violence and emotional degradation is a possibility twenty-four hours a day.

            If you want to fight domestic violence and stalking, you have to attack it at the root.  You strip away the secrecy just like you would pull away old carpet to expose mold to sunlight, and then you have a chance at making a difference.  The lesson here is that when you encounter someone trapped in a relationship like this, you do what you must to help her see that nothing can change until they confront the secret.   

            This pattern of keeping secrets and of continuing to live in an unhealthy environment is often referred to as Battered Women’s Syndrome.  Simply put, Battered Women’s Syndrome occurs when a woman is so entrenched in living this self-destructive lie that she can’t imagine living life any other way.  I’ve never met a crack cocaine, methamphetamine, or heroin addict who wasn’t entirely aware of the fact that the drug was killing them and that they needed to stop, but addiction, by its very nature is a difficult thing to conquer.  I submit that addiction to another human being, including or maybe even especially, one that is destroying you, is as hard to break as the obsession of heroin or cocaine. 

            Battered Women’s Syndrome exists, and its existence makes talking a person living in this pattern into getting out extremely difficult.  A mother, police officer, co-worker, friend, or therapist is going to get a lot of “yes, but” answers when trying to urge a domestic violence victim to take action. 

• Yes, but, he’s really a good guy.  He’s just under a lot of strain. 
• Yes, but, he’s only violent when he drinks.
• Yes, but, he would just find me and hurt me worse if I left.
• Yes, but, he has all the money.
• Yes, but, he’s a good father.
• Yes, but, he promised it would never happen again.

            Suffice it to say that when you encounter a woman who is actively living the secret of domestic violence, and whose mind is so brainwashed that she is a poster child for Battered Women’s Syndrome, you’re probably not going to talk her into taking effective action to change her predicament in one or two heart-to-heart talks.  No, something dramatic almost always has to happen.  Maybe it’s an arrest, or maybe it’s her little girl whispering that she’s scared of daddy, or maybe its injuries so severe that hospitalization is required. 

Eventually there may come a time when the flimsy walls constructed to maintain the secrets fracture and fall.  That is the moment for a best friend, a sister, father, or maybe a social worker, nurse, or police officer, to quietly, firmly, and with loving resolve let her know once more that they are there for them, and that they will do anything they can to help her out of her miserable hole.  If you’ve learned what you can about all her secrets and excuses, and if you know what services and options are available, you’ll be ready with answers and options when her “yes, but’s” start back up. 

This is the essence of unconditional love and forgiveness, and if you are watching a loved one die a long, miserable death from domestic abuse, it is exactly what she’ll need from you if she is to survive.  Let her know once and then a hundred times more that you’ll be there when she is ready to expose the secrets and change her life.