Abuse comes from attitudes and values. For whatever reason, a person's sense of entitlement grows out of proportion. While some people may have strong impulses, such as a short fuse or high sex drive, these emotions only motivate us to make decisions. At the end of the day, however, our actions are our choice.
When our actions conflict with our attitudes and values, we feel frustration and seek to either alter the very way we approach our decisions, or we alter our choices so they more closely align with our values.
Because abuse stems from attitudes and values, the abuser almost never stops to think what they are doing is abusive. They feel entitled to come first, to say what they must because you have crossed the line, to treat you in whatever way they feel is appropriate, no matter how abusive, because to them it is the right thing to do.
Considering the abuse I suffered from my brother for the last couple of years, and how much worse it became in the months leading up to me extricating myself from the relationship, I had to wonder why some people, like my father, could suggest the onus was in any way on me to resolve the relationship. He recognized the abuse, had even come to me over the last year to ask for help with similar experiences, but from time to time still asserted that for family, you should just accept them. Perhaps, he suggested, I should be the bigger man and take it upon myself to resolve the conflict.
So why do those outside the relationship often fail to recognize the abuse? And here's the big question: Why don't abusers recognize what they do is abuse?
Because abusive people are generally not abusive to everyone in their lives. They are abusive to specific people, such that to most of the world, they are often perceived as successful, charming people. Even if they are perceived as jerkish, no one suspects the abuse that person doles out to the select few
. Least of all, the abuser!
Why would they stop to think they are so cruel to one person when they receive positive reinforcement from the majority of their social circle?
Not to mention, our society in general rewards people for aggressive, manipulative behavior, as long as one does not cross the line that leads to legal action. Even then, exhaustive research shows that most abusers forced to go through an abuser program do not rehabilitate. They truly believe they have the best intentions and for the most part are misunderstood by anyone that would call them abusive.
An abusive relationship is different than a normal relationship. In general, two people can expect to have problems, and it's necessary to have a give and take to balance some of their contrary behaviors and values. Sometimes, we get what we ask for, and it's up to us to change, or at least find a new way of approaching the one we love. We can not change the person we love. We can only discuss with them what is important to us and allow them to choose what to do with that information. (This is at the heart of Choice Theory, a therapy and philosophy that revolutionized how I approach people.)
This is not so in an abusive relationship. In fact, learning to accommodate an abuser only furthers the abuse. With every apology for infuriating them, for not giving them what they need, for doing whatever they decided was enough for them to choose to cross the line, we justify the abuser's behavior. In my experience, there isn't anything you can do to please an abuser. They are going to find a reason to continue to abuse you.
YOUR AGE
BY DINING OUT
Don't tell me your age; you probably wouldn't tell me anyway-but your waiter
may know!
YOUR AGE BY DINER & RESTAURANT MATH
This is pretty neat
DON'T
CHEAT BY
SCROLLING DOWN FIRST!
It takes less than a minute. Work this out as
you read ..
Be sure you don't read the bottom until you've
worked it out!
This is not one of those waste of time things,
it's fun.
1. First of all, pick the number of times a week
that you would like to go out to eat.
(more than once but less than 10)
2. Multiply this number by 2 (just to be bold)
3. Add 5
4. Multiply it by 50
5. If you have already had your birthday this
year add 1758...
If you haven't had your
birthday yet, add 1757
instead.
6. Now subtract the four digit year that you were born.
You should have a three digit number
The first digit of this was your original number.
(i.e. How many times
you want to go out to
restaurants in a week.)
The next two numbers are
YOUR
AGE ! ------ (Oh YES, it is!)
THIS IS THE ONLY YEAR (2008) IT WILL EVER WORK,
SO SPREAD IT AROUND WHILE IT LASTS
A Ten Minute Play
Short story by: Megan Stoner
Adapted for the stage by: Stephen Morgan
Sound effects: Soldiers march. The quick ratta-tat-tat-tat of machine guns firing. Airplanes fly overhead. Something crashes. Bombs drop. People scream, quickly silenced when the bombs hit.
The sounds dim... but rise again.
Except as the lights come up, the sounds are from a boy, PETER, playing at his house in London during World War II. He flies an old, chipped wooden plane in his hands over an imaginary city.
PETER: Take that, Germany! Ahhhhh!!! Ratta-tat-tat-tat BOOM! (pretends he is hit by enemy fire) Ahh! They got me! (falls to the ground) Oh... What a way... And to think I never... never... told my brother...
Peter's brother, Joseph, enters. He wears a thick wool coat with a second coat in one hand, a flashlight in the other. For a teenager, he seems too serious, too bitter already.
JOSEPH: Get up. Are you playing that stupid game again?
PETER: (murmurs) Never told my brother what a wet blanket he is.
JOSEPH: Put this on.
Peter takes the coat, slips it on, then shrugs it off again.
PETER: Aww, it's so hot, though. Do I have to wear it?
JOSEPH: You want to come, you'll wear it.
Peter lowers his head and makes a face. He slips one arm inside, then stops. He looks at his brother.
PETER: Joe, I was thinking... Maybe I'll stay home.
JOSEPH: Jeez, can you make up your mind? First you beg me to come, now you want to stay home.
PETER: What if mom comes back?
A long beat. Joseph doesn't know what to say, but it's clear the remark cuts into some deep, unhealed wound.
JOSEPH: Not tonight, Peter. Maybe she'll come back tomorrow.
PETER: You said that last week.
JOSEPH: Come on, Pete. Put the coat on.
PETER: When's she coming back?
JOSEPH: Peter... Tomorrow. I don't know.
PETER: Yes, you do. You always act like you know everything! Well, why don't you tell me!
JOSEPH: She isn't coming back! All right? I need to spell it out for you? (grabs the wooden plane from Peter's hand, throws it against the wall) Stop playing these bloody games. You know she's gone. Stop pretending. (on his brother's hurt look) I'm sorry, Peter. But it's just us now. Just us and this bloody war.
Peter can't hold back the tears anymore. It's all too much.
JOSEPH: Look, shut up! (shakes Peter) Be a man. You want to survive this?
Peter rubs his eyes and stifles his tears. He sniffles, holds out his arms to Joseph.
PETER: Can I have a hug?
Joseph pushes Peter's arms away.
JOSEPH: Would you be a man? Just once? Sooner you do the sooner I can stop worrying about you.
Peter smiles.
PETER: You love me, don'tcha.
Joseph rolls his eyes.
JOSEPH: Hugs are for sissies. (trying to be important-sounding) A real man loves his country and his duty.
Now Peter rolls his eyes.
PETER: When're we leaving, anyway?
JOSEPH: We'll leave when I say.
PETER: But it's getting dark--
JOSEPH: Pete, one more word and I swear, Nazis or no Nazis, I will leave you here.
Peter holds his hand over his mouth. While Joseph turns around and looks out the window, scanning for any danger, Peter bites his hand to keep his mouth shut. He's about to explode when--
JOSEPH: Ok, let's go.
They exit, lights dim.
Lights come back up.
Joseph and Peter enter to St. Paul's Cathedral, a church now used for soldiers to sleep and use the high heights to watch for enemy planes.
Joseph stops Peter, faces him.
JOSEPH: Now, you do exactly what I say. Don't speak. Don't look at Mr. Allen. Just nod and go along with whatever I say. Ok?
PETER: Ok.
JOSEPH: Good.
They knock on the doors of the church. An old, weathered man opens the door. Except it's not an old, weathered man. Just a tired, weathered soldier: Mr. Allen.
MR. ALLEN: Joseph, we've got your place all set-- (double-takes on Peter) You're not taking him up too, are you lad? He's much too young. It's dangerous.
PETER: I'm sorry, sir, but just as you said, it's dangerous. I have to keep him with me. I promised our mother I would take care of him. Believe me, sir. It wasn't my idea.
Mr. Allen looks at Peter, then at Joseph, then at Peter again. He sighs and shakes his head.
MR. ALLEN: (faraway, thinking of something else) They get younger every year. Not right. Not right. Where's your mother? I should talk to her.
PETER: Well, sir... the truth is we don't know. She's been working in the Clapham Station shelters-
MR. ALLEN: Oh Lord, that's near where the bombs hit last week, isn't it? She wasn't hurt, was she?
Joseph reminds Peter with a look not to say otherwise.
JOSEPH: No, sir. She'll be back soon, no doubt. But the shelters need her more than we do.
MR. ALLEN: True enough. But... He's so young, Joseph.
Joseph's grip on Peter's arm tightens. Keep your mouth shut and let me handle him.
JOSEPH: I have told my brother what is expected of him, and I will make sure he causes no trouble--
But Peter can no longer contain himself!
PETER: I'm already ten, sir! Please, let me go. I want to help.
Mr. Allen looks at the two brothers for a long time, says nothing. Then he smiles a little, his eyes wrinkling.
MR. ALLEN: Sorry to think we need your help. But glad you want to. Come along then, up the stairs. (as they go up the stairs) Hope your mum comes home soon. Be a shame for you two to end up in an orphanage. Seen too many siblings separated that way.
Peter stops Joseph, gives him a look off what Mr. Allen said. Now he realizes.
PETER: (finally admitting the truth in a lie -) She'll be back, sir. We'll be ok.
Perhaps sensing the real story, Mr. Allen smiles but goes along with it.
MR. ALLEN: Right you are.
At the top of the stairs is the watchtower. A soldier, older, perhaps mid-forties, smokes a cigarette, turns to them as they enter.
MR. ALLEN: Stand down, soldier. Your relief is here.
SOLDIER: Jesus, Joseph and Mary, how old are you?
JOSEPH: I'm fifteen, sir.
SOLDIER: Enlisting next year then, eh?
JOSEPH: Can't, sir. (beat) Won't. It's difficult at home, see... I've got him to take care of.
SOLDIER: [(Nods) Right. Priorities is priorities. Country, 'ome... Maybe above them all, family. Country's not worth much without young ones to keep it going. (touches Joseph's shoulder) Don't you worry, lad. You'll get your chance. There'll be more wars.
The soldier and Mr. Allen start down the stairs.
SOLDIER: Lord help us... there'll always be more.
They exit.
PETER: That's supposed to be you.
JOSEPH: Who?
PETER: That soldier. If it wasn't for me, that's who you'd be, isn't it?
JOSEPH: Rub it in, Pete. Rub it in.
They sit down.
PETER: What comes next?
JOSEPH: We sit. And we wait. If the alarm goes off, it means the Germans are on their way with bombs.
PETER: I can't wait.
They sit for a few moments in silence.
PETER: I'm hungry.
JOSEPH: We just got here, Pete.
PETER: But I didn't get any dinner. How can you not be hungry?
JOSEPH: Peter, keep your mouth shut.
PETER: What? The Germans are in airplanes, Joseph. It's not like they can hear--
Suddenly the alarm goes off!
Peter jumps up, screaming.
PETER: Oh, God, they're here, I know I said I wanted to see them but--
But Joseph is on the ground laughing. After a moment, the alarm dies down.
PETER: What is it?
JOSEPH: That's the test siren. It goes off every night.
PETER: Wha- why didn't you tell me?
JOSEPH: And miss that look on your face?
PETER: You're mean. I hate you.
Peter curls up in the corner of the tower.
Joseph laughs. He takes out a cigarette, lights up.
Peter turns back around.
PETER: You're smoking!
JOSEPH: What about it?
PETER: I'll tell mum!
Beat, realizes he no longer can.
PETER: Can I have one?
JOSEPH: No.
PETER: Just one puff!
JOSEPH: And mess up the little baby's lungs?
PETER: I'm not a baby!
JOSEPH: You know that's what she used to call you. It's what you are. Widdle baby Pete. Can’t
have a cigarette, it will mess up his itty bitty lungs. ‘Take good care of little Pete, now, Joseph,’ she said. ‘Cause you obviously can’t take care of yourself.
Joseph stands up, yells out of the tower to the city and to anyone that will hear.
JOSEPH: Well to hell with with what you wanted! I'm not ready to take care of some kid! I told you not to go! I told you! Now who's immature? Now who's dumb?
PETER: Don't talk about mum that way!
Peter lunges at Joseph, knocks him to the ground. The cigarette flies out of Joseph's hand.
Peter's fist slams into Joseph's shoulder and they both yelp in pain before Joseph grabs Peter by both wrists and flips him onto his back. Joseph raises his fist to hit Peter in the face. At the last minute, he pulls away.
JOSEPH: Get your things. You're going.
PETER: What? But you said we had to stay until morning.
JOSEPH: I'm not going. You are.
PETER: What? But you have to take care of me. You have to--
JOSEPH: I'm not going to get us killed because you can't keep your damn mouth shut!
Peter grabs hold of the tower wall.
PETER: You can't make me go. I won't go!
Joseph grabs Peter, pulls.
But he stops. His eyes go wide at something unseen in the sky.
PETER: Let go of me!
JOSEPH: Pete, get down.
PETER: I hate you! I hate you! I hate--
The siren starts again, louder than ever, and this time it doesn't stop. Joseph grabs Peter and forces him to the ground.
JOSEPH: Stay down! They're coming!
Sound effects: Airplanes dive over the city. The alarms go off, this time for real. Planes coming closer, closer.
Joseph screams into the walkie talkie to Mr. Allen, but Allen's response is drowned out as the airplanes fly directly overhead. Bombs drop, machine guns fire. Bright harsh lights and then --
The lights go out. The boys scream and scream.
Underneath the cloak of lights off, the actors mess up the stage so it looks like bombs hit.
Until the bombs lessen, the airplanes become distant hums, and then it's all over, fire engine sirens blaring in the distance.
The lights come back up. Joseph huddles over, holding his head.
PETER: Joe?
Joe looks up, a big line of blood across his forehead.
PETER: You're hurt!
Joe coughs, brings out his cigarettes. Pulls one out, hands it to Peter.
JOSEPH: Still want one?
Peter shakes his head.
PETER: No.
Joseph looks at the cigarettes, throws them over the balcony.
JOSEPH: Me either.
Coughs again.
Someone comes running up the balcony. It's Mr. Allen.
MR. ALLEN: Oh, God. Bombs hit the church. Doors gone, stairway's in pieces. Good thing you boys stayed up here.
Mr. Allen looks behind them at the sight of the city now in shambles.
MR. ALLEN: Oh, God. The city. (brings up his walkie talkie, radios others) Get them ready. It's a mess out there. (Beat) No telling how many are dead.
Peter turns around, goes to the edge of the balcony.
PETER: Joe... the houses. They're, they're gone. What about our--
But he hears a sound behind him. He stops. Turns around. It's Joseph, crying. And for the first time, Peter lets his tears come, too. He goes forward, arms out, and the brothers embrace each other.
PETER: It's ok, Joe. It's ok.
Lights dim.
The End
Several months ago, I realized one of the dearest relationships in my life was abusive. I fought to save the relationship like I believe many couples do. Except my relationship was not with a spouse. It was with my identical twin. He is a person I have been close to since before we were born. This unique bond motivated me to find a way to negotiate my values and find a way to maintain the relationship, until finally I realized that despite being my identical twin, it was abuse, and the abuse would continue no matter what I did. What will follow is a series of posts sharing personal anecdotes and reflections on some of the insights I have gained by reading the book, Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men.
Several times, those I love that are still close to both of us have urged me to reconcile. Most notably, our father. Despite previously coming to me with the same concern that perhaps the family should intervene and perhaps stem the tide of abuse, he later urged me to reconcile for the sake of keeping the relationship. The experience must be difficult for him, as well as the rest of my family. I told him I respect his need to remain close to his family, but for me the same sacrifices would promote an unhealthy relationship and an unhealthy life. No matter how I may agree to disagree with how my brother treats other people, it is the abuse present in our relationship that at the end of the day is a deal-breaker. This wasn't a normal relationship with problems anyone can expect to have. We did not encounter one incident that I am unwilling to look past. Normal relationships require negotiations. You can expect perpetual problems that will never be solved, only approached differently. In such cases, I think Choice Theory is a great vehicle for relationship dynamics. It's important for both people to realize they play a part in the success or failure of the relationship.
Such is not the case in an abusive relationship. No one does anything to deserve to be abused. The problem with abusers in the first place is not a question of circumstances but a problem of attitudes and values. There isn't much you can do to stop an abuser from abusing you. They will find a reason to continue their behavior, and no amount of negotiating or different approaches will change this until the abuser is willing to acknowledge what they do is abusive, then change their behavior.
The hardest part, I believe, is not falling into the abuser's frame of reality. It's easy to believe what they are doing isn't abuse. It's easy to believe whatever they are doing is something that could have been avoided if you had just done what they wanted, what they needed. It's easy to believe your pain is all your fault, the result of some vast misunderstanding on your part.
As a personal example, let me offer: There was no misunderstanding when, after years of abuse, I informed my brother I felt our values were too far apart for us to be close or interact unless necessary (including having that conversation; he wanted to respond, but the time for discussion was long past and I feared would only bring more abuse) he came back the next day to inform me he was moving out and taking the utilities with him, leaving me a week to find a new place to live. When I asked him to negotiate considering the difficulty that put me in, his response was, "You decided to create this problem. If YOU want to do something about it, we can talk. Otherwise, I guess YOU have some choices to make."
Everyone has abusive behaviors. What matters is when a person develops abusive patterns. As Lundy Bancroft says, "It's true that almost everyone does yell at one point or another in a relationship, and most people, male or female, call their partners a name from time to time, interrupt, or act selfish or insensitive. These behaviors are hurtful and worthy of criticism, but they aren't all abuse, and they don't all have the same psychological effects that abuse does. At the same time, all of these behaviors are abusive when they are part of a pattern of abuse." Hobbit, a harsh critic of anyone that has not done their research, remarks she likes that the author distinguishes between abusive events and abusive patterns.
Lundy offers this questionnaire to help determine if you are being abused:
Are you afraid of him?
Are you getting distant from friends or family because he makes those relationships difficult?
Is your level of energy and motivation declining, or do you feel depressed?
Is your self-opinion declining, so that you are always fighting to be good enough and to prove yourself?
Do you find yourself constantly preoccupied with the relationship and how to fix it?
Do you feel like you can't do anything right?
Do you feel like the problems in your relationship are all your fault?
Do you repeatedly leave arguments feeling like you've been messed with but can't figure out exactly why?
That's all for now. Next time, I will examine the difficult question of why an abuser almost never considers what they do abusive.
