I get annoyed with people who won't call a thing a thing.
I get doubly annoyed with people who won't call the physical violence perpetrated and experienced in a domestic violence incident what it is: violence.
My annoyance extends to myself.
A family member once choked me when I was 25 years old. I bring this up because, to this day, I’ve never thought of their lunging at me and wrapping their hands around my throat as violence. No, I prefer "alcohol was involved." (Whatever that means, like glasses of 80 proof just happened to wander into angry hands.) "I made them mad, and they lost control." (Says the mom of a two-year-old toddler.) "They're family." (So they get a pass to endanger my life?) "Time will heal it." (So might an apology?)
And then there is the intimate partner violence that pops up on my radar quite frequently (or so it seems). These situations never involve anyone in my immediate circle of friends. It's usually acquaintances or friends of friends of friends. And what I hear in these stories is a lot of excuses.
Just like mine.
And a lot of avoidance.
Just like mine.
And a lot of denial.
Just like mine.
I get annoyed, but I can't blame anyone (myself included) for wanting to explain away, avoid, or ignore the elephant in the room—that sucker punch or attempted strangulation by a person who supposedly loves them.
And I'm certainly not here to judge the abused. Whether they seek help or not, or whether they decide to leave or stay, is their business. Timetables for radical change vary from person to person. And each situation requires its own navigational chart. Escaping the DV trap can be like jumping from a sinking ship to save yourself—it can be as dangerous as remaining onboard.
So if I'm not blaming or judging, what's with my annoyance?
I like the truth.
That's it.
I like the truth, but I was trained from childhood to sugarcoat it. When I did dare to speak it, my parents said nothing. They didn't have to. I got the message: Truth is taboo. But today, it's the truth that will set me free. (Apparently, I like clichés, too.)
What's the difference between some lunatic guy attacking your sister in the subway and her fiancé doing the same thing in their newly purchased luxury condo?
Or, is there any difference between an angry, intoxicated woman in a bar breaking a bottle over your buddy's head (never disagree with an angry, intoxicated woman) and his wife swinging an empty wine bottle over him at the dinner table?
We install state-of-the-art home security systems to keep the bad boys and girls "out there." Because out there, violence is violence.
Violence in the home, in our sacred space, is often: a family dispute, a drunken argument, a private matter, "They lost their job," "I shouldn't have said anything," "It was my mistake."
What's missing?
Someone was violated.
This should be front and center. For everyone. Law enforcement. Doctors. Nurses. Teachers. Therapists. Politicians. The man or woman on the street. Me. You.
And until it is ...
I'll be annoyed.