13th of May, 2025
The first time I experienced family violence, it was physical. And loud! I was six weeks pregnant and terrified. I knew things would only get worse, so I got out. I wanted better for myself and my baby.
Without much support, I leant into the two people I thought I could trust – my Mum and Chris, an old high school friend. Chris and I had been good friends since our early teens. He’d been there for me when I was sexually assaulted at age fourteen. Then, after the assault, when my self-esteem was in tatters, and I always seemed to be choosing the ‘wrong sort of guy’ Chris had been there to help me pick up the pieces when things went wrong. Now, ten years on, he was still there, wanting to take care of me and the baby that was on its way. He was well-educated and had a good job – the exact opposite of my previous partners. (Or so it seemed.) We married, and before long, we had three other children.
Once we were married, Chris told my mother I was his responsibility now and she should butt out. He went out of his way to create conflict with her and then cut her out of our lives. He took full control of the finances, and because I was bringing a child into the relationship, I felt I couldn’t really say anything. But even once we had three children, nothing changed. Our house was also in his name solely.
Chris kept a close track of my whereabouts. He came across as caring and concerned about my safety, saying he was trying to protect me, but he didn’t want me to go out alone or to spend time with my friends without him. He wanted to be involved in my friendships and in every aspect of my life.
When I suffered post-natal depression and a rollercoaster of hormones made sleep nearly impossible, Chris insisted I stay in bed. He was happier when I had to rely on him, quick to remind me I couldn’t manage without him and that I had nothing else. He’d tell me what a great mother I was to my face, but behind my back, he’d tell people the children were unsettled because of my poor parenting skills.
I noticed he was drinking large quantities of alcohol. I’d find vodka bottles stashed in cupboards and in the recycling. Outwardly, he was high-functioning in his job, but the amount of alcohol he was consuming never let up. He was clever at hiding it from people as he never appeared drunk. When our daughter was just a few weeks old, I discovered that Chris was seeing prostitutes. He denied it and said I was making it up. That I was unwell. I swore to him that if it ever happened again, it was over. In time, it happened again - but instead of denying it, he diverted the blame onto me, saying the assault in my teens had left me unable to satisfy him, and his affairs were justified.
Intuitively, I knew things were far from right, but I was confused. Chris wasn’t physically abusive; he didn’t even raise his voice, but under the radar, he isolated me from others and made me second-guess my grip on reality. I was losing myself.
I wanted him to leave, but he refused, so when he was on a work trip, I gathered up the children, and we left.
Chris threatened suicide and begged me to return. He told our small rural community that I’d left him because I couldn’t cope, that I was unstable. He twisted things around to get their sympathy and support, saying I didn’t care for the children, which further alienated me from school families. He made it look like he was the good dad and that it was me who was screwing things up.
He also began sharing inappropriately with our primary-aged children, using them like therapists. He told them I didn’t care about them, that I didn’t want them, and he burdened them with our financial worries. He put the children in the middle of the situation, and not surprisingly, our son Kayle soon began acting out aggressively, physically and verbally directing his anger onto me. Kayle had his father on a pedestal, believing all the lies Chris fed him. It was heartbreaking to lose Kayle like this and to feel powerless to stop it. Chris blamed Kayle's negative behaviour on me. He said if I just came back, it would all stop. He was trying to guilt me into coming back; his way of controlling me. He’d tell everyone he was still ‘in love’ with me. But that’s not what love looks like – I know that now.
It’s taken a lot of work to stay strong, but with Aviva’s support, plus counselling and friends who’ve been through this too, I’m in a better place now. Co-parenting is the biggest ongoing challenge, so finding support for the kids has been super important. They did the Tamariki Programme, which has helped them understand what they’re going through. They told me, “Our friends just don’t get it, but when we’re there (Aviva’s Tamariki Group), we know they do.” I’m proud they can recognise unhealthy behaviour - even when it’s coming from a parent. It makes me sad that they’ve had to go through this, but I know they’ve learnt things that will make them better able to navigate relationships in life. I’m often surprised by just how on to it they are!
My hope for the future is to simply be happy in the now. I don’t need a man to validate me. I can create a life for myself and my kids. We enjoy biking, hiking, paddleboarding and walking the dog. I just want them to have something of the childhood they deserve. My biggest hope is that they’ll know the unconditional love I have for them and that I’m always here for them.
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If you or someone you care about needs support as a result of family violence, contact Aviva on our free 24/7 support line, call 0800 28 48 26. If there is immediate danger, please call 111.
*Names and some details have been changed for privacy and safety.