Why do I write about abuse so much? Because I was emotionally abused by an ex who, if we had stayed together longer, probably would have turned physical as well.
Because I witnessed it happening to a close friend of mine (male), but when I tried to help, it was turned on me.
Because when I was overheard telling my husband the truth about what was going on, there was hell to pay.
Because another friend told me his wife was abusing him, too.
Because I want to help the kids who are being abused, not just the ones I know about but the ones I don’t.
Because I was bullied repeatedly for being who I am, first verbally in school, then again very recently, and feel for those who are being bullied and sometimes even kill themselves over it.
The blog posts of Single Dad Laughing on this subject especially resonate with me, so I’m posting them here for the benefit of others who have not yet found them:
Worthless Men and the Women Who Make Them–on women abusing men
A wife can bash on her husband all she wants. She can make fun of him, ridicule him, belittle him, and make him feel like a giant turd. But, the moment the man does it back, he’s a douche bag… and all of her friends, sisters, and even her mother are going to hear about it.
A woman can hit a man. She can physically assault him. She can push him. She can slap him. If he doesn’t take it “like a man”, he’s called a… woman. A girl. A sissy. How ironic. Yet, the moment a man so much as lays a finger on a female, he’s labeled as abusive.
Worthless Women and the Men Who Make Them–on men expecting women to be some impossible perfect standard of beauty/womanhood
We’ve replaced that beauty with a standard that is, and always will be, impossible for them to hit. We’ve decided what the perfect legs are. We’ve decided what the perfect body is.
We’ve decided what the perfect breasts are to be shaped like. We’ve decided what the perfect face, skin, butt, and neck should be. And we’ve made no hesitations to boldly let it be known.
We declare it, and we do so with little care for the tender women standing beside us.
And, of course, with each declaration, women hate themselves more. With each declaration, women get further and further from beautiful.
With each declaration, more and more of our women willingly place themselves beneath the scalpels of so-called “doctors” who cut apart and reshape their already gorgeous bodies into something different.
You Just Broke Your Child. Congratulations.–on child abuse
Dads. Stop breaking your children. Please.
I feel a need to write this post after what I witnessed at Costco yesterday. Forgive me for another post written in desperation and anger.
Please read all the way to the end. I know it’s long, but this is something that needs to be said. It’s something that needs to be heard. It’s something that needs to be shared.
As Noah and I stood in line to make a return, I watched as a little boy (he couldn’t have been older than six) looked up at his dad and asked very timidly if they could buy some ice cream when they were done.
The father glared him down, and through clenched teeth, growled at the boy to ”leave him alone and be quiet”. The boy quickly cowered to the wall where he stood motionless and hurt for some time.
The line slowly progressed and the child eventually shuffled back to his father as he quietly hummed a childish tune, seemingly having forgotten the anger his father had just shown.
The father again turned and scolded the boy for making too much noise. The boy again shrunk back and cowered against the wall, wilted.
I was agitated. I was confused. How could this man not see what I see? How could this man not see what a beautiful spirit stood in his shadow?
How could this man be so quick to stub out all happiness in his own boy? How could this man not cherish the only time he’ll ever have to be everything to this boy? To be the person that matters most to this boy?
We were three from the front now, and the boy started to come towards his dad yet again. His dad immediately stepped out of the line, jammed his fingers into his son’s collar bones until he winced in pain, and threatened him.
“If you so much as make a sound or come off of that wall again, I promise you’re going to get it when we get home.”
The boy again cowered against the wall. This time, he didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound. His beautiful face pointed down, locked to the floor and expressionless.
He had been broken. And that’s how his father wanted it. He didn’t want to deal with him, and breaking him was the easiest way.
And we wonder why so many of our kids grow up to be screwed up.
Damn it. I don’t understand that, and I’ll never understand that. Loving my son, building my son, touching my son, playing with my son, being with my son… these aren’t tasks that only super dads can perform. These are tasks that every dad should perform. Always. Without fail.
There is nothing special about me. I am a dad who loves his son and would literally do anything for his well-being, safety, and health. I would gladly take a rake in the face or a jackhammer to my feet before I cut my own son down or make him feel small.
Memoirs of a Bullied Kid and Bullied. The Forgotten Memoirs–The author’s own bullying experiences, in painful detail, which also inspired me to tell my own story to the world, despite putting it up and then taking it down again in fear of it being found by the bullies (which it was).
And just think, the author has signed his own name to his posts. Many bloggers do as well, but many are too afraid of their abusers to do so, or want to protect everyone’s identity.
That moment when you realize she doesn’t want you because the fear of you hurting her outweighs any good part of you.
That moment when suddenly feeling this way makes you care for her for the first time the way you always should have.
That moment when your heart shatters as you realize that even though it’s now beautifully different for you, it’s no different for her.
That moment when you just know that it’s too late. Permanent damage has been done.
I’m Christian, Unless You’re Gay.–On bullying people for being gay.
“You don’t know what it’s like, man. You don’t know what it’s like to live here and be gay. You don’t know what it’s like to have freaking nobody.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have your own parents hate you and try and cover up your existence. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want this. And I’m so tired of people hating me for it. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.”
In some circles, it’s hard to admit this. In others, it brings cheering. But here I can say this in anonymity:
I may be an Orthodox Christian, but I just have a hard time believing any longer that being “gay” is a sin.
Promiscuity, making people into sex objects, yes. Straight people do that, too. But just being gay?
Science keeps telling us that some people truly are born gay. So–that means God made them that way. Is it one of those things (like that women have to be subjected to men, or that sperm is little men whom it would be murder to block) that we should reject as a product of a scientifically ignorant past?
Gays can’t just change because other people want them to. If a person wants to settle down for his entire life with another man he loves, is that really so terrible?
As I read about Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment and early death a few years later, I feel for him, being put in prison for something that isn’t even considered a crime in the Western world anymore.