1 in 4 women will experience abuse in thier lifetimes. 30% of this starts during pregnancy, existing abuse may get worse during pregnancy or after birth. Abuse during pregnancy can cause miscarriage infections and more. Some scary statistics, but what do these statistics actually mean? Here's a story from behind the statistics. I had been with him for only a few months and the emotional abuse was well underway, not that I realised it. That's how it starts in many cases, a few comments, insults here and there that get overlooked. You don't consider abuse nor even a red flag, he's just stressed out isn't he? And besides, you did nag at him... that's what you tell yourself and it sets in slowly like bringing a frog to the boil. That's how it was for me. A slow burn until I was 2 months pregnant. He'd been growing distant from me, going out drinking until really late, waving aside my concerns saying his friends wanted to celebrate me and him having a baby. I had to stay home because he was keeping me safe. Not good to be out late at all, can't I just accept that he cares for me... and it continue. One night however, he came home with a bite mark on his shoulder, I made a huge mistake, I asked where it came from. I had suspicions that he was cheating on me, there was evidence. He said a mate had done it for a laugh, I didn't believe him. I turned my back on him to get back into bed, and to hide my tears. I'm such a baby crying over nothing, he always said so. Then I felt him grab my ankle. Hard. He started to drag me backwards off the bed and I panicked. I yanked my ankle back and tried to crawl across the bed but he pulled me flat and told me to do as I was told. My memory gets fuzzy here, I mostly remember the wooden edge of the bed digging into my stomach as he forced me to kneel over the bed, that wooden edge hurt and all I could think of was the wee kidney bean shaped foetus growing inside me, my baby. The rape itself was mercifully quick, painful but fast. I remember thinking how strange it was how gentle his tee-shirt was brushing against my skin, how something could be so gentle during something so scary and painful. Mostly I was worried that he'd kill my baby, that wooden was digging into my belly so hard, I'd been thrust against it so much, surely I was going to loose the baby. It was good I hadn't fought him. I don't remember getting into bed, nor what he did after. I don't remember the next morning either. It didn't even cross my mind to tell the police, my midwife, anyone. After all, I didn't fight him, I let him do it, and he was drunk too. I justified it and buried it. Leaving him most certainly wasn't an option. Single mums are bad. Kids need mums and dads. Happy families. All I could think about was what my baby 'should' have. I had absolutely no idea about the support that would have been available to me. No idea that children can grown up perfectly well adjusted in a number of different households. My story doesn't end there, but that's all I can tell for today. People ask why women don't leave those kinds of relationships. The answer is simple. Fear. Fear of the repercussions. Fear that they're wrong, you can get so institutionalised into believing g it's all your fault. Even today, I still believe that. And I've been free for nearly 9 years. Just a happy thought, my baby, she's still here. As I write this she's stealing my biscuits and playing with her brother. But they're stories for another time.
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