When Love Turns Violent: The Personal and Public Crisis of Domestic Abuse
By Trinity Barnette
A Pattern That’s Personal
When I was younger, I watched my mom run my father over with a car. She did it in self-defense—after he attacked her, after he hit her car with a chair, and after I sat in the backseat silently watching it all happen. That moment didn’t just stay in the past—it shaped me. It showed me how dangerous love can become when control takes over, when fear replaces safety, and when abuse hides behind closed doors.
Today, I write not just as a survivor of witnessing domestic violence, but as an activist who refuses to stay silent. We’re watching Cassie Ventura take the stand against Sean “Diddy” Combs, detailing years of alleged abuse, manipulation, coercion, and trauma. And instead of protecting her, the defense tried to paint her as unstable, willing, even complicit.
That’s what society does to survivors.
What Domestic Violence Really Is
Domestic violence isn’t just about bruises. It’s not always about black eyes or broken bones. It’s about power. Control. Isolation. Humiliation. Fear. It includes:
Physical abuse
Emotional and psychological manipulation
Financial control
Coercive sex
Gaslighting
Threats and intimidation
According to the Law Office of Louis J. Goodman, domestic violence refers to “the misuse of power and control by one intimate partner against another,” and it often builds slowly before it explodes.
The Stats Don’t Lie
Here’s what we know:
Over 12 million people in the U.S. experience intimate partner violence annually.
1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men will experience severe physical violence in their lifetime.
Nearly 50% of women and men have endured psychological aggression from a partner.
Among women aged 18–24, 77% have already suffered abuse by the same offender more than once.
These numbers aren’t just data—they’re people. People like Cassie. People like my mom. People like me.
The Lasting Impact on Children: What They Carry Into Adulthood
Children who witness domestic violence don’t just witness harm—they absorb it. Even if they’re never physically hit, the emotional shrapnel still lodges deep. And too often, the effects follow them for life.
For me, it showed up as hyper-vigilance and insomnia. I became a night owl because night felt safe. My dad worked nights, and when he was gone, the house exhaled. No walking on eggshells. No sudden yelling. No unpredictability. Daytime was when things could explode. Nighttime was the only time I could breathe.
That’s the thing about kids who grow up in violence—we adapt, but at a cost.
Some children become people-pleasers or emotionally shut down, constantly anticipating other people’s needs while ignoring their own. Others may act out, mirroring the chaos they saw—believing anger is the only way to feel powerful or in control.
And in some heartbreaking cases, the cycle repeats. Children who witness abuse may become abusers themselves, or enter abusive relationships without realizing that what they experienced wasn’t love—it was manipulation and domination. The normalization of violence can skew their entire understanding of intimacy, respect, and self-worth.
This doesn’t happen because they’re bad kids. It happens because they never felt safe. And when a child never feels safe, they’ll do anything—consciously or unconsciously—to gain a sense of power, even if it mirrors the very harm they once feared.
That’s why breaking the cycle matters. That’s why speaking up matters. Because every child deserves to know peace isn’t just something that happens when the house goes dark—it’s something they are worthy of in every hour of the day.
The Abuser’s Mindset: It’s Not About Anger—It’s About Power
One of the biggest lies society tells is that abuse is about losing control. It’s not. It’s about maintaining it—strategically, consistently, and often silently.
Abusers don’t explode out of nowhere. Most are calculated. They know when to perform kindness and when to punish. They know how to isolate without raising alarms. They don’t hurt every partner. They hurt the ones they believe they can control.
According to DomesticShelters.org, many abusers share certain traits:
A need for control
Deep entitlement
Manipulative charm
Refusal to take accountability
Jealousy disguised as love
A pattern of minimizing or denying abuse
They’re often seen as charismatic, helpful, or even “good guys” to the outside world—because image control is part of the game. They don’t just want their partner’s submission. They want everyone else to think they’re incapable of harm.
Esther Company explains it best: abuse is not just about what they do—it’s about what they believe. Their mindset is shaped by the idea that they are owed something. That they are superior. That domination is a right, not a red flag.
And Catholic Charities AZ breaks down this cycle through the Power and Control Wheel—a tool that maps out tactics abusers use:
Emotional abuse (insults, gaslighting, humiliation)
Isolation (cutting off support systems)
Financial abuse (controlling money or access)
Threats, intimidation, coercion
Using children as leverage
Minimizing, denying, or blaming
It’s all about making the victim doubt their reality. Doubt their worth. Doubt their options.
That’s why it’s not enough to just recognize abuse once it’s physical. We have to understand the mindset behind it—and stop making excuses for it. Anger doesn’t cause abuse. Entitlement does.
Why Victim-Blaming Is Violence in Disguise
Every time someone asks, “Why didn’t she leave?” or “Why did she stay?”—they’re not just asking a question. They’re protecting an abuser.
Victim-blaming is one of the most insidious weapons used against survivors—and it’s everywhere. In courtrooms. In friend groups. In media headlines. And it almost always puts the responsibility on the person harmed, not the person doing the harm.
According to Welsh Women’s Aid, victim-blaming shifts focus away from the abuser’s actions and instead scrutinizes the survivor’s reactions. It asks, “What could she have done differently?” instead of “Why did he feel entitled to do this?”
But let’s be clear:
Survivors stay because they’re scared.
Because they’ve been financially cut off.
Because they’re trauma bonded.
Because leaving often makes things more dangerous.
Because they’ve been manipulated into believing it’s their fault.
DVSN.org explains that society is more comfortable believing that survivors are to blame—because if we admit anyone can be abused, we have to admit anyone could be an abuser. That discomfort becomes denial. And that denial becomes silence.
BetterHelp adds that victim-blaming is often rooted in the just world fallacy—the idea that bad things only happen to “bad people.” So if a woman is abused, people want to believe she must have caused it or tolerated it, just to protect their illusion of control.
But abuse is not about poor choices. It’s about power. And survivors should not have to perform “perfect victimhood” to be believed.
They shouldn’t have to have clean records, polite tones, or immediate police reports. They shouldn’t be interrogated for surviving.
They should be protected, supported, and heard.
I’m Still Here. And I’m Still Fighting.
I grew up watching abuse. I watched my mother fight for her life—with me in the backseat. I watched my own nervous system reshape itself just to survive. And I’ve watched too many women be blamed, silenced, and disbelieved simply for not dying at the hands of the men who hurt them.
But I’m still here. And I’m not done talking.
Cassie Ventura’s bravery reminded the world what so many of us already know: abuse doesn’t always leave visible scars. Sometimes it leaves silence. Sometimes it leaves shame. Sometimes it leaves a woman testifying while pregnant, just trying to reclaim her voice.
I’ve written about domestic violence before—and I will continue to write about it until the numbers shift. Until the justice system protects victims. Until women are safe in their own homes, in their own bodies, in their own choices.
Because the moment we stop talking, the cycle wins.
And I refuse to let it.
