The Distorted Lens: My Abusive Marriage and Society’s Blurred Perception

For years now, I have found myself reflecting on the stark contrast between the way society perceived my teenage pregnancy and my later abusive marriage.

My teenage pregnancy was shunned, and I was shamed for it.

By contrast, my marriage at 20, to a man in his mid 30s (read: severe power imbalance), was celebrated.

I was of course a kid in both circumstances — in need of care, support and guidance from those who should have known better.

The red flags were also on the wall for the marriage, for anyone who had cared to see them — and as a kid who didn’t know better, I needed someone to point them out.

No one cared to see or warn me about what I was unknowingly walking into though — not as they celebrated the apparent win of a man in his mid 30s taking on the “care” of a young woman barely out of her teens, with a young child in tow.

Instead, the shame and ostracisation I experienced as a consequence of my teen pregnancy were undoubtedly what also propelled me on, into this abusive relationship, as I sought to conform to societal demands that actually made no real sense.

Of course I didn’t know any of this at the time. I was just a kid, struggling to raise another kid, with my community ready and willing to condemn at every opportunity, rather than supporting my best attempts at motherhood.

It’s a troubling comparison and connection that reveals the deeply ingrained, archaic societal attitudes that continue to shape our lives.

As I then went on to endure an abusive marriage, followed by minimisation and denial in relation to my allegations in this respect, I came to understand how these perceptions are not only distorted, but also highly harmful to the well-being of women (and too often also their children).

Unaware & Vulnerable

During my teenage years, I faced numerous challenges and adversities that I was ill-equipped to handle. As I’ve previously written on, I was kicked out of my mother’s home at 13, and left to live with my largely disinterested father.

By the time I turned 15, I had dropped out of school, having already begun working a full-time job at a local fast food joint, which I had been juggling alongside my school hours.

Over this period, I was also groomed into a sexual relationship by a man 20 years older than me (I was easy prey for any who recognised that I was lacking in the love I needed at home); I was raped; began smoking marijuana most days (probably to cope with my circumstances); and practiced unsafe sex, ultimately leading to pregnancy at 16.

Adverse childhood experiences / traumas (as I’ve previously written on) can be predictive of such outcomes. Later, I would learn that statistically, teenage pregnancy was a high likelihood for someone with my background.

The condemnation I faced as a pregnant teenager was overwhelming though — there was no such understanding from the adults around me.

The blame was individualised and centred on my purported choices, despite my being a traumatised kid without the necessary support, love, and guidance that should have been mine by right.

I was told I had ruined my life and would likely destroy my daughter’s life to come as well.

When I refused to have an abortion, my mother and her family urged me to adopt the baby, and I was constantly reminded that I would never amount to anything.

As a result, I struggled with serious self-esteem issues.

This vulnerability, along with my lack of awareness of how my earlier traumas were impacting my life and choices, then led me to a relationship with a man 14 years my senior.

Still in my teens, I entered this relationship as a single mother with my baby in tow, unwittingly setting the stage for the next chapter of my life, marked by abuse and manipulation.

Apparently though, needing to wipe the “shame” or potential “dependence” created as a consequence of my teenage pregnancy, was more important than my (and my daughter’s) need for safety, autonomy, and a fair go in life.

The Red Flags

In the earliest stages of my relationship, several red flags were present that, in hindsight, signalled the abusive path to come.

I was only 19 when our relationship began — a vulnerable teenager entering into a relationship with a man in his mid-30s.

The stark age difference itself should have raised concerns, with the dynamics of such a relationship flagged to me — but they weren’t.

I wonder if the adults around me simply didn’t recognise these signs, or if societal indoctrination in 2005, still heavily skewed towards male entitlement, blinded them to the potential dangers.

Even today, we do of course still see evidence of these troubling attitudes persisting in our Western societies.

The relationship began with a whirlwind of love bombing, characterised by constant gift-giving, compliments, and an outpouring of attention. For someone like me, who battled severe self-esteem issues and carried the responsibilities of a young child, it felt wonderful, even enchanting.

He was a professional, a seemingly reasonable man in his mid-30s, while I was still on the cusp of adulthood. My teen years, as described, had been tough — I had felt isolated and alone for most of them; all the more so during the pregnancy I had experienced still as a kid myself, on my own.

Suddenly here was this grown-up man promising to look after me and share the load I had been struggling to manage, alongside the shame and ostracisation I had also been facing.

He proposed and we were married within a year of meeting, with our son then also born exactly a year to the day — further trapping me in a relationship I had none of the skills or tools needed to manage.

His initial sweetness, quickly evolved into isolation tactics. He began to sever my ties with my maternal family, preying on the vulnerabilities and dysfunctions that had defined my childhood and teen years.

The initial love and care he showed were also rapidly replaced by control and manipulation. Looking back, I can’t help but question why no one intervened — why the signs were ignored or went unnoticed.

In fairness, I was also too ashamed to speak up. From childhood, I’d been taught that you didn’t “tell” on your family.

Abuse had also been normalised for me, and in many respects, it’s clear that I simply didn’t have the vocabulary needed to accurately describe what was occurring.

Today, armed with a deeper understanding of these things, I recognise that these patterns of behaviour — the love bombing, the manipulation, the “trapping” of a partner — are all too common in abusive relationships.

They form a calculated strategy designed to ensnare victims, exploiting their vulnerabilities and isolating them from their support networks.

What appears initially as an outpouring of love and affection soon morphs into a cage — a cage that is hard to perceive from the inside and even harder to break free from.

The Abusive Relationship

In the heart of my abusive marriage, I found myself contending with a plethora of coercive control strategies and manipulative tactics.

Isolation from family and friends was a weapon wielded, with big fights orchestrated whenever we had guests, deliberately aimed at embarrassing me and creating an uncomfortable environment that deterred further visits.

I felt the grip of control tighten around me as my ex-husband monitored my emails and phone — calling people to verify my whereabouts and expenditures.

Verbal abuse was also my normal. At least a couple of times a week, I was subjected to screaming tirades, was pushed against walls for minor disobediences, and subjected to continuous belittlement, particularly about my appearance.

Insinuations that I was less desirable if I gained weight / didn’t lose weight quickly after the birth of our son, chipped away at my already brittle self-esteem.

I also found myself unable to say no to sexual advances — my childhood conditioning to please once again exploited to serve his controlling behaviours.

When I finally managed to leave, the abuse did not cease but instead escalated.

Stalking became a horrifying norm, alongside threats of suicide designed to manipulate me emotionally.

I use the term “stalking” with a deceptive simplicity: the stark reality was far from simple. For years, I lived in the shadows of relentless fear and deep-seated shame, borne from this unnerving and invasive behaviour.

It was an ever-present spectre, looming over my everyday existence, transforming ordinary moments into ceaseless vigilance and uncertainty.

One of the most awful episodes of this post-separation abuse also culminated in rape — an unfathomable violation that starkly demonstrated his distorted view of me as his property.

The chilling realisation that he viewed me as a possession he could (attempt to) claim and reclaim at will, added a whole new layer of torment and anxiety to my life.

At the tender age of 23, as I was navigating the beginnings of my legal career, I also found my career to be at a constant risk of sabotage from the man I was trying to escape.

With little to no resources and awareness about what was really happening, I did my best to navigate these tumultuous waters.

I note though, that the societal applause for my marriage, juxtaposed with the condemnation for my decision to seek a better and safer life, which. was utterly bewildering.

The echoes of condemnation from my teenage pregnancy returned, painting a distorted image of my struggle for a life free from abuse.

Societal Perceptions and Reactions

One of the most disconcerting aspects of my journey is the contrasting societal reactions to my teenage pregnancy and my marriage.

As a young, pregnant teenager, I was subjected to harsh judgement and widespread condemnation.

I was told I had thrown my life away, that I was destined for failure, and that my innocent child was doomed to a bleak future because of my decisions.

The negative narrative surrounding my teenage pregnancy was so pervasive, it felt as though I was battling an entire community’s worth of shame and disappointment.

Yet, in an ironic twist, this community which had been so quick to condemn my pregnancy, celebrated my marriage.

It was as though marrying a man 14 years my senior somehow redeemed me in their eyes.

The age gap, which should have raised serious concerns, was largely overlooked.

I was still in my teens, but the power dynamics inherent in such an age gap were glossed over, left undiscussed.

Later, when I began to voice the horrors I had experienced in my marriage (and following it), I was met with disbelief, dismissal, and minimisation.

My pleas for help and understanding were often downplayed or ignored entirely.

The man who had been revered and celebrated as my husband was now seemingly invincible in the face of my accusations.

It was a grim realisation that society’s willingness to celebrate my abusive marriage, while condemning my teenage pregnancy, not only perpetuated harmful stereotypes and gender norms, but also further isolated and silenced me as a victim of abuse.

The collective failure to acknowledge the disturbing power dynamics in my marriage further entrenched me in my situation, robbing me of potential support and validation.

In retrospect, it’s clear that societal perceptions and reactions played a significant role in my experiences.

The troubling double standards and the refusal to acknowledge my abuse served to perpetuate my suffering and solidified the archaic and harmful norms that I had fallen victim to.

Archaic Societal Attitudes

It’s disconcerting to examine the societal mechanisms that allow abusive relationships to be overlooked while young women are condemned for their personal choices, such as early pregnancies.

These mechanisms are deeply rooted in patriarchal norms, traditional gender roles, and a disturbing tolerance for power imbalances in relationships.

They foster an environment where a teenager’s decision to keep her baby is vilified, while a relationship with stark age and power discrepancies is celebrated.

Many of these attitudes trace back to antiquated views of women’s roles in society, where their worth was often defined by marriage and motherhood.

Even in the 21st century, these archaic attitudes persist, feeding a societal narrative that measures a woman’s worth by her relationship status rather than her individual strengths, achievements, or desires.

In my case, this narrative not only allowed my abusive relationship to be overlooked but also actively discouraged the recognition of the abuse I endured.

The societal response to my teenage pregnancy was deeply rooted in regressive belief systems that devalue young women who become single mothers, while my marriage to an older man was celebrated as an accomplishment.

This disparity in societal reaction contributes to the perpetuation of harmful norms, affecting not just individuals but entire communities.

The collective willingness to overlook clear indicators of potential abuse perpetuates a cycle of violence and silences victims, while the condemnation of young women for their personal choices contributes to their marginalisation and victimisation.

Confronting and Challenging the Status Quo

The need to revolutionise societal attitudes towards young women’s relationships and choices is more pressing than ever.

The condemnation and discreditation of women who make choices that deviate from societal norms, coupled with the wilful ignorance of potential abuse and power dynamics within relationships, are issues deeply embedded in our societal fabric.

We need to cultivate environments where women’s choices are respected and supported rather than condemned.

A teenage girl deciding to keep her baby should not be ostracised or told that she is ruining her life; instead, she should be guided and supported through her journey.

Yes, I know the responsibility of addressing these circumstances is substantial, and ideally, we should strive to cultivate environments that prevents these situations from occurring in the first place.

However, when such situations do arise, our immediate response should not be condemnation, but rather: comprehensive support.

Our communities should rally around the young woman, ensuring that she and her baby are provided with the resources they need to thrive.

This approach not only upholds the dignity and worth of the young mother but also works proactively towards breaking the cycle of adversity.

Avoiding repetition down the track should be a core goal, with recognition given to whatever failed societally with respect to the mother — noting the kid she is in such circumstances, and not individualising her role in creating that situation.

Fixing the circumstances so that her child has a better shot at avoiding the same.

Similarly, we must become vigilant in recognising the red flags of abusive relationships, no more so than those involving significant age gaps, with young vulnerable women involved.

In my case, as is the case for many such women, vulnerability begets further vulnerability, and this needs to be recognised.

Love-bombing, isolation, control, and manipulation are also all indicative of an abusive relationship and should not be overlooked.

Abuse should never be minimised or dismissed, and victims should feel heard and validated when they share their experiences.

This requires a societal shift towards a more empathetic and understanding stance — one that holds abusers accountable rather than shielding them.

As a survivor, I am determined to challenge these archaic societal attitudes.

My experience has underscored the need for this change, and I am committed to advocating for women’s interests; striving for a world where our choices are respected, our voices are heard, and our experiences are validated.

Our societies must recognise that every woman is more than a sum of societal expectations and norms — she is an individual with her own strengths, dreams, and potential.

Only support should be given for these things.