Unfortunately, the number of victims of domestic (household) violence is on the rise, regardless of a society’s level of social development, education, or a family’s income. In addition to the most well-known forms of violence—physical and sexual violence—there are also verbal, material, psychological, and other forms of violence. Let’s also not forget about deprivation (the denial of basic needs: food, sleep, clothing, medical care, education, the right to one’s own opinion, to one’s own possessions and personal space, the right to make one’s own choices, etc.).
More often than not, several types of abuse occur simultaneously. In a family with an alcoholic parent, for example, the likelihood of economic or psychological abuse increases. Much has already been said about sexual abuse in conjunction with alcohol dependence. In a family with at least one alcoholic, all forms of abuse may occur. Most often, victims choose to remain silent about the trauma they have suffered. The secret may come to light many years later, when the source of the abuse no longer has any influence over the former victim.
It’s human nature to forget the bad things; that’s just how our minds work. But we remind ourselves and everyone else that, when it comes to abuse, it’s important to ask for outside help, no matter how embarrassing or uncomfortable it may be.
Saving yourself and your mental health is the most important thing in a situation like this.
Dima, 25 years old
Born in Belarus, he has lived in Minsk his entire adult life. He emigrated to Poland in 2021. He lives not only in Poland but also in Ukraine (half a year there, half a year here). Senior Graphic & UI/UX Designer
© LICKMYGLITCH
“I was born into a family with a typical Soviet mindset. My father had troubled parents, which is why he grew up in an orphanage. My mother grew up in a family with strict rules and discipline. According to my mother, she didn’t really want to marry my father, but under pressure from her parents—who kept saying, ‘What will the neighbors think?’—she took that step anyway. I constantly wonder what my life might have been like with a different father—or without a father at all—because what I’m about to tell you will come as a shock.
Ever since I was born, my father has had a negative attitude toward me. According to my mother, he tried to strangle me when I was very young and crying. I don’t know why she didn’t realize at the time that she needed to run away from a man like that. There are still so many questions that remain unanswered to this day. My father would often let slip that I wasn’t his son (even though my facial features, body type, and hair color make it perfectly clear—I am undoubtedly his son). At first, we lived in a three-room apartment with my mom’s sister. There were eight of us in the apartment. My mom, my father, my mom’s sister, her husband, their son, and my grandparents. Things were really bad; we had no money. My mom would go around to the neighbors asking for money, food, and whatever else they could give us. A little later, my father was given an apartment (children who have grown up in orphanages are provided with public housing once they reach a certain age), and we moved. Life wasn’t easy until my father got a job through a connection at a construction company. After that, things slowly started to get better.
Now let’s move on to what started happening once I was old enough to understand. Sometimes I wish I could erase my memory so I wouldn’t remember any of it. Alas, this will stay with me for the rest of my life. Starting in third grade, my father’s attitude toward me became very harsh. His strict upbringing turned into a kind of abuse of a child. My father would beat me for every piece of homework I failed to write down, and he would raise his voice, which would leave me frozen in shock. Looking back on that state now, I realize that my nervous system had developed some kind of reflex to the sound of a raised voice. My brain would simply shut down, and I’d stand there frozen in place. My father would call my classmates to find out what my homework was, all while swearing at me so that everyone could hear. Then he’d grab a belt with a metal buckle and beat me on my legs, back, and wherever else he could reach. One moment I remember especially well is when my father came into my room, saw the handwriting in my notebook, grabbed the belt, then grabbed me by the neck and threw me out of the room into the hallway. I flew about two meters past the bedroom, where my mom was lying on the bed. She saw me fall to the floor, and then my father started yelling, “Get up! I told you to show your mother how you write in your notebook—like a chicken with its foot.” Mom didn’t say a word; I was expecting some kind of defense from her, but there was only silence in response. At that moment, I realized there would be no protection from her.
There were times when my father would leave me with bruises that were simply impossible to miss. As a child, I was the shortest in my class, with protruding ears. As a result, I became a punching bag even at school. Word of my father’s calls spread quickly throughout the school; the kids laughed at me, and the teachers just added fuel to the fire. I found no support at school—it only made things worse. At some point, I just started acting out to spite them. I started coming home late from school on purpose, completely ignored my homework assignments, and showed up late to practice (I did track and field). But what difference did it make? Even if I did everything right, I’d still be punished. My revenge turned into hatred for my father. My father probably sensed this, and the punishments became even harsher. One evening, they made me kneel on buckwheat in the corner; I stood on my knees on that very buckwheat for several hours. You can’t even imagine that pain. The pain was so excruciating that my knees still ached for the entire following week.
Whenever I complained to my mom, she would reply, “We were punished even more severely.” When we visited my mom’s friends, I’d watch my dad play with other kids—giving them piggyback rides, playing “horse,” and bringing them gifts. Just so you understand, my dad never took me anywhere my whole life. I’d never been to a zoo or a circus… My dad simply didn’t care about my attempts to get closer to him. Every single one of my mom’s friends would say what a wonderful husband she had, but no one believed me. I felt like I was going crazy. My father constantly told me the worst things. He said I was an idiot, that I’d never amount to anything in life, and he constantly humiliated and insulted me.
I can say that I didn't have a childhood. Yes, I played with my friends on the street, but I was punished so often that even my friends started making fun of me.
There were times when my father would come home from work and take his frustration out on me right on the street. When my friends asked, “Is Dima coming out to hang out?” the answers were along the lines of, “He’ll never come out—he’s grounded,” and when they asked, “How long is Dima grounded? When will he be able to go out?” he’d reply, “Forever—he’ll never be allowed out.” My daily schedule was very strict: school, practice, homework, extracurriculars, after-school programs, art class, and much more. I tried to please my father so that he would treat me more gently, and I even took up his favorite sport—track and field. I started winning medals, but in response, I heard nothing but criticism and insults. If you analyze all the ways my father bullied me, you can conclude that in 90 percent of cases, he did it in front of someone else. Mostly in front of my mom—perhaps to assert his authority, or maybe for some other reason (these are just my guesses).
At some point, my father started disappearing while at work. He would stay overnight at job sites, and my mother began to suspect something. It turned out that my father had taken up with another woman. He treated the woman’s daughter well, but whenever he came home, he would beat me. My mom filed for divorce, and before I knew it, they were divorced. My mom already had an apartment, but it was bare—we couldn’t move away from my dad and live separately. We lived together. It was unbearable. My father would come home after spending time with his mistress, argue with my mother, and so on, endlessly. At some point, the mistress left him, and he started groveling to my mother to get back into the family. My mother believed him, but my father didn’t change. The scandals and arguments at home led to my father starting to drink. When he drank, he would simply snap; his mind would shut down, and he would beat not only me but also my mother. That became the starting point of a downward spiral. Domestic violence was now directed not only at me but also at my mom. Why my mom didn’t leave at that point—I don’t know.
On one of those usual days of abuse, my mom ran away to a friend’s house, while my dad got drunk and went to sleep at home. She didn’t take me with her because she was fleeing from my dad at the speed of sound. At some point, my father woke up—still drunk—and asked me to come to bed with him. In the middle of the night, he started pressing himself against me harder and harder, wrapping his arms around me. I could feel his penis pressed against my buttocks. I was terrified, but thank God, my father didn’t go through with it because I started crying. In the morning, I went to school and tried to forget all about it. By the way, this wasn’t the first time I’d been sexually assaulted by a relative.
The first act of sexual assault was committed by my cousin. He’s older than me. As I mentioned earlier, we all lived together in the same apartment at first. According to my mom, one day she walked into the room, and he jumped away from me—and I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I don’t remember that; I was too young. But I do remember his subsequent sexual advances. It happened more than once. My cousins and I often played different games at home when I visited them (after I had already moved out). One of the games was hide-and-seek. One day, I hid in the closet, and that same brother climbed in after me and started touching my penis, saying that those were the rules of the game. On one occasion, he forced me to give him a blowjob. I saw it as a game at the time, though I now realize that it was simply sexual assault.
Why didn’t I tell my mom about this? That’s exactly what my mom asked herself when I finally mustered the courage to tell her about it in 2021. How could I have told my mother when I didn’t see her as a source of protection? I told her that my father was beating me. She saw it—and what did she do? Nothing. She defended my father’s reputation in front of her friends. In my family, we had the same rule as in my mom’s childhood: “What will others think of our family?” That’s exactly why I kept it to myself and tried to forget about it. I endured it all and waited for the moment when I’d turn 18, move far away, and never come back. My childhood dream was either to die or to grow up and move far away so my father would never find me. My life was like hell.
Fortunately, the boomerang effect played a cruel joke on my father. In mid-December 2012, we had guests over. Everyone was drinking and having a good time. Nothing foreshadowed trouble, when suddenly my father got drunk. He started a fight with my mother over his mistress. A brawl broke out. My mother’s friend tried to pull my father away from her, for which she also got slapped in the face by him. My father hit my mother in the face, then went out to the balcony to smoke. My mother ran to pack up my things and hers. We were moving so fast that I started having a panic attack. As I was leaving the apartment, I remembered that I’d forgotten my laptop. I went back inside, and my mom was waiting for me in the common hallway. My dad grabbed me by the neck and threw me out of the apartment, saying, “Take your little bastard and get the hell out of here”—those were his exact words. We went to my mom’s sister’s place. My mom’s friend couldn’t believe her eyes; she realized I was telling the truth. The neighbors were in shock, too; everyone quickly figured out what had happened. My father came to my mother’s sister’s house to apologize and asked her to come back, but I told my mother firmly, “If you go back, I’ll kill myself; I can’t live like this anymore.”
Even though we had moved in with my mother’s sister, I still had to go to school. My textbooks were still at home with my father, and I needed to go pick them up so I could go to school. Early in the morning, I drove home and went inside. My dad was on his knees, crying and begging us to come back. I replied, “I hate you. If Mom goes back to you, I’ll either run away or kill myself—you’ve ruined my whole life.” Then I left for school. That evening, Mom received a text message from Dad: “Apologize to Dima, and you forgive me too—I didn’t want any of this.” We didn’t react at all, since Dad was constantly threatening suicide to get Mom to come back.
That morning, I went to pick up some more textbooks. As I inserted the key into the door, a chill ran down my spine because something fell out of the lock on the other side (the lock was double-sided, meaning that if you inserted a key on one side and a second key was in the same position on the other side —it would fall out). But from the sound, I realized it wasn’t a key. When I opened the door, I saw a knife on the floor, and a beam of light was streaming from the bathroom. When I opened the bathroom door, I saw my father hanging there. Of course, this scared me, but deep down I was glad: after all, this hell was finally over. I calmly turned around and went to the neighbors. They had already called my mom and summoned the police. After that, everything was a blur. I remember sitting there, staring at the wall, thinking it all over. Maybe my father had hanged himself because of what I’d said, or because of yet another dose of heroin, but none of that mattered—the abuse was over.
After the body was taken away, we were summoned to the district attorney’s office to discuss my father’s death. I don’t remember exactly what questions the prosecutor asked me, but I clearly remember telling her how much I hated him and how glad I was that he was dead. After that, a psychologist worked with me. Everyone at school was in shock. I was in 9th grade. I hardly went to school for the rest of the year; my teachers and the principal helped me pass my final exams. Then I moved into my mom’s apartment. I thought that from that moment on, I’d be free. But I had no idea yet that I’d have to deal with the damage my father had caused.
Now that I’m working with a psychologist, I understand why I started lying—why my subsequent relationships didn’t work out, why I made up stories that never happened, and so on. I created a “glass capsule” for myself that I believed in; I lived inside it in my dreams and thoughts—I wanted to believe in it. Later, I realized that I was gay. That added its own negative aspects. You can read about this in another article. Over time, thanks to a psychologist, my shell cracked, but it happened very late (in 2021, when I had already left Belarus). Because of my lies, I lost many good people, and I deeply regret that. But I couldn’t do it any other way. I wasn’t taught how to live without lies, nor was I taught how to love. In my childhood, I saw nothing but violence, betrayal, and lies.
I’m living a new life now. Of course, I’ll be dealing with the fallout for a long time to come, but I try not to think about it. I try to be honest with people, even though I don’t always succeed. Fortunately, I have dear friends in Ukraine and Poland who accept me for who I am, with all my flaws. I’m in a relationship, and I’m happy. I’m working on my future, because I can’t change my past. Sometimes my father’s behavioral traits slip out, and it scares me. I really hope I never become like him. Have I forgiven him? No. And I never will. I don’t care that he’s no longer alive—you just don’t forgive something like that. I thank the universe for protecting me and pulling me out of that cycle of abuse. I don’t know what would have happened if it hadn’t ended. Most likely, I would have just “jumped out the window.”
Here’s the advice I want to give: Think twice before having children. Take psychological tests, consult with doctors… You need to be sure that you’re mentally and physically capable of raising a child. Of course, you can’t be prepared for everything. Also, to everyone who has experienced violence—don’t stay silent about it. The longer you stay silent, the worse it will get. Your silence can lead to irreversible consequences. In my story, I’ve only told you a fraction of the horror I went through. It takes you just a few minutes to read this, but for me, it felt like an eternity.
And I want to say that my mom is the person closest to me. Despite my childhood and everything that happened, I spent most of my time with her. She helped me with my homework, and I could always go to her with my problems. Yes, I couldn’t tell her everything, but she was the one who always told me how much she loved me. Now that I’m old enough to understand, I realize why women who find themselves in situations of domestic violence can’t leave their partners. It’s called psychological dependence, and it’s tragic. My mother admitted her mistake. When I told her everything in 2021 (including the sexual abuse), she apologized through her tears. I really miss having her by my side; she became even closer to me when I opened up to her and told her about my sexual orientation. I realized that she accepts me just as I am—for better or for worse—with all my flaws. Thanks to my mom, I’ve become who I am today. Thanks to her, I’ve made my dream come true—I’ve become a designer. My mother will always support me and always give me the strength to keep moving forward.
"I've hugged everyone. Love one another and be loved."
Comment by Psychologist A. (crisis psychologist and expert on domestic violence):
The authorities may view a comment or interview with “Doberman.media” as a violation of the law (our magazine supports the LGBTQ community). Such a “violation” could result in arrest or an actual prison sentence. Psychologist A. is a crisis psychologist and an expert on domestic violence. We have complete confidence in the author and have no doubts about her competence.
In my professional life, I’ve had to listen to many difficult stories. Dima’s account of a “life like hell” shook me to the core. One can only imagine the shock and horror this child experienced, being systematically beaten by his father, publicly flogged, rejected at school and in the neighborhood, and sexually abused. In addition, the boy witnessed violence against his mother. There was no support from loved ones; teachers and doctors failed to notice the bruises on his body; no one told him, “This shouldn’t be happening to you,” “You don’t deserve this,” or “This isn’t normal.” His basic need for safety was chronically unmet. The child lived in a chaotic, aggressive world, feeling helpless and powerless. He has no way to escape; he cannot protect himself or his mother, and he cannot actively protest because it is dangerous. There is no safe place. He dreams of dying or moving far away when he grows up.
Trauma distorts reality. The child feels bad and inadequate, even though he excels in sports and attends art school. Only their shortcomings are noticed, and this is followed by harsh punishment. Rebuke, criticism, condemnation, beatings, and sarcasm foster the belief that "I am guilty and deserve to be punished.", "Am I being rejected, and will no one ever love me?". If a child is convinced that it is impossible to love him or her, he or she will find evidence to support that belief. Thus, in the long term, child abuse leads to serious problems in the child’s present and future life. Abuse has a negative impact on cognitive development and affects academic performance. It is difficult to be effective in one’s professional life. Poorly developed communication skills affect interpersonal relationships. And constant, excessive stress poses a risk to physical and mental health. Children who are subjected to violence have difficulty internalizing social norms; they are highly likely to lie, act aggressively, smoke, abuse alcohol, and may use drugs. With an unmet need for love and attention, they may enter into complicated and unhealthy relationships. Low self-esteem contributes to feelings of guilt, shame, and inadequacy. They may experience bouts of intense anxiety or anger, panic, despair, and loneliness, and may develop depression.
I can only imagine what state Dima’s mother was in—since, according to him, she initially didn’t actively protest or do anything to protect her child from his father’s anger. She had probably learned from experience that if she stood up for him, his anger would only grow, and his negativity would only intensify. So she had to shrink back and endure it. Suppressing her emotions took a lot of energy. She barely managed to survive. There isn’t enough strength left for anything. The feelings that arise in a situation of constant danger—intense emotional pain, anger, fear, anxiety, resentment, guilt, shame, grief, and despair—become unbearable. Defense mechanisms kick in. To make the pain less unbearable, she has to numb her experiences and shut off her emotions. Victims of violence stop feeling anything. This does not happen without consequences for their mental and physical health. Chronic illnesses begin to manifest; immunity declines; and depressive states—marked by apathy, sleep disturbances, loss of appetite, and obsessive thoughts—become increasingly severe. Memory, attention, and productivity are impaired. They lose their sense of purpose in life. Often, even in this state, people do not seek medical or psychotherapeutic help. And even when they do see a doctor, they do not always link their symptoms to the situation of domestic violence. In this state, it is difficult to take action, make a decision, or leave these dangerous relationships. They lack the time and space to recover, to realize where they are, and to figure out what to do about it. “Learned helplessness” sets in—a stage of exhaustion that becomes a habitual state for victims of violence.
In most cases, a woman who has experienced domestic violence cannot overcome its consequences on her own. She needs professional help from specialists—specifically, psychologists and social workers who have the specialized knowledge, skills, and experience working with this group of people. For some reason, I’m sure that some of those who read Dmitry’s story condemned his mother. This is a typical reaction among the general public—blaming the victim. “Why didn’t she leave?” “Why didn’t she protect him?” But this is her misfortune, not her fault. I think this woman has her own life story with the abuser, one that remained unknown to her son. It’s often dangerous for women to leave, as there are serious threats at that moment. Partners threaten murder, suicide, or taking the children away, claiming she “is failing at her duties as a mother.” Women are influenced by relatives and numerous stereotypes. And sometimes there’s simply nowhere to go. After all, her parents are more concerned not with the well-being of their daughter and grandson, but with “what the neighbors will say.” Only the perpetrator can put an end to the violence.
I can surmise that the perpetrator of domestic violence behaves this way due to intense internal tension. His inappropriate behavior stems from a low level of self-acceptance. This person is solely focused on his own emotional state. To achieve this, he needs his son to be a top student and succeed in all areas of life. He cannot bear the thought of being considered a “bad parent.” Dima points out that his father’s parents were dysfunctional and that he was raised in a boarding school. It is highly likely that the aggressor grew up in an environment where he was subjected to various forms of abuse. BUT THIS MAN IS BEHAVING CRIMINALLY. If we apply the “180-degree” exercise and imagine that someone else were behaving this way toward him—with the same “good intentions”—it would hardly be acceptable in the least. And it’s hard to imagine that there wouldn’t be consequences—most likely criminal ones—if he were to treat someone outside his family in this way. After all, it’s unlikely anyone would remain silent and not contact law enforcement if a neighbor or colleague hit them. Especially if it happened repeatedly. And it doesn’t matter how the accused tries to explain it. This is UNACCEPTABLE.
An adult should care for a child, create a safe and comfortable environment, and provide support and love.
It seems that Dima’s father was somewhat dependent on the opinions of those around him. He is a manipulator who uses a wide array of manipulative techniques. He plays with other people’s children, brings them gifts, and pays compliments to his mother’s friends. In this way, he gains the attention and approval of others. But such people have no conscience or compassion; they lack empathy and are cold and indifferent to the pain and suffering of their own child and spouse.
He acts cruelly when he feels he can get away with it. It is, above all, those closest to him who suffer at the hands of such a person. Unfortunately, such antisocial individuals are prone to incest.
Why does this happen?
There is more than one reason. First and foremost, it is the woman’s own past experiences. Similar things happened in her family of origin. “I was punished even more harshly,” she says. That’s how her neighbors or relatives lived. And a certain view of the world takes shape in a person’s mind: such situations are inevitable—that’s just how everyone lives. I would cite a lack of knowledge about domestic violence as the second reason. If a woman knew that if her child is being choked or grabbed by the neck, then she is living with a potential murderer and needs to flee. Domestic violence is a process characterized by periods of tension and active violence, interspersed with periods when one wants to stay and continue living there. In the story presented, we know that the mother’s friends are jealous of her. This means that he sometimes behaves appropriately, which gives hope that he is capable of this and that such behavior can be earned. It is important to distinguish between the conflicts that exist in any relationship and domestic violence. The consequences of domestic violence include personality distortion, traumatic experiences in children, symptoms of PTSD, mental disorders, and physical health problems, disability, and homicides and suicides among both victims and perpetrators (as we see in the life story presented here). Specific individuals suffer. Society and the state bear the losses.
What should I do about this?
First and foremost, it is important to understand that, over time, violence tends to intensify, escalate, and occur more frequently. It cannot simply disappear on its own as if by magic. The abuser has internalized this pattern of behavior. Apparently, whenever the mother and son leave the house, the abuser feels desperate and, kneeling down, tries to get them to come back. But he doesn’t know how to communicate in any other way; he simply cannot imagine what a healthy approach might look like. He has never had that kind of experience in his life.
All family members need specialized support to overcome the consequences and break the cycle of violence passed down from one generation to the next. There are programs designed to work with perpetrators of violence. At the same time—and above all—long-term support is needed for victims of violence.
In her relationship with Dima, it’s important for Mom to acknowledge that this “really happened,” to express empathy, to talk through her emotions, and to say the words that matter to him: “I’m sorry you had to go through this,” “I’m very sad,” “I’ve always loved you and I still do.”
The past really cannot be changed. It can "catch up" with memories and nightmares for a long time. And it's great that Dima found good specialists who helped him realize and rethink what happened. I hope that the traumatic experience will open up an opportunity for self-development, post-traumatic growth and a return to a full life.
I am grateful to Dima for his openness, courage and trust. Usually they prefer to keep silent about it, they want to hide it and forget it. I liked his advice that you need to consciously enter into a relationship, plan the birth of children. The sad experience of many victims of violence shows that we cannot remain indifferent if we notice wounds and abrasions, hear the screams of a child or a woman behind the wall. After all, each of us probably knows at least one story of violence from our acquaintances. We can talk about it, lend a helping hand, give the necessary contact, report an offense.
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