why didn't i just leave?

i used to think i would know if it ever happened to me.

i thought i was too intelligent to be manipulated, too independent to be controlled, too outspoken to be intimidated, and too self-respecting to stay with someone who hurt me. i thought if a man ever became violent, that would simply be the end of the relationship.

in Netflix's Maid, Danielle says, "before they hit you, they hit near you. next time, it was gonna be your face."

the first time violence became physical, he punched the wall behind me, his fist landing inches from my face.

but the violence had started long before his fist ever hit anything.

every argument somehow ended with me wondering whether i had misunderstood him, overreacted, remembered something incorrectly, or somehow caused the thing that had hurt me in the first place.

and before control looked like control, it sounded like questions.

where are you going? who are you with? why did you take so long to answer? why does he look at you like that? why do you need to see them? why can't you just tell me?

some of those questions could even pass for concern. but slowly, i found myself explaining more, avoiding more, seeing people less, changing small parts of my life just to prevent another argument.

and every time he crossed a line, i moved the line.

women do not stay because we are stupid. intelligence does not make you immune to manipulation. strength does not erase fear. independence does not stop someone from gradually dismantling your sense of what is normal.

sometimes you stay because, by the time the abuse becomes impossible to explain away, you have already spent months being taught that your memory is unreliable, your reactions are excessive, your boundaries are unreasonable, and your pain is somehow your own fault.

that is what i understand now when people ask, "why didn't she just leave?"

and when someone says it could never happen to them, i just hope they never have to find out.