Helena Topping's Friends didn't think 'someone like her' would end up in an abusive relationship. But as new legislation is announced, Helena* reflects on how emotional, economical and physical abuse could happen to any one of us
I first met Pete* in my local pub. I was 21 and a student; he was 28 and worked behind the bar. He’d give me free rounds and nicknamed me ‘Little Miss Sunshine’, while my friends cheekily referred to him as ‘the hot barman’ – Pete was good-looking, easy-going and funny. One night when I was out celebrating the end of term with friends, he asked me out. Upfront, flirty and fun – I felt as if Pete was just what I needed. After a few short boozy dates, we went official. He love- bombed me, said I was his ‘dream girl’ – and, within three weeks, told me he loved me. I remember feeling giddy with excitement. That wasn’t to last.
The main lesson I’ve learned from being in an abusive relationship is that it starts small. So small, in fact, that you barely notice it at first. A couple of months in, Pete started putting me down. His remarks were often disguised as jokes, so it was easy to shrug them off. Those little put-downs – the way he called me ‘Princess *Helena’, for instance – soon turned into constant criticism. He slowly started isolating me from friends, making me feel that he was the only person who truly understood me. ‘You’re one of those people everyone loves,’ he’d often say. ‘But they don’t know you like I know you. I know the real Helena.’
Pete was a master manipulator. He’d love to watch me break down piece by piece, then sweep in and be the hero by allowing me to cry on his shoulder. Once, I bought him a new laptop for job applications; he hated using the old computers in the library. I was excited and thought he’d love the gesture. But he said he found the gift patronising and shouted at me for ‘not understanding him’. I was confused and cried until he scooped me up, telling me he loved me and that I was being silly. As always, I’d end up thinking it was my fault, apologising repeatedly. It was trauma-bonding at its finest.
Throughout, I refused to speak to my family or friends about Pete; deep down, I think I knew they would tell me to end things. I tried to confront him about his behaviour but it would always end with him calling me crazy. He called me that a lot – and I really did start thinking it was all in my head. I was so confused by the abuse. In fact, I didn’t even know it was abuse.
Last week, it was announced that non-physical abuse is going to be included in the first legal definition of domestic abuse, including being psychologically coerced and manipulated. I wish I’d known about non-physical abuse when I was with Pete. At the time, there didn’t seem to be anyone talking about it. The focus, instead, was on violence. Rather darkly, I can remember wanting Pete to hit me. I thought if he did that then I would see ‘proof’ of the abuse and not feel like I was going crazy.
Then one evening, about 18 months into our relationship, the physical abuse started. I’d got his takeaway pizza order wrong, and he just flipped. His outrage was tangible. I stood opposite him and laughed nervously as I said, ‘I feel a bit scared Pete.’ ‘What? You feel scared? You feel like I’m going to hit you or something?’ Before I could answer, he smacked me so hard across the face that I fell to my knees. I was numb inside; it was like watching someone else being hit. I didn’t sleep all night, but when he woke up, I told him the relationship would be over if he ever hit me again. He apologised and opened up about his depression. But still, he ended up blaming me, and I wound up feeling bad that I hadn’t been there for him.
Pete went on to hit me several times after that. By this point I was hanging out with my friends less and less. Pete said he felt ‘too old’ around them – and I know a lot of them didn’t like him as they found him controlling. Eventually, I stopped seeing them completely. I was getting more and more wrapped up into a bubble of it being just the two of us where, ironically, I thought I felt safe. Our relationship felt delicate and precious in some way. I now understand this was because the abuse was our secret so it felt strangely intimate. It all came to a head when my sister asked me if Pete was hitting me. After many painful conversations with her and her husband, I finally opened up and broke up with Pete. But I went back five times before I eventually severed all ties. Our relationship had lasted just over two years.
I’m now 27 and in a very loving and healthy relationship, but my experience with Pete still haunts me. It has left me with shattered self-confidence and constant paranoia. It might sound strange but it wasn’t the physical abuse that affected me the most, it was the deep mental abuse. It took me a long time to stop thinking that our relationship had been special and sacred. Even now, I’ve still only told a handful of friends what happened. They’ve all said they never expected ‘someone like me’ – someone con dent and outgoing – to be abused.
Being in an abusive relationship can happen to anyone. According to a 2016 study by Refuge, one woman in four will experience domestic violence at some point. My message is you’re not stupid and you’re certainly not weak. And you’re not alone.
If you are suffering from domestic abuse and need help, please call Refuge on 0808 2000 247
*Names have been changed, image posed by model