Battered and broken: The many consequences of domestic violence 

For years I thought that my mother was evil.  

To the outside world, we appeared to be a normal family. My father worked two jobs, we usually went to Mass on Sunday and my parents seemingly had an ideal marriage.  

But inside the house, violence raged almost daily.  

Over the years, my parents’ drinking and abuse gradually increased like a slowly metastasizing cancer. I expected violence from my father — after all, his whole family was like that. His mindless barbarism wasn’t particularly personal, and you could learn to avoid it if you were a clever child.  

But my mother’s rampages had a particular cruelty to them. She seemed to take particular delight in tormenting her children.  

One day as I walked home from school with my sister, we looked toward our house to see one of my dolls hanging out of the second story window, the window sash wrapped around its neck in a hangman’s noose. And it wasn’t just any doll, it was my favorite doll. There was no avoiding that type of malice, no matter how clever I was.  

My mother’s savagery grew as I came into adulthood. Escaping home at 17, I felt guilty, knowing that my three siblings would bear the brunt. But I had to get out, for my own sanity. 

Mom finally escaped my father as well. I hoped that the leaving would change her — instead, the lashing out increased. Her anger spread, now including her parents and sister, even though they had aided her escape from my father.  

By then, I’d long since accepted my mother as malevolent, and took her antics as matter of course. But her family hadn’t seen that side of her before, and were increasingly stunned at every phone call. They insisted she hadn’t always been like that; they said that she was once the nicest person they knew.  

My grandmother and aunt inevitably called me after receiving these late-night calls, puzzled and horrified by Mom’s behavior, searching for answers. Over and over they asked, “What could have happened to her?” I was just as confused, trying hard to imagine the person they described. My mother was a puzzle and none of us could figure out the missing pieces. 

Then, just a few years ago, I had a different thought. Could it have been the violence? 

Suddenly, my mother’s hidden puzzle pieces clicked into place. They had been hiding in plain sight. She once was the nicest person anyone knew, and she had become malevolent. Both were true, because something had happened to her: domestic violence and abuse.  

Finally, I understood that my mother wasn’t evil. She was broken.  

My mother wasn’t broken by a specific event, but by a long and constant process — a generational process pervasive in my father’s family. 

And although Mom finally left her abusive husband, leaving didn’t return her to her good heart. My mother died a mentally ill alcoholic, because there’s a lot more to domestic abuse than domestic violence.  

Domestic abuse is entirely about domination, a process known as coercive control. Domestic abusers don’t just want to get their way on a particular issue, they want to own their families — violence is the tool that they use to accomplish that goal. We victims of domestic abuse are well aware that we are considered “property” by the abuser. And abusers will do anything to retain their “property,” even destroying us before they will see their property leave. We are, in effect, Domestic POWs.  

That’s why it is so important to remove gun access for those who have been convicted, or even arrested, for domestic abuse and violence.  

Women are five times more likely to be killed if an abusive partner has access to a gun; domestic violence assaults involving a gun, as opposed to other weapons or bodily force, are 12 times more likely to result in death for the victim. In the United States, nearly two-thirds of intimate partner homicides are committed with a gun, and 80 percent of intimate partner firearm homicide victims are women.  

Domestic violence was just the tip of the iceberg for my mother. Coercive control broke her as surely as the probable head injuries and strangulation did. Family and domestic violence is a horrific problem in the United States, reported to affect an estimated 10 million people every year. Based on personal experience, I believe that the actual number is much higher. No one I know ever called law enforcement to report. 

Domestic violence and abuse thrive in isolation; my mother remained isolated at home for years. The pain of isolation is healed in the solace of community. If you are a Domestic POW, find your community. If you know a Domestic POW, don’t give up on them. Connect with them. Love them.  

What has been broken in isolation must be healed. It isn’t a puzzle any longer. 

Laura Frombach is the co-author of “Street Smart Safety for Women: Your Guide to Defensive Living” and advocates for local domestic violence shelters. A technologist and engineer with IBM, HP, FedEx, Coca Cola Enterprises, Lenovo and others, she was one of the featured speakers at the 2020 TEDx Eustis conference and speaks on women’s safety.