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Abstract

ad gotten a job for the six-week vacation from college. He attached himself to me immediately, coming to the cabin where I made tea and sandwiches a little before the other men and lingering after they left.By the end of the first week, he had asked me on a date, and by the end of summer, we were an item.I remember being enthralled by the different life he showed me; I’d never been in a pub before as wine bars were more my style then. For our first date, we went to a pub in the city which had sawdust on the floor and barrels to sit on and ended the evening eating fish and chips wrapped in newspaper on a bench in a secluded park.I found him exciting. I moved in with him at the start of the new term. My parents were far away in America and the aunt I was living with tried but could not stop me.I don’t remember now what kicked off the first violent incident. He drank and indulged in a bit of cannabis most evenings after work.I commuted two hours to college and back and was happy to play house, cooking and cleaning after my studies.Something caused an argument between us, and I remember there was shouting and then wham — a blow came seemingly out of nowhere that sent me reeling.And then silence.As I lay there stunned, I heard the front door slam, and then Mark’s car start and speed off.I was in bed when he came back. He got into the bed, his back to me, and fell asleep.In the morning we didn’t talk about it.We didn’t talk about it in the five long years we were together.Now, as Valarie’s situation awakens long-buried and uncomfortable. remembrances within me, I struggle with how to offer support to someone I can’t even visit.<p id="efd

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4">I’ve asked her in the past whether she’s considered leaving, and emailed her links of information on women’s refuges.Every nerve in my body is screaming to tell her to take her children and run. But years in my 12 step program has taught me that it’s not my role to interfere in another’s choices, no matter how I feel.It’s too easy to want to ‘fix’ others, as my sponsor tells me when I go to her with my fears. We cannot understand what’s going on for people inside by looking at what we see outside.How can I begin to understand why a woman would stay in a dangerous situation when I didn’t comprehend why I stayed, all those years ago?So today, I use the wisdom of my program by attending regular meetings, reading literature, and using the slogans that remind me I am not in control of other’s actions, only my own.It’s hard, but I know that the same Higher Power that cares for and guides me also cares for and guides Valarie. So I let go and let God, sending my friend love and light and praying that she and her children are safe. And I pray that the abuse doesn’t get worse than spitting.(Names changed to protect identities.)Thanks to Jessica Lovejoy.©️marla bishop 2020Marla Bishop is a relationship coach and writer: On medium.com she is the creator of <a href="https://medium.com/lilith">Lilith</a> and an editor of The <a href="https://medium.com/the-bad-influence">Bad Influence</a>, The <a href="https://medium.com/the-get-fit-gang">Get Fit Gang</a>, and The <a href="https://medium.com/narrative">Narrative</a>. She lives in London UK with her husband and youngest two children. You can follow her <a href="https://twitter.com/tulipchickuk">here</a>.</article></body>

What is My Role in a Friend’s Abusive Relationship?

My friend’s partner spat in her face and now I fear for her safety

I got a disturbing text last night, from a friend whose partner struggles with alcohol.

She was upset because he came home drunk, and in the course of an argument, deliberately spat in her face.

I felt so powerless to help her. I asked her if she was safe and she said she would sleep with her children; he would be unlikely to follow her in there.

She let me know this morning that she’d slept on the floor of her children’s room and that her partner was now all apologies.

As usual.

*Valarie had been with her partner over six years before they had twin girls five years ago. She tells me he has been a heavy drinker all the years she has known him but that he has never been violent towards her or the children.

But then, he has never spat in her face either, until last night.

I don’t know what to say to her. Her parents are elderly and vulnerable due to this pandemic and there is no way she can go there. But I fear she isn’t safe in her own home.

It’s over forty years ago but I still remember like yesterday the fear I felt living with a volatile man.

I was eighteen, bright-eyed and naive when I met *Mark on the building site where I was working as a tea girl. It was the summer holidays and I had gotten a job for the six-week vacation from college. He attached himself to me immediately, coming to the cabin where I made tea and sandwiches a little before the other men and lingering after they left.

By the end of the first week, he had asked me on a date, and by the end of summer, we were an item.

I remember being enthralled by the different life he showed me; I’d never been in a pub before as wine bars were more my style then. For our first date, we went to a pub in the city which had sawdust on the floor and barrels to sit on and ended the evening eating fish and chips wrapped in newspaper on a bench in a secluded park.

I found him exciting. I moved in with him at the start of the new term. My parents were far away in America and the aunt I was living with tried but could not stop me.

I don’t remember now what kicked off the first violent incident. He drank and indulged in a bit of cannabis most evenings after work.

I commuted two hours to college and back and was happy to play house, cooking and cleaning after my studies.

Something caused an argument between us, and I remember there was shouting and then wham — a blow came seemingly out of nowhere that sent me reeling.

And then silence.

As I lay there stunned, I heard the front door slam, and then Mark’s car start and speed off.

I was in bed when he came back. He got into the bed, his back to me, and fell asleep.

In the morning we didn’t talk about it.

We didn’t talk about it in the five long years we were together.

Now, as Valarie’s situation awakens long-buried and uncomfortable. remembrances within me, I struggle with how to offer support to someone I can’t even visit.

I’ve asked her in the past whether she’s considered leaving, and emailed her links of information on women’s refuges.

Every nerve in my body is screaming to tell her to take her children and run. But years in my 12 step program has taught me that it’s not my role to interfere in another’s choices, no matter how I feel.

It’s too easy to want to ‘fix’ others, as my sponsor tells me when I go to her with my fears. We cannot understand what’s going on for people inside by looking at what we see outside.

How can I begin to understand why a woman would stay in a dangerous situation when I didn’t comprehend why I stayed, all those years ago?

So today, I use the wisdom of my program by attending regular meetings, reading literature, and using the slogans that remind me I am not in control of other’s actions, only my own.

It’s hard, but I know that the same Higher Power that cares for and guides me also cares for and guides Valarie. So I let go and let God, sending my friend love and light and praying that she and her children are safe. And I pray that the abuse doesn’t get worse than spitting.

(Names changed to protect identities.)

Thanks to Jessica Lovejoy.

Marla Bishop is a relationship coach and writer: On medium.com she is the creator of Lilith and an editor of The Bad Influence, The Get Fit Gang, and The Narrative. She lives in London UK with her husband and youngest two children. You can follow her here.