The invisible violence

BarcelonaThe writer Jane Lazarre, one of the first to write about the ambivalence of motherhoodShe stated: "I firmly believe that stories of motherhood, of any kind and stage, must be explained if we are to make our way between idealization and demonization."

In addition to stories about motherhood, I would add stories about relationships, especially when we have children. It's then that cohabitation becomes strained and what had been hidden until then comes to the surface. If there were arguments, tensions, or discomfort, they multiply.

And yes, I'm talking about violence.

When we think of gender-based violence, we automatically think of physical violence: blows, beatings, shoves… and ultimately, femicides and infanticides. But unfortunately, there are many forms of violence, as many as there are abusive men, and all too often they take invisible forms.

Because insults are also violence, obviously. Insulting your partner, even if only occasionally, is violence. Insulting your children is violence against the family. Violence, as most of us are now more or less aware, is control disguised as jealousy. Violence is bad temper—always directed at one person by the other—over trivial and random things. Violence is discrediting the mother for how she raises the children. Violence is the code of silence, the refusal to speak or resolve conflicts constructively. Violence is criticizing friends and family, creating harm and resentment toward your partner, which, however true the criticism may be, is still damaging. And, of course, violence is financial control, supposedly for the sake of "better managing the family finances."

A reality that is difficult to face

There's a type of violence that's like a nebula; you feel it, you glimpse it, but you're not sure if it's mist, vapor, or fog. It creates a discomfort that, sometimes, is even hard to acknowledge: "I'm calm, I'm more sensitive these days," or "He's just going through a rough patch, I'm sure he'll be back to his old self when this is over." Veiled ways of denying a reality that's difficult to face. Why would any woman like to see herself as a victim? What mother, a strong woman who has given birth, raised, and provided for children, would like to admit that she has tolerated her partner insulting her, controlling her, making demands... behind closed doors?and perhaps beyond– of what should be their refuge?

Having children increases the risk of gender-based violence. Many men, once we have children, stop being subtle about the attacks they were already making. Disputes become more aggressive and arguments more violent when the conflict escalates from two to three. And no, it's not a toxic relationship; they make it toxic, and many of us also raise our voices when they raise theirs against us.

And while behind closed doors we might react to violence in a primal way, outwardly a knot forms, a lump in our throats, that chokes us, for most of us, our words. We don't know if what's happening is normal. We have hardly any external references, real stories from other women who have experienced the same thing. We think that we too are toxic, that we too call names, we too insult, that we're all messed up, just as they've insistently told us... When most of the time it's not us. reactionsWe react to an attack.

We're lost because we have more references to physical violence, but not to the veiled, the subtle kind, the kind that leaves us doubtful and we prefer to think we've probably misinterpreted it. But when dogs bark, they feel something. We know something isn't right. That the crisis is dragging on, that the "good times" are becoming fewer and fewer, and that insults, humiliation, and lies shouldn't happen, not even in the most stressful of an uncomfortable situation.

To speak frankly

Gender-based violence has many forms, and we need to talk about it. We need to talk about our relationships openly. We need to talk to our friends, our family, our neighbors, and even the bus driver. We need to say out loud, "My husband humiliates me and calls me when he loses his temper," not hide it, because when we verbalize it, we make it visible, we become aware, and so do others. The stories of others empower us, give us knowledge, and help us see that no, it's not normal, and we suffer from it more than we imagine.

Because our history, the history of women, has tolerated and rendered invisible too many forms of violence, and intimate partner violence, even today, we continue to hide in private. We don't talk about it because, when in doubt, we hide. It's not about filing a complaint with a judge (or maybe it is), but to take the first step, we must first be able to explain the inequalities we experience in our relationships to our peers. That's why today I write, publicly but under a pseudonym, from the peace of a divorce and the need to know that no, we are not alone, and yes, unfortunately, there are still too many of us.