Emotional/Psychological abuse
She grew close to him
And felt the warmth of his love
Enveloping her in its gentle embrace.
She did not feel the chill
That sometime came
And brushed against the edges of her soul.
Looking with sightless eye,
He did not see
The cut inflicted on her soul.
A silent gash
That deeply wounded self,
And left mind confused
And spirit lifeless.
Jim O’Shea
There are many rather vague definitions of emotional abuse, and so I will tell you a short true story, which contains the essential ingredients of this type of abuse, and which will show the emotional abuser as a moody, sulky, individual, who infects the atmosphere of a household with sourness, hostility and bad humour. Alex told me this story. He and his wife, Joan, spent 4 months with his parents, while awaiting the completion of their new house. They had three small children, and Joan was pregnant with their fourth child, when she was subject to a campaign of intimidation and cruelty
I was delighted when my mother welcomed us with open arms. We hadn’t much money, and staying with them for 3 months would save us a lot. After a few weeks, Joan began to tell me of strange changes in my mother’s behaviour. She was all smiles when people called to the house, but when they were alone her face darkened and she would go about in silence. Joan found this very difficult, and felt that we weren’t wanted. I told her this was nonsense; my mother was a very welcoming person. She was known as such by many. Joan grew more distressed when my mother began to tell my father that Joan was hiding the house keys. This went on day after day, and my father was tormented by it all. Then she began to spread lies about Joan. She told neighbours that Joan was sitting about all day, while she herself was exhausted doing all the housework. One nosey neighbour told Joan that she should be helping my mother, and not the other way round. Joan became angry, and went on about it every evening when I came home from work. I couldn’t believe it at first, but I began to realise that my mother was telling lies, and that it was she who was hiding the keys, and it was she who was sitting around acting the martyr. Eventually I exploded, and the four of us had a huge row one night. My father believed my mother, and I believed Joan. There was a real shouting match, and I felt strong hatred for my mother. But my mother’s behaviour stopped after this, and anyway we moved into our new house soon after, but the damage was done, and I felt so angry with her for a long time. I think my father was afraid of my mother.
Adapted from Jim O’Shea’s book Abuse. Domestic Violence, Workplace and School Bullying published by Cork University Press
PSYCHOTHERAPISTS IN TIPPERARY
THERAPISTS IN TIPPERARY
ABUSE
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
DEATH OF A CHILD