Not sure if this is the right place to post this, but I felt compelled to share it. Written by someone very close to me:
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I closed my eyes as he punched me, again and again. First in the back, then in the head. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt- it did. But maybe I had become so used to these beatings that I had learned to numb myself from the pain. There was no point in screaming because no one was there to hear me.
My only sin for this beating was that I had talked to my grandmother who was visiting from Pakistan and staying with other relatives. I was only on the phone for about 5 minutes, 5 minutes too long it seems. My husband’s problem was that why had my beloved dadiami not called him? Why had she called me? His pride had taken a bruising and so he had to bruise me. Had she known what I would have to endure following her phone call, maybe she wouldn’t have rang.
It wasn’t always like this. In the beginning he did everything he could to sweep me off my feet. Wonderful, extravagant dinner dates, hugely expensive bouquets of flowers and gifts “just because.” He told me I was was more important to him than anyone in the world, that he would always take care of me and cherish me- and I believed him.
Fast forward 5 months after my ruksathi. I remember it so clearly. I was the only one working- it appears his family did not turn out to be as wealthy as he had made out to be, that they wouldn’t in fact be helping us buy a house. I was okay with this, but I did expect him to work. I was working 10 hour days and he would spend the whole day sleeping, playing computer games at night. Not doing any housework and contributing nothing to the household. He claimed he was online studying to obtain a further qualification. I believed him at first but then when he failed his first 2 subjects, I knew this was not the case. I asked him to get a job. This turned into a bigger argument and the vile language began. Then he suddenly started to beat me. I was more shocked than anything else, but I also knew that only the first time is hard- after that hitting becomes easier and easier. And I was right.
Over the ensuing months, he would hit me for no reason. If we would visit my parents, he would claim that someone said something to offend him- when I would be sitting right there and no such thing occurred. The result was that we would come home and again he would hit me. I see now it was his way of preventing me from seeing my family and it worked- I began to distance myself from them, to make him happy, to stop him from using vile language, to stop him humiliating me and to stop him from beating me black and blue. But the only problem was that he didn’t stop.
I remember the worst of instances- the time he threw a gas heater at my head, leaving me on the floor unconscious until I came to. When I did become conscious again, I looked up to see him calmly eating his dinner and not caring that I needed medical attention. I remember him punching me in the mouth and causing bruising and bleeding and having to go to work the next day. I remember pleading with him not to punch me in the head, and he would deliberately punch me there. I remember having to make excuses to people for all of my bruises. I remember him hitting my palm so hard that it turned blue. I remember him pointing a gun at me and saying he was going to kill me. I remember waking up at 2am one night to feel pressure on my neck and to feel him squeezing me so hard I couldn’t breathe- perhaps he wanted to kill me but I woke up and his plan was foiled. At least once a week, he had to hit me.
What I remember very clearly was the day I walked away. I tried for more than 12 months to make him change. One day, I came home from work and I knew he was in a bad mood. I also knew anything would set him off so I made myself scarce. Maybe not scarce enough. He blew up at me for something minor. When I went to lock myself in the room, he grabbed me and started strangling me. I knew this was it. I would not survive this. And maybe I didn’t want to. What was the point? Then something in me snapped. I would not let him win, I would not allow my parents to lose their daughter. I struggled and kicked him and he moved. I then walked out and never looked back.
I am still fragile. The smallest of sounds will make me jump, and I sweat visibly if I see a private number calling my phone. My dreams are filled with nightmares and to this day I struggle to swallow properly, after being strangled. Will I ever be normal again? Maybe, maybe not. What I do know is I have no regrets. I tried my hardest, I worked, supported him, demanded nothing, cared for him with every part of me and yet he repaid me by not protecting me- the person who was supposed to protect me, is the one who has brought me pain like I have never experienced before.
People tell me its harder to walk away, then it is to stay. But I see everyone happily married and I wonder why I could never have that? I see children in the supermarket, and don’t think I will ever have any now. I see husbands looking at their wives in adoration and know that it would be impossible for anyone to look at me that way now. I will forever be tainted - my physical scars will heal, but will the emotional scars? I will be branded a “talaaqi” by society and no one will see me as a victim of domestic violence-I will simply be a woman who could not keep her marriage intact.
But my message to all the women out there who are experiencing abuse from their husbands- he will never change. If he has hit you once, each time will become easier and easier.
May Allah teach all men how to look after their wives. Ameen.