Love and violence: what I learned in an abusive domestic partnership

Recently, two emerging Milwaukee artists have come under fire for allegations of abuse. In context of these cases, I believe it is time for me to tell more of my story. Not only to speak forcefully against sexual assault, domestic abuse and emotional manipulation but to offer an intricate perspective on an issue that is often ignored, swept under the rug or talked about in ways that are very cut and dry.

I am a survivor of an abusive domestic partnership. I am a rape survivor. And I am also a recovering abuser.

First and foremost, this relationship, which lasted two-and-a-half years and ended almost seven years ago, taught me that I am responsible for my words and actions, whether or not they are provoked. What people think of me — or who they assume me to be — has no bearing on who I am; what matters is what *I* do and say. 

In the end, this is all we are called to answer for. 

So, first, allow me to apologize. I was still a child — naive, ignorant and insecure. I regret that I allowed myself to get into a situation I couldn’t get myself out of. I regret that I inflicted harm on someone I cared for. I regret that I wasn’t able to see myself clearly. Because, had I been who I am now, none of this would have happened. As it stands, apparently I had to learn these lessons the hard way. 

Most importantly, I am committed to making sure this never happens again. Not in my personal relationships. Not in my circle. Not in my community.

There is no situation where we should be enabling or elevating abusers. Serial abusers who continue to perpetrate harm for their own gain and pleasure must be rooted out and exposed.

At the same time, I have an expansive understanding of how people can change and am willing to hold space for those who desire to live harm-free. No excuses. No blame. Just responsibility and transformation. We, as a community, must create an environment where restorative justice can thrive. Only then will we be truly committed to an intentional future where all are valued and appreciated.

Let me tell you my story. 

It happened without warning; by the time we realized what was going on, we were already in too deep. 

I’ve always been a sensitive person, a quality that I consider overwhelmingly positive. In fact, my sensitivity is a source of my strength. But, in this instance, it was turned against me — used as a weapon. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been hesitant to open up about my situation publicly. To be clear, the people who are closest to me are aware of my past. I have told this story to different people in different ways. It hasn’t been fun realizing that people will never truly know or understand me if they don’t know about this dark chapter in my life. But the truth is: you can’t know my best unless you know my worst. 

I hope you can see my heart.

I had a lot of anger inside me. I — a nonbinary, Arab American — finally came out in 2020 but, for the longest, I pushed my feelings down. In a way, this was the worst bondage. Ultimately, my insecurity in my identity negatively affected my relationship with others. I wasn’t being true to myself.

Now that I can see clearly, I know the person before me is not, and never was, my enemy. 

We grew up in the same church. Our relationship started with a drunken one-night stand that resulted in pregnancy and, ultimately, our first child. I was absent during the pregnancy, but came around a couple weeks after the birth. Three to four times a week I traveled to her parent’s place to bond with our child. During this time, we did not have a sexual or romantic relationship but got to know each other as friends. Around the time our child was one-and-a-half, my ex’s parents kicked them out. My mother and I showed up in the middle of the night to pick the two of them up off the street.

The plan was for them to live with my mother until we could figure out other accommodations but, instead, they ended up staying with me. About a week into our arrangement, we decided to try and be a family. In retrospect, this was likely not the most prudent idea but, as I said, we were young. She was jobless and, having a young child, I don’t think either of us really saw another way. We lived together in a one-room apartment for the first three to six months and, despite the lack of space, I look back on this time with the most fondness. I believe, for the most part, we were all happy. 

Then, a couple things happened. She resumed talks with her parents. They’d been on the shit list since kicking her out but, you know, they’re parents … so she forgave them. I’d already been searching for houses, and accelerated this search, considering our squeeze. She wanted a single-family in Riverwest, a largely white, rapidly gentrifying Milwaukee neighborhood. But, honestly, it was more than we could afford. I was making decent money at the time but not nearly enough to buy a house with a mortgage payment in excess of $700 a month. Instead, I found a duplex on Fifth Street in Harambee – a largely Black neighborhood that borders Riverwest on the West –  for about half the cost. 

I was bringing in the money, and felt I knew what we could afford. Her feelings, though valid, were not based in that understanding. We spoke on it but I don’t think we ever got to the core of that conversation. And, eventually, I made the decision to go with the duplex. If not for the rental income that came from that property we wouldn’t have survived. Still, perhaps I should have listened. Maybe it would’ve changed everything. But, at the time, it didn’t seem like we really had any other options.

My partner had very strict ideas of what the gender roles were meant to be in our relationship. I was expected to be the “man.” Not until recently have I become fully aware of exactly how impossible that was … but I tried anyhow. I can say I, honestly, genuinely, came to the table every day wishing to give my best. And I worked diligently. Her sister even complimented me on it once, observing how enterprising I was. In fact, I wrote the entire first draft of my first novel in about two months while working full time. 

I was expected to bring in the money. Eventually, when my character conflicted with my career (tell this story in full), that all changed. I was unemployed for nine months, during which time I founded Milwaukee Stories, a nonprofit I would operate for the next four years. I remember staring at the bottom of my bank account after the unemployment ran out and wondering if we’d end up on the street. It was a terrifying thought that I’m grateful, to this day, never came true.

I finally got a job as a journalist at the Milwaukee Neighborhood News Service but, by that time, almost all of my savings had been exhausted. I was looked down on for following this path as our financial situation became more strained (I brought in about $24,000 a year between 2014 and 2020, compared with almost $50,000 my last year at the social media agency). 

I was verbally and emotionally derided for not being a better “man”. My character was questioned, even to the point of insinuating I would harm our child in some way. I particularly got the impression that she believed I was a danger sexually. I found this suggestion to be utterly disgusting and simply sad. It tore me apart having someone that close to me suggest that I might be capable of harming our child in that way. Anyone who knows me knows how strongly I feel about protecting the sanctity and sovereignty of children. There are many things of which I am capable, but this is not one. It is an act that so defiles the purity and innocence of our most precious and vulnerable cargo. If our goal is not to raise healthy, capable, strong-willed people who can provide for themselves and others, why are we here? 

Her entire demeanor toward me became suspicious and, ultimately, aggressive. Her words were cruel and they hurt. Some of them were true, which made them cut even more; others, such as the assertions that “your friends don’t really like you anyway” were, I presume, simply meant to tear down my self-esteem. 

I lashed out physically. 

First, after a night of excessive drinking and her fawning over the living space, drapes and other possessions of two well-paid friends, we exchanged some words. She became enraged and broke the back off the toilet. In response, I pushed her. Stumbling back, she fell into the bathtub and bumped the back of their head on the wall, sustaining a concussion. This instance dismayed me. I was in pieces, swore I’d never do it again. But I didn’t realize this wasn’t just a fluke. The next time, I slapped her face, acting on impulse in a misguided attempt to stop a particularly virulent barrage of words. One of the last times, in a bout where she almost ran us off the road by grabbing the car’s steering wheel while I was driving, I twisted her wrist. 

One of these confrontations would occur every three to six months. In between everything was relatively calm but, in retrospect, it was really only a steady downward spiral. I was constantly derided, particularly after I’d lashed out once or twice. Almost every day my reality was questioned. I felt so small. Defeated. Torn apart. 

Eventually, everything escalated. She accused me of cheating, and having feelings for other people. In all honesty, I never thought about being with anyone else, even during the worst of it. But it was futile to try and convince her otherwise. We had a couple fights where we both walked away bloodied. In one, she hit me over the head with a glass mug. Near the end, it had become so bad that I received a vision of her stabbing me to death on our kitchen floor. 

The last time, we ended up right there – in the kitchen. We were wrestling each other, trying to gain control. I lunged for the back door but it was closed and she pulled me back. I lunged again and this time I might have gotten it open. But she pulled me back again, ripping the shirt from my back. She wouldn’t let me go. So, finally, I turned and, gaining the upper hand, pinned her to the ground, put my hands around her throat and squeezed. 

I just wanted it all to end. 

It was only seconds but it felt like an eternity. I saw her eyes get big, as she struggled for air. And our entire relationship flashed before me – who we were, who we’d become and how we got here. 

And I let go.

The experience shook me to my core. That night, I made a commitment to myself that I would never put my hands on her again. And I never did. Even despite daily insults during the six months they lived with me after.

In the time since, I have taken intentional steps to heal myself from the wounds of this relationship. To heal myself of the ones I had before. I’ve grown closer to my true nature and am learning to love more deeply every day.

First and foremost, I never want anyone else to have to experience this kind of relationship. I never want anyone else to hurt in the way we did. And all because we didn’t think we had any other options. Because finances kept us from living apart.

What I really wished for during that time was someone who knew both of us and would be willing to step in, have the difficult conversation. Unfortunately, no one ever did. And, by the time the prospect of counseling came up, much of the hurt had already been done.

This relationship really did a number on me. I regret the horrendous actions I perpetrated against my partner. If their experience has been anything like mine, I know it hasn’t been easy. For a long time, I beat myself up for what I did. Eventually, I had to forgive. I forgave them, and I forgave myself. Still, In many ways, I haven’t been the same since. I’ve found it difficult to go on. To trust. My energy and motivation, which, at one time, was through the roof, has been hard to recapture. I’ve done everything I can to atone for my mistakes while attempting to chart a better path, but it’s often felt insufficient. 

What I may have learned most is that life goes on. None of us can ever go back. In fact, we are called to move forward, to make the best out of what we are given. At this point in my life, I desire nothing less than healing. 

Recently, someone new has come into my life. Someone wonderful and amazing, who truly cares for me and for whom I truly care. We speak affirming words to each other and support each other’s vision for life. We listen and hold each other. 

This relationship has given me a completely new outlook on life. It has shown me the possibility in what we can accomplish together and challenges me to go even deeper into myself to root out that which is less than true. I feel the opposite of what I did back then. Just by their presence I feel inspired. Not torn down but built up. 

This is why I’m finally coming forward – because I’m no longer afraid. 

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, you can call 800.799.SAFE (7233) or visit https://www.thehotline.org/ to speak with someone. Many cities have nonprofit organizations that help victims of domestic abuse access resources and escape violent situations. Wherever you are, don’t forget that you are worthy of love that allows you to thrive. While it may seem like there’s no way out, you’ll never know until you take the chance. If there’s someone in your life you can trust, please consider opening up to them. And, if you don’t have anyone, you always have me. Feel free to reach out and I will do anything I can to help.