{"id":15871,"date":"2020-12-10T09:00:48","date_gmt":"2020-12-10T14:00:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/?p=15871"},"modified":"2022-10-09T06:39:27","modified_gmt":"2022-10-09T10:39:27","slug":"relationships-domestic-violence-homelessness-the-woman-who-walked-into-doors","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/relationships-domestic-violence-homelessness-the-woman-who-walked-into-doors\/","title":{"rendered":"Relationships, Domestic Violence, Homelessness: The Woman Who Walked Into Doors"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div>

We all crave stability. Somewhere to call “home”…but what if “home” is anything but? What happens then?<\/em><\/h4>\n

\u201cThe Woman Who Walked Into Doors<\/em>\u201d is a novel by Roddy Doyle. It tells the story of Paula Spencer and her turbulent marriage to \u201cCharlo\u201d her violent, abusive husband. Charlo was \u201ca catch, a ride\u201d and Paula adored him. He was also an abusive arsehole who liked to push her around. In Paula\u2019s words \u201cHe loved me and he beat me, I loved him and I took it\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

And she did, even when \u201cit\u201d put her in the hospital. Through missing teeth, broken bones and dislocated shoulders, she becomes his whipping boy, his punching bag, constantly hoping that this time will be the last, that Charlo will change and that things will go back to \u201cnormal\u201d again.<\/p>\n

Only this is her new normal now \u2026 And he\u2019s just getting started.<\/h4>\n

At the minute I am not \u201cThe Woman Who Walked Into Doors\u201d. Instead I am \u201cThe woman who covers her ears when he shouts\u201d, \u201cThe woman who closes her eyes\u201d and \u201cThe woman who sweeps up the broken things that he\u2019s thrown at the wall when he loses his temper”. This is the woman I am at the minute although most days I don\u2019t feel like a woman at all. I feel like a whipping boy, a scapegoat, a failure, a mess\u2026<\/p>\n

And before you ask me no, I didn\u2019t want to be any of these things. I just wanted him to love me.<\/p>\n

He did at first, I think … when we were good and new and shiny. He treated me like a princess and I was absolutely smitten. Until a few months down the line he called me a cunt, and laid the foundations for our future relationship.<\/p>\n

His language took my breath away. I couldn\u2019t believe that this guy, my guy, my best friend and my wingman could call me such a thing. Except that he did. And then he kept on doing it.<\/p>\n

Things got worse.<\/h4>\n

The name-calling continued, along with slamming of doors, smashing of plates, and nasty, drunken shouting in my face. I was \u201cMiserable\u201d, \u201cMoody\u201d, a \u201cTramp and a whore\u201d, a “Prostitute”. A nothing.<\/p>\n

I talked too much, I was \u201cgiving him a headache\u201d. I was selfish, self-centred, all about me. Spoiled, ungrateful, incompetent. I didn\u2019t put the bins out right, fold the washing properly, I made the washing machine leak. I had rubbish taste in music. Any film I liked was terrible. I cooked dinner every evening too early or too late.<\/p>\n

The list of my faults and flaws was endless.<\/p>\n

And I couldn’t tell my friends because by now I had no friends. They\u2019d all tried to warn me about him when we first started dating. But I was naive and I was blinkered and I thought that they were wrong. So when I had to choose between the two, I did … and I chose him.<\/p>\n

And I look back now and all the signs were there, flashing, flashing, flashing, bright red neon at me. Except, I didn\u2019t want to see them. Instead I took out all the bulbs, crossed my fingers a lot, kept my rose-tinted glasses on, and tried not to step on the cracks in the pavement.<\/p>\n

And I learned to be quiet, and I learned to try harder. And every day I got smaller and smaller while he just grew and grew. I would sit inside this little box that he\u2019d made for me, and I would wonder how the hell I got here. How I had become her \u2026 this un-opinionated, voice-less, sad, lonely woman who spent her days talking to herself and walking on eggshells?<\/p>\n

I left him … several times.<\/h4>\n

Because my self-esteem was on the floor and I needed to be able just to breathe for a while. But there was this ridiculous pull towards him that I couldn’t quite explain, which meant that every time I left him, I gravitated back, no matter how badly he had treated me. In his eyes, this made him right. And so then \u201cI” would be the naughty one and he would be the victim, and round and round and round we’d go.<\/p>\n

Over and over and over again.<\/p>\n

Until my head was spinning.<\/p>\n

Then things would go quiet for a while. Almost kind of normal. I would tell myself that maybe things would be ok … one, because he’d stopped shouting. But two, because I really, really wanted them to be.<\/p>\n

But then he’d get angry again, plates started to smash, and I would know in an instant, that I\u2019d made a mistake. That it wasn’t going to be ok. That it was never going to be ok. Because this guy wasn’t changing for anyone. Not now, not in a month, not in six months or a year.<\/p>\n

This was him. The \u201creal\u201d version of him, a man who liked to mistreat women. Because he thought that violence made him strong.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sitting in the garden.<\/h4>\n

It\u2019s a beautiful sunny day outside. The neighbours smile and wave at me. They don\u2019t hear the shouting in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom upstairs. Or, if they do, I think they must just cover their ears. Like me, like I do.<\/p>\n

Tourists walk by.<\/p>\n

They see, a happy, smiling woman in a garden filled with plants. She drinks a cup of coffee and she\u2019s writing in her notebook, a happy cat purrs away at her feet. Everything looks peachy. Domestic violence doesn\u2019t live on this street. Except that it does \u2013 you just don\u2019t see my scars, or what I\u2019m writing in my notebook.<\/p>\n

Fast forward to today and I\u2019m writing in my caravan. Because I left him again and I’m not going back. I\u2019m starting again, with my books and my incense and the little voice in my head telling me I\u2019m worth so much more than a drunk, angry, violent man who bends me out of shape and backs me into corners all the time.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s taken me a long, long time to write this piece.<\/h4>\n

Because I\u2019m writing about domestic violence when this guy didn\u2019t punch or kick me. I\u2019ve never had a black eye, a broken nose, or a cut on my lip. I didn\u2019t show any of the obvious, outward signs of abuse. But I was in that boxing ring with him every day until I left. And my head is still spinning from the fall-out of it all.<\/p>\n

I have a trauma bond to this guy. A side effect of it all, which is the pull I feel towards him still, and which basically means that I minimise the damage, feel grateful for scraps, and wish even now, that any time my phone pings, that it’s an apology from him and that this time he means it.<\/p>\n

That my \u201cnice\u201d, caring, boyfriend is back.<\/p>\n

I really need to work on that.<\/p>\n

Because it won’t be and he doesn’t, and I would be back where I started again in seconds. Worse, actually.<\/p>\n

So I\u2019d like to leave you with this if I may.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know a single woman who has ever actually \u201cwalked into a door\u201d. But I do know a few who were pushed, slammed or thrown into one by someone who once claimed to \u201clove\u201d them.
\nAnd believe me when I tell you that this isn’t love. It’s abuse.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s frightening, it\u2019s demeaning and it will bring you to your knees.<\/p>\n

So if this story resonates take a good long look at your own front door. And maybe start to picture how your life could be the other side of it, with someone who is actually nice to you for a change.<\/p>\n

With grateful thanks to Roddy Doyle for allowing me to use his title\/reference the book.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We all crave stability. Somewhere to call “home”…but what if “home” is anything but? What happens then? \u201cThe Woman Who Walked Into Doors\u201d is a novel by Roddy Doyle. It tells the story of Paula Spencer and her turbulent marriage … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":21,"featured_media":15872,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[835,8730],"tags":[8388,367,253,832,515,15921,508,988,990,15922,15923],"coauthors":[11217],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15871"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/21"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15871"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15871\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19297,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15871\/revisions\/19297"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15872"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15871"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15871"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15871"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress-537697-2997182.cloudwaysapps.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=15871"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}