“Please don’t hit me again”

A story about domestic violence

The conference buzzed around me, the scent of coffee a constant background presence. But all I could see were the bruises – a stark testament to the story being told. Her story had just begun to unfold, gripping the room’s attention. My thoughts ricocheted between disbelief and anger. Uncertain if I’d heard correctly, my daze was interrupted by a sharp elbow nudge.

‘Did you hear what she just said?’ enquired my research assistant, Gabby Hyslop.

‘I think she said. ‘History is just an ongoing commentary on the incompetence of men.’

‘How does that make you feel, Nathan Peacock?’ Her eyes gleamed with mockery.

‘Shut up and listen, will you?’ I said through clenched teeth, trying to hear the keynote speaker. As the noise of the hall continued, I wondered why the idea of male superiority had lasted so long. Is it because of longstanding policies or unaddressed societal norms? I remembered covering a policy debate where a proposed bill aimed to address pay inequality was dismissed by male parliamentarians who argued it was redundant. ‘It’s just the way things are,’ one of them said, a sentiment reflecting historical gender bias. I tuned in to her next words.

At some point in history, man declared himself superior to woman. Maybe it was an accident, or just a really stupid mistake. But that’s men for you.’

As a journalist, I’d heard many feminist speakers say things meant to challenge the audience, yet this felt especially designed to provoke, even if it sounded a bit clichéd. She continued.

Sarah from Melbourne is one of the many women whose stories illustrate the harsh reality of domestic violence. She survived years of abuse before she found the courage to get help, offering a poignant reminder of the lives behind the statistics. In Australia, domestic violence rates continue to be concerning. Though the government has made attempts to address the issue, the statistics remain alarming. According to recent data released in 2022, the Australian Bureau of Statistics indicates that nearly one in four women has reported experiencing intimate partner violence since the age of 15. On a global scale, similar complications persist. For comparison, the World Health Organisation estimates that around 30% of women worldwide have faced physical or sexual intimate partner violence or non-partner sexual violence in their lifetime. These numbers reflect not just statistical analyses but real accounts of hardship and fortitude, emphasising the vital need for real change across cultures and countries.

‘Elisabeth Summers. Wonderful, isn’t she?’

‘She knows how to stir the pot.’ I replied.

She had my full attention. I was drawn in by her compassion and intense understanding. There was so much substance in what she said, and I realised how much I didn’t know. Listening to her made me question some of my own beliefs. I started to wonder if facing these doubts could help me understand myself better. Then she began talking about the Millennium Goals.

As she listed how many goals were missed, I felt an unexpected unease creep over me. It reminded me of a long-forgotten moment from my childhood, where I watched my father dismiss my mother’s dreams as unattainable fantasies. I had never questioned the fairness of his attitude back then but now, hearing Summers speak, it brought back a gnawing discomfort. I had to ask myself if I had unconsciously carried similar beliefs into my adult life, masking them with logic and reason. It was a bitter pill to swallow, to think that I might have been blindly complicit in a status quo that stifled progress.

At that point, she paused and said it was time for lunch, promising to return in 40 minutes. The audience clapped loudly. As the applause faded, I thought about what she had said and how it mattered not just for history, but for our daily lives. It was a lot to process. Gabby and I stood up.

‘Not before time,’ she protested.

When we were seated in the convention restaurant, Gabby asked me what I thought of Elizabeth Summers’ address.
‘Excellent, I said. ‘She does not mind being argumentative. I think it’s about time men became more responsible for their actions.’

‘That’s a narrow view, Nathan. There’s more to it. It’s also about society’s culture and how men have related to women over time. Cultural norms often excuse men’s aggression and discourage women from speaking up. This makes it harder for victims to see the abuse and for society to admit how common it is,’ Gabby explained, leaning forward. She recalled a recent headline about a prominent businessman who was excused for his inappropriate behaviour with just a slap on the wrist. ‘It was on everyone’s lips for a week, then forgotten. And remember how Sue in accounts was advised to just ignore her manager’s sexist jokes to keep the peace? These instances show how ingrained and overlooked these issues are.’

‘I’m going to rely on you a lot for this story, Gabby. I’m not well-versed on domestic violence issues. I hope you are.’

As soon as I said it, she looked at me with an anguish that made me look away. ‘Have I upset you?’ I said.

‘No, it’s something from the past. Will you excuse me? I need to visit the ladies’ room. I thought I would be able to handle this.’

When she returned, she was composed and relaxed. I tried to apologise again, even though I wasn’t sure what I had said to upset her.

Nathan, she said, I’m more than qualified to help with this story. I’m a survivor of domestic violence. I want you to know I’m comfortable sharing my experiences, but only within limits I set. It’s important for me to control my own story and how it’s told.

I was shocked. I’d worked with Gabby for about six months. I knew she’d been out of work for a while and was recently divorced, but I never expected this. She was always fun and seemed emotionally strong.

Did Bert Flannery know about this when he assigned you to me? I asked.

As she spoke, I realised the importance of having materials and assistance networks available for those in similar situations. ‘There are organisations and helplines,’ she added. ‘They helped me, and they can help others, too, like the National Domestic Violence Hotline and local support groups. Some of these invaluable resources include Women’s Aid, the Australian National Sexual Assault, Domestic Family Violence Counselling Service, and RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network).’

‘No’, she answered. He is unaware of my past. (Bert was our editor and handed out all the assignments.)
‘That’s good to hear. It’s just the sort of thing he would do. Do you feel like eating?’

I ordered for both of us and made a small joke about being chauvinistic about it. We dined quietly for a while, and then I asked her if she would be prepared to tell me her story.

‘Off the record or do you want to quote me in your piece?’

‘I want to write the best story I can, and you don’t need to research this one. You are the story.’

‘Just a small part of it,’ she said. ‘There are thousands, even millions, of women mistreated by men around the world.

This shows a failure in our systems and policies, where efforts to stop gender-based violence often don’t go far enough or aren’t enforced. When we see how big this problem is, we can better understand why strong policies are needed to protect victims and prevent abuse. To tackle this issue, individuals can support local shelters and charities that provide essential services to those affected by domestic violence. For Gabby, these networks were crucial, marking a turning point where she found the strength and resources to change her life.’

Communities can also organise awareness campaigns to educate and empower people, making it easier for victims to seek help and for bystanders to offer support. It’s crucial to advocate for stronger policies and better enforcement, ensuring that effective resources are available for those who need them. On a broader scale, systemic issues such as economic inequality and inadequate legislative frameworks also contribute significantly to the persistence of domestic violence. For example, insufficient social support for financially dependent partners, biased legal decision-making, and lack of funding for protective services all create environments where abuse can thrive unchecked. Addressing these root causes is essential to disrupting the cycle of violence. Here are some actions readers can take: volunteer at local shelters, donate to organisations that help victims, or simply share information about domestic violence with their network. These small steps can contribute significantly to creating a safer and more equitable society.’

‘Then let me write your story?’

‘Can I trust you?’ she said, looking deeply into the recesses of my eyes.

I believe I can,’ Nathan Peacock said with a smile. ‘I have seen you stand up to Bert Flannery on matters of principle. In fact, I have come to realise something important in my own journey. You see, embracing myself fully, with all my strengths and flaws, has taught me a lot. The way you think and feel about yourself affects every aspect of your life.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way,’ I said. It sounds like a beginning to something new.

‘Yes,’ she answered, her look showing a mixture of tenderness and conviction. ‘Well, it’s probably both. You validate your existence by loving, accepting, respecting, and approving of yourself. However, it’s a journey we should not have to take alone. Can we have dinner tonight, and I’ll share more of my story?’ A bell rang to indicate that the lunch break was over.

I opened the conference room door to let Gabby through. Then I waited for an attractive, sophisticated woman of about thirty-five to enter. As she passed, she said. ‘Oh, you didn’t need to hold the door open just because I’m a woman.’

Well, I didn’t open it just because you’re a woman. I opened it because I’m a gentleman, I said, feeling a bit annoyed.

As we sat down, I paused. Was my notion of being a gentleman outdated? I found myself questioning whether my actions were as respectful as I thought. If holding the door was linked to old-fashioned ideas, did it unintentionally undermine the equality I valued? The thought lingered, stirring an uncomfortable self-reflection.

Reflecting further, I asked myself whether my actions were truly as respectful as I believed, or if they unconsciously reinforced stereotypes I hadn’t fully confronted. Was my definition of being a ‘gentleman’ aligned with genuine equality, or was it tainted by outdated expectations? I shared these thoughts with Gabby and asked what she thought.

‘I’m all for women standing up for themselves as long as they don’t lose their femininity,’ I added, realising I might be holding onto old ideas.

Gabby praised how I handled it, but I knew I needed to continue questioning my own views, recognising the importance of actively unlearning ingrained prejudices and challenging my subconscious assumptions.

‘Some people take it for granted,’ she said. Instead of wanting equality, they want to be superior. They mix up equality and assertiveness, but really, both go hand in hand.’

Elizabeth Summer’s first words after the lunch recess were, “Women need to be free to be strong, and men have to be free to be gentle and vulnerable. The Church will never be complete without the fullness of femininity.” Her words reminded me of a key question that had stayed throughout the conference: ‘What does real equality ask of men and women?’ It was a question that had the power to challenge us, making each scene and speaker seem like a step toward finding an answer.”

Now it’s the Church’s turn, I thought.

When the church is less inclusive, caring, and loving than society, it needs to take a hard look at itself. She pointed to some recent church decisions. In the United States last year, the Southern Baptist Union said, based on scripture, that women were inferior to men. This led to the resignation of former President Jimmy Carter. More recently, Pope Benedict said that anyone supporting women in ministry equal to men would be committing a sin as serious as pedophilia.

She criticised the church for its hypocrisy and lack of action on women’s issues. However, it’s important to recognise that not all religious groups share this viewpoint. Many faith communities diligently strive for gender equality and have made significant progress in including women in leadership roles. I looked at Gabby to see if she agreed with Elizabeth Summers. She gave me a look that said, ‘Let’s talk later,’ so I turned back to the podium. Elizabeth then gave a history of the women’s movement, saying that women had made little progress toward equality over the centuries. She even mentioned that the early church spent almost a century debating the women’s role in intercourse. I thought, ‘Wow, I have a lot to learn.’ Her speech ended with loud applause from a mostly female audience. Gabby and I went to the lobby, got coffee, and agreed to meet for dinner at seven.

Gabby’s Story

Dinner was easygoing and enjoyable. Gabby was so engaging that I couldn’t imagine anyone treating her badly. When we finished eating, I reminded her she had promised to share her story.

‘I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that I may become a little emotional, and I don’t want to embarrass you here. Can we go to your room?’

‘Are you okay with that?’ I said.

‘I said I trust you, Nathan,’ she replied.

She asked for a glass of water and started her story.

I believe he was a product of his upbringing. All the signs were there, and my memories of his early temper still resonate in me, striking like belated thunder in the still moments of my day. His temper was on display early in our relationship. Every time he pressed me for sex, and I refused, the anger seemed like a concrete force saturating the air, his destructive energy almost visible.

When I think back, I can still feel my heart beating fast in those silent moments where I waited to hear if he’d raise his voice or worse. I remember the sharp smell of spilled beer on his breath, mingling with the stale cigarettes that clung to his clothes, reminders of nights spent at the pub. He would put me down in front of people and call me all sorts of offensive things using the foulest language.

The words drifted through the air like a haze, making it hard to breathe; they lingered long after they’d been said. He didn’t abuse me physically; that came after we were married. Our wedding night lingers vividly; his temper boiled just below the surface, and the room seemed suffocating, trapping me within the actual walls that should have been our sanctuary. In fact, at twenty, I decided to marry him in the hope that he would settle down.

I interrupted and asked why she didn’t break it off if she knew what he was like.

‘Well, Nathan, ’ she answered. ‘Love can be so blind.’ Even intelligent women are fooled by it. It was only later, when I was forced to look back on our relationship, that it all became clear to me. I lived in an alien, surreal world of denial. I had been a fool not to see it, but my story is common to many women. His temper tantrums at the football club were but one example. In the end, the club banned him.

I thought it was only when he was drinking, but it wasn’t. He would become extremely angry at the slightest provocation. Everything was always someone else’s fault, and his parents seemed to condone his behaviour by always making excuses for him. I think his father had a big influence on him. He didn’t treat his wife very well, insisting that women knew their place in the scheme of things.

I think that probably had a large effect on his behaviour. He had issues in high school and was eventually expelled. But he could talk. By God, he could talk, and he could wrap me around his little finger. He was often sweet and kind and made me laugh at the simplest things. I overlooked his bad behaviour, mistakenly believing that I could change him. I even ignored my friend’s advice when they doubted the sincerity of our relationship, saying they weren’t privy to Paul’s other side. My parents were distraught at the thought of me marrying him and only agreed after my father had spoken firmly to him.’

The first night of our marriage was a disaster. Paul gave a poor speech at the wedding, and some of his crass references to my family offended people. I told him how spiteful his comments were, and that was the first time he hit me. In those moments, as I felt the shock of his actions, a part of me knew I would have to gather strength to meet whatever might come.

That night, unfortunately, I lost my virginity under circumstances I never imagined. Despite the pain, an inner voice spoke: my worth was not determined by his actions, I had a right to be angry, and I deserved kindness and love.

Afterwards, I quietly excused myself to the bathroom, where I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection in the mirror, vowing to myself that I would not let this define me. I smoothed my hair, reapplied my lipstick, and returned with a composed face, determined to keep a part of myself resilient and untouchable. He then outlined his expectations for how I should behave in our relationship.

I became pregnant that night, and when I later told Paul, he seemed really excited. He even gave me reason to believe that he might change. It was short-lived, however. When the pressures of fatherhood became apparent to him, he drank more and slapped me around.

When Kelly was born, his mother said she would rather have had a boy. His drinking increased, and so did my beatings. I became an expert at hiding bruises and cuts. I always carried dark sunglasses to hide my black eyes. As he drank more and more, he gave me little money for food. Then he took it out on me when there was no food on the table. He demanded sex whenever it took his fancy, and I hated the thought of him coming near me.

On many occasions, I asked him to take counselling, but this always ended in a tirade of vile abuse that left me with a guilt complex. My husband was really an animal masquerading as a man.

I put up with it for twelve years. I learned to live within myself. To hide within my thoughts and sorrows. Strangely, though, there were some good times. Paul seemed a little more attached to Kelly as she grew older. Well, until she was old enough to know what was happening. Then she would have nothing to do with him. When she was ten, he made sexual advances. She rejected him by footing him in the crown jewels.

‘Good on her, I interjected. ‘How did it all end?

Well, I left him a couple of times, but he always sweet-talked me into returning. Each time I left, I took shelter with my friend Ann. She would welcome me with a knowing expression, saying, “Gabby, you’ve made the right decision. This is your safe place, and whenever you’re ready, we’ll plan your escape together.” Ann encouraged me to think ahead. “You should keep some emergency money here,” she’d suggest, reassuring me as I tucked away a secret envelope at her place. Ann often urged me to attend a local support group, reminding me of the importance of building a network of allies. One Friday night, he came home drunk and demanded his dinner. Because he was late, his had cooled down, and when I reheated it, he said it was crap.

The next thing I remember was lying in a hospital bed with Kelly and my parents looking down at me. My mother was crying uncontrollably. I found it difficult to put all the pieces together. Then it all came flooding back. I remember Kelly screaming. I saw her hit Paul over the back of his head with the steel pan I had used to reheat his meal. For a girl of twelve, she was strong, and when she connected, Paul collapsed on top of me, and I couldn’t move. That’s all I remember. Apparently, Kelly phoned Dad, who in turn called the police. My father told me how courageous Kelly had been. When he arrived, Kelly let him in and tried to pull Paul off me. Paul had recovered enough to get to his knees, Kelly hit him again with the pan, and he was out like a light. Dad quickly summed up the situation and called an ambulance.’

So, what was the washup, I asked.

‘The wash-up was that Paul got three years for assault causing grievous bodily harm and a fractured skull. Kelly received a bravery award; I got a divorce and a new life.’

When Gabby closed the door to go back to her room, I remained alone within the dim light, struggling with an intense realisation that something in me had changed. The quiet room held the mass of my thoughts and echoed Gabby’s story. I wondered if I would ever see women the same way again, questioning the lens through which I had viewed my past relationships. I had been married and divorced twice, each time believing I loved wholeheartedly, yet each partner had walked away, saying the relationship was one-sided. The soundlessness of the night appeared to amplify the truth I had always ignored, and I went to bed with a mind restless and full of meditation.

I got up early and went to the restaurant for breakfast. I was seated by the window overlooking the Sydney Harbour Bridge and ordered coffee. As I looked at the menu, I heard a voice.

‘Mind if I join you?’

I looked up to see the smiling face of Elizabeth Summers. She looked even more attractive up close than she did at the podium.

‘Of course.’ I said. ‘I should think it an honour.’

‘How courteous,’ she said. ‘Even old-fashioned but lovely at the same time.’

‘I guess I was raised on manners of the traditional kind.’

‘Why did you say an honour?’

I told her I felt I’d learned more about women at this conference than I had during both my marriages.

‘Now I recognise you. You were sitting with Gabby yesterday.’

‘You know Gabby.’

‘Yes, we attend the same Church.’

‘Church.’ I said with some trepidation.

‘But yesterday, when you mentioned the church, I took it to be in a derogatory manner.’

‘I’m sorry if it sounded that way. That wasn’t my intention. Let me explain. Churches often do great work in many areas, but sometimes they act as if they alone are righteous, and that’s not true. Many groups share similar values. Churches shouldn’t be above criticism. The church Gabby and I attend is progressive about women’s rights and equality. Gabby is taking a course there for women who have experienced abuse, and her daughter goes too. The course is very successful, especially in helping victims see the good qualities in men again.’

‘And what might they be?’ I asked.

‘I think it’s what I said in my address yesterday. Men need to be free to be gentle and vulnerable.’

‘Can you expand on that?’

‘I think some men, because of their culture or their upbringing, find it difficult to love themselves because society tells them they are superior from birth.

‘I can relate to that, I said.

‘But there are others who are weak because they inherit all the faults that parents, teachers and other significant people in their lives heap on them in their childhood.

‘That’s fascinating. I said. ‘Would you consider an interview? I’m writing a story on domestic violence. Gabby is my research assistant.’

Before she could answer, Gabby arrived at the table.

‘You’re looking particularly radiant this morning, I said as she took a chair.

‘Why, how complimentary, Nathan,’ she answered.

‘Yes, but does he understand that gender equality is a moral challenge?’ said Elizabeth Summers. ‘That’s the point.’

While the conversation settled, Nathan found himself considering the true core of his journey. Was it enough to recognise his past misconceptions, or did he need to do more? What concrete steps can he take today to ensure he not only understands gender equality but also vigorously supports it? This internal inquiry reverberated inside him, challenging him to consider not just changes in awareness but also in his actions.

The end

‘The way you think and feel about yourself affects every aspect of your life. When you love, accept, respect and approve of yourself, you validate your existence and give approval to the equality of others.’

To sustain the momentum for change, consider supporting local and national initiatives to curb domestic violence.

Contact organisations offering critical resources to survivors, like the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Support stronger policies and enforcement, and participate in community awareness programs to promote understanding and prevention. Get involved in local initiatives, such as school workshops to educate young people about healthy relationships, community fundraising events to support shelters, and neighbourhood outreach campaigns. Let us cooperate to create a society where equality and safety prevail for everyone.

Take immediate action by texting ‘Support’ to the National Domestic Violence Hotline at [insert number here]. This simple step can connect you to essential resources and information on how to contribute to meaningful change in your community.

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