“You can’t change what you do not understand.” — Marilyn van Derbur
My hope is that if people understand domestic violence, they can begin to prevent it. At first glance, an article about abuse may seem out of place in a magazine for influential women. But success does not make someone immune to domestic violence. Abuse crosses racial and socioeconomic boundaries, and women who are successful in other parts of their lives may find it especially difficult to disclose what is happening at home. They may feel pressure to appear capable, in control, and unaffected. That silence can leave women isolated and at risk.
This is my first account of what I once thought were small, almost harmless incidents. I will share experiences that outsiders may not recognize, but that people living with abuse may understand all too well. Across these stories, the recurring themes are power, control, and manipulation. The message underneath them is: “I am better than you. My needs matter more than yours. Your needs are unimportant, and if you keep bringing them up, I will dismiss them.”
Who would sign up for that? I did.
At the heart of domestic violence is a steady attack on a person’s sense of worth. The abuser’s message is that you are insignificant, undeserving of love, and responsible for the other person’s anger. This breakdown does not necessarily happen all at once. It can come through a series of incidents, repeated day after day, until you start changing your behavior to avoid the next outburst. I could chronicle thousands of these moments from my relationship. They would fill volumes. Instead, I want to revisit two early encounters with anger and control that became part of a much larger pattern.
Abusers do not necessarily reveal their behavior at the beginning of a relationship. In my experience, there was a long courtship during which my future husband seemed pleasant, agreeable, fun, and easygoing. We dated for three years before we married. Looking back, I can identify very few warning signs during those years. The few incidents I did notice did not lead me to conclude that he was dangerous or that we should break up. I was forgiving and loyal, and I gave people the benefit of the doubt. Today, I understand that a person’s charming public self may not show how they will behave in private.
In October 1994, I had known the abuser for about three months. We saw each other frequently. He made time to walk with me after work, cook dinner, go to the movies, and meet friends. He was new to the city, so I enjoyed showing him around. Then I came down with a bad case of the flu. I managed to drive home, but I was too sick to stop for aspirin, 7-Up, or chicken soup. I drew the blinds, crawled into bed, and called him. “I’ll be right over,” he said. I was grateful.
When he arrived, he looked annoyed. He had never seen me functioning below 100 percent. I was pale, feverish, and lying in bed. “I’m sick,” I told him. He asked, “Where is your aspirin? Do you have any chicken soup?” I said “No”. Then he launched into an angry string of questions: “I can’t believe you’re out of aspirin. Why don’t you have any chicken soup?” Why are you so lame, you are a poor excuse for a person.
I suffered from migraines and was usually never without aspirin. I can’t remember another time when I had run out. But at that moment, his questions did not feel like concern. His voice grew sharper with each one. I told him I was too sick to go to the store. He asked how I expected to get better without those supplies. Then he searched my kitchen cabinets, found soup, and made it.
What confused me was how intense his reaction was compared with the situation. I felt ashamed for not having the right supplies, as if I had done something irresponsible. I found myself defending why I had run out, then wishing I had called someone else. He made the soup and left because he did not want to catch my illness. Afterward, I thought, “He doesn’t have a good bedside manner.” He had many positive qualities, so I let the incident go. We never discussed it again.
Once I recovered, I bought several cans of chicken soup and three bottles of aspirin. That detail matters because it shows how I responded: I changed my behavior to avoid making him angry again. I believed that if I never ran out of those supplies, I would never have to face that hostility. Instead of asking why he had treated me that way, I tried to prevent a repeat by making sure I could not be criticized for the same thing.
That pattern continued. When someone is repeatedly blamed or frightened, it can become easier to focus on preventing the next outburst than on challenging the negative behavior itself. I was not responsible for his anger, but I began acting as if managing it were my job. Over time, I found myself compensating for his choices in other parts of our family life, too. I tried to provide our daughters with the unconditional love I felt they were not receiving from him, filling the gaps I believed he had created.
The second incident took place in October 1996, when we arrived in Mexico. I was thrilled. I had never been out of the country, and I was excited by the warm air and the promise of a week at the beach. My future husband spoke Spanish, so we moved smoothly through customs and took a taxi to our hotel. During the ride, he asked, “Do you have a dollar to tip the driver?” I said “No”; I only had larger bills. He repeated the question, sounding more urgent. Then he said, “I can’t believe you don’t have a dollar!”
I asked whether he had one. He said “No”, and I accepted his answer without criticism. But he repeated his complaint several times, each time more angrily. I looked out the window, wondering how I had ended up in a taxi without a single U.S. dollar. At the time, the exchange rate meant the tip was only about eight pesos. I thought his reaction was bizarre, almost funny. I did not ask why I was being blamed when neither of us had change, or why we could not simply get some when we reached the hotel.
Now I see that the argument was not really about the money. It left me confused and off balance, as if I had failed at something that was somehow my responsibility. I cannot know exactly what he intended at that moment, but I can see how the exchange fit a pattern: his anger set the terms, and I adjusted myself around it. As with the soup, I learned to prepare for the next time. I made sure I had change for tipping when we went out. I treated his reaction as a problem I could solve by being more prepared.
Hindsight makes these encounters look clearer than they felt at the time. The abuse in our relationship grew gradually. At first, the incidents were subtle and spread out. Later, they came daily, sometimes several times a day. No matter what I did, it was not enough. When I met one standard, the standard changed. I would do whatever he asked, then he would ask for more. My efforts went unrecognized because the goalposts kept moving.
These two stories are only the tip of the iceberg. I dismissed them because I did not yet understand the pattern. If I had challenged his behavior, I might have learned that, in his eyes, my being sick without chicken soup was still my fault. There was little room for grace. Whether I was missing soup or a dollar, the expectation seemed to be that I would take responsibility—and that the consequences for falling short would grow worse over time.
I wish I had said, “People run out of soup. Why are you yelling at me when I’m the one who is sick?” Or, “Neither of us has a dollar. Let’s get change at the hotel.” But I did not. I hope sharing these memories helps someone notice the imbalance sooner. One angry exchange does not, by itself, tell you everything about a relationship. But repeated blame, intimidation, and pressure to manage someone else’s anger deserve attention. If these stories feel familiar, please talk with someone you trust and take your concerns seriously. You are not responsible for another person’s abuse, and you deserve support. Domestic violence can be prevented, and understanding its patterns is a place to begin.
About the Author
Julie Federico is an award-winning children’s author, former middle school counselor, and advocate for violence prevention and child safety. Her work addresses important social issues, including domestic violence prevention, child abuse awareness, friendship challenges, and school violence prevention. Drawing on her professional experience and firsthand involvement in the Columbine shootings as a first responder, Federico brings a deep understanding of the challenges faced by children, families, and communities.
Her acclaimed books, including Anger Is OKAY, Violence Is NOT, Some Parts Are NOT for Sharing, The Bad Guys, and Students Can Help Keep Schools Safe, help readers recognize warning signs, understand difficult situations, and take meaningful steps toward prevention. Through her accessible and educational writing, Federico continues to promote awareness, empower individuals, and encourage safer, more supportive environments for women, children, and families.
Learn more at www.juliefederico.com.
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