I had the amazing fortune of being born into one of those families you see in 1960’s sitcoms. After 22 years of marriage, my parent’s disagreements have never escalated above an exasperated ‘you were supposed to get milk on your way home’. I’ve only ever seen Dad throw one item at Mum. A bread roll at a BBQ. And that was only because she was squirting him with the tomato sauce.So to me, domestic violence was something that ‘happened to other people’. I’d never seen it, apart from the movies, and I had some pretty strong opinions about it. When the topic was broached, I’d quite loudly voice how wrong it was, and declare I’d never allow it to happen. No one ever deserved to be a victim of abuse, and I’d stand up and defend those who were in a heartbeat.
I was very, very wrong.
This story happened to friends of a friend of mine….as all good stories do. Invited to their house for dinner, this couple were never going to be accused of being sickly sweet, they certainly have their differences. Over dessert, they started arguing, and while I’m not going to waste time rambling about the topic, you can rest assured that it was pretty trivial. Fuelled by alcohol, the argument turned into a heated fight. Tears streaming down her face, she got up from the table to leave and go home.
But she didn’t get very far. I sat there, in disbelief, and watched as he prevented her from leaving at least five times by slamming her head into the wall cabinet behind her. Pushing her backwards against the wall. And shoving her back into her chair so hard she clunked her head against the table. According to my sources, she had some pretty nasty battle wounds to nurse (and by nurse, I mean conceal from family and friends) for the next week.And what about me? Full of opinions and conviction, surely I saved the day with a tirade of abuse and a heroic dash to get our fair victim into a taxi home??
I did nothing. I sat there in shock. I sat there and watched. I sat there silently and said nothing. Then, when my boyfriend at the time decided that it was time for us to leave, I got up and left that poor girl sitting helplessly at the table in tears. And what’s even worse is that I am pretty sure that I can (until now) count on the fingers of one hand the number of people I’ve told. I certainly didn’t contact the authorities to report what I’d seen. The sad fact is that for all of my opinions, I had no idea what I should, and more importantly could, do.
So the moral of this horrid story? Don’t be the owner of opinions, be the owner of actions. Get involved, get the facts and get behind our Break the Silence on Domestic Violence campaign. Make sure you don’t just know what you think, know what you should do.Grab a handful of information cards, distribute them to family and friends, and spread the word. And while I’m certainly not suggesting that you start trailblazing into every suburban home to rescue damsels (or gentlemen) in distress, everyone should know their rights, and their options.
And as for me? I’m about to hit Adam up for a stack of cards to pass onto this girl next time I meet her for a coffee. Because it’s better late than never.
www.stopviolence.com.au
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