Helen Pryke is a topic sponsor and this is her first post on our shared blog.
This is an article I wrote for Christine Clayfield’s #BraveMe campaign. You can find it, and other articles written by abuse survivors, here:
http://nofourthriver.com/braveme-stories/
I suffered twenty-three years of abuse with my Italian ex-husband without realising it. I was a strong, opiniated seventeen-year-old when I met him, and had always vowed that I would never stay with anyone who hit me. But psychological abuse is very different; it slowly wears away at your self-esteem until you are no longer the person you used to be.
He was sixteen years older than me and, as I found out many years later, a narcissist. Gaslighting was his speciality; he was very clever at creating a situation and then twisting everything to make it look as if it were my fault, or as I were over-reacting. I would end up believing him, even though my mind was telling me I was right and he was wrong. That’s how convincing he could be.
This person took advantage of my unhappy situation at home and persuaded me to leave my family to go and live with him. Almost immediately I realised I’d made a mistake, but it was too late. I’d burnt my bridges and there was no going back. I put up with him flirting with other women in front of me, or checking out women walking down the street in the wing mirrors of the car, or telling me that if anything should happen with a woman during one of his frequent business trips it wouldn’t be his fault, he was a poor, defenceless man.
So why didn’t I realise I was being abused? In the beginning, I knew something was wrong, but I was too young to realise what it was. Then, when I was twenty, he dropped a bombshell. He had to return to Italy for work, and I could go with him if I wanted. By this time, I had hardly any family left and he’d already eroded my self-esteem; I didn’t want to go and live in a bedsit by myself. So, with promises that it would only be for a couple of years at the most, I moved to Italy with him. Thirty years later, I’m still here.
Away from the few friends and family I still had back in England, in a strange country with a different language, I was totally reliant on him. I soon picked up the language, but had difficulty fitting in – his family didn’t accept me, and his friends were his age and didn’t like me much. First we lived in a tiny apartment in Milan, where he advised (brainwashed) me it would be better not to go into the city by myself, as there were a lot of weird people about and anything could happen. I went from someone who’d always used public transport without any problem to a recluse, only going out when accompanied by him. Even now, I have a psychological barrier when it comes to Milan, and only go when absolutely necessary.
The breakthrough came when my oldest son was six years old and started going to elementary school. A group of us became friends and often went out for lunch at the weekends together. Finally I saw how real couples behaved, and it was a real eye-opener. Seeing wives making fun of their husbands and not being told off or given the silent treatment, loving looks being exchanged, holding hands… these were all things that I’d wanted but never had. Heaven forbid if I should say anything out of place!
The seed of doubt was planted and quickly took hold. By 2001, I was desperate to get away, but the continuous derision, plus little or no outside support, meant I had no confidence to leave. Plus the fact that he threatened to take my son away from me if I dared to divorce him.
My second son was born two years later; I thought it would make things better, but it didn’t. Life went on as before. The only thing that changed was my confidence in myself as a mother. With my first son, I’d had bad postnatal depression, not helped by interfering in-laws who undermined me at every opportunity. After my second son was born, I knew what I was doing and managed to stand up to them more.
Things came to a head in 2009. His behaviour towards first me, and then the children, became more verbally aggressive. It was as if he hated us. This, plus a well-timed leaflet from the council offering a free consultation with a lawyer for family matters, gave me the courage to do something about it. My life was so bad by then, and I had so little self-esteem, that I was considering leaving the kids with him and going back to England, just so they could grow up in a ‘normal’ household. I’m so glad I didn’t, and that I found that lifeline.
By 2010, I was separated and I’d finally got him out of the house. The harassment continued via telephone and email. Then we found out he had a brain tumour. That was my lowest point. He was operated, and recovered well. But the harassment still went on. Ten years later, he’s still trying to interfere in my life, using my sons as a weapon.
Thankfully, I’ve rebuilt my life. I was on my own for two and a half years. In that time, I wrote a book, Walls of Silence, which, although not my own story, is partly based on certain experiences. I poured all my emotions into the book, all my hurt, anger, and frustration. It was definitely a cathartic experience!
Then I met my second husband, Ivan. He’s the complete opposite of my ex, and finally, I have the relationship I’ve always wanted. We laugh, joke, make fun of each other, hug, cuddle; we have the occasional row, too, but we always talk about it and sort things out. He also supports my passion for writing, encouraging me when I want to give up, and never complaining if I pay more attention to my latest book than to him!
I never thought I’d meet anyone else, let alone be this happy, but it did happen. It hasn’t been easy; I had to go to a psychologist for professional help for four years, and my husband is very understanding. But you can achieve your dreams, I’m proof of that, and I will continue writing and helping abused women whenever I can because it’s important to understand that you’re not alone. There is always someone out there you can turn to, who will listen to you and believe you.
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