No Visible Bruises

No Visible Bruises

Adult non fiction
I was engaged in 1984. It was the year between my college
graduation and my abortive first attempt at graduate school. We went
very quickly from meeting to relationship. On the surface we seemed
like a perfect pair. He was always taking me places and buying me
expensive gifts. He charmed my friends and family. But I saw a side
of him they didn't. He had a temper. It was never directed to me,
but I caught glimpses of it in stories he told me. He was jealous.
He didn't like me spending much time with anyone but him. He was
suspicious, always wanting to know who I was with or talking to on the
phone. I began to see red flags. I confronted him. He said his ex
had been unfaithful. That was why he had a hard time trusting me. I
could understand but felt that I deserved better. I advised him to
seek counseling to help him cope with his issues. I gave him three
months. If he hadn't at least tried I would break up. My friends and
family were shocked by my behavior. He was such a great guy and
obviously adored me. He'd never hurt me. We didn't last the three
months. He announced that he'd be buying us a house in New Hampshire
on a way out in the boonies lake. Here was one red flag too many--
isolation. He said I had a choice--him or graduate school. I chose
not him. He asked why. I said, "There are better ways to make the
6:00 news than being carted out in a body bag." I was sure going with
him would be a fatal mistake.
Over the years I've rarely thought about what became in
retrospect a minor chapter in my life, especially in the years I've
been married to a wonderful man. But when I read Rachel Louise
Snyder's No Visible Bruises: What We Don't Know About Domestic
Violence Can Kill Us it was like a punch to the gut. All those red
flags were not my imagination. Probably the only reason I got out of
that relationship was that I got out of it fast. If I'd given him the
second chance or additional time friends and family encouraged me to I
could have become enmeshed too much to break free. If I'd gone to the
boonies with him I would have become trapped by financial dependence.
That was back when domestic issues were considered private family
matters--nothing to do with crime. I so easily could have become one
of Snyder's cautionary tales.
"Domestic violence is like no other crime. It does not happen
in a vacuum. It does not happen because someone is in the wrong place
at the wrong time. Our homes and families are supposed to be sacred
territory, the "haven in a heartless world," as my college sociology
teacher drilled into me...This is part of what makes it so untenable.
It's violence from someone you know, from someone who claims to love
you..."
As Snyder begins the book she is visiting a guy named Paul
Monson. In 2001 his son-in-law, Rocky Mosure, bought a gun and took
it home. His wife, Michelle, had just fed their children, Kristy, 7,
and Kyle, 6. Rocky shot them all before taking his own life. Paul
was the one who found his loved ones That doomed family's story is a
strand interwoven through the book, tying together the various strands
of Snyder's narrative.
For one thing, there's the sheer magnitude of the problem.
"...Between 2000 and 2006 3,200 American soldiers were killed;
during that same period, domestic homicide in the United States
claimed 10,600 lives...Twenty people in the United States are
assaulted every minute by their partners. Former United Nations
Secretary-General Kofi Annan called violence against women and girls
the 'most shameful human rights violation' and the World Health
Organization called it a 'global health problem of epidemic
proportions.' A study put out by the United Nations Office on Drugs
and Crime cited fifty thousand women around the world were killed by
partners or family members in 2017 alone..."
At the same time as she lays these mind-numbing numbers on us,
Snyder makes them less abstract with plenty of narratives of people
very much like her readers only trapped in traumatic situations.
Bresha was a teen whose mother, Brandi, had been beaten her so badly
by her husband that she'd had injuries such as brain damage and broken
ribs. At one point Brandi was so damaged that the hospital had called
in a priest to administer last rites. There was a reprieve when
Brandi got a protective order and moved herself and her children out
of harm's eat. But when they dropped the order and moved back to
their tormenter it was too much for her daughter to cope with. At
fourteen Bresha used her father's gun to shoot him as he was sleeping.
Snyder invalidates many of the myths most of us have bought into
such as the idea that moving victims and their children into a
shelter, our default option in most places, is always a viable
solution. One she really shreds is the idea that if the situation was
that bad a woman would take her children and leave. Not only do
abusers often place their victims in situations of financial
dependency, but living with violence and volatility can actually
change brain functioning.
Although too many people, unfortunately including folks in
professions like law enforcement, are still operating by outmoded ways
in relation to domestic violence, many professionals all over the
country are researching the nuances of this crime and carrying out and
tweaking evidence based interventions. Snyder has done a lot of
travelling to bring readers these rays of hope in a dismal landscape.
I read this book because I'm in higher education, student
development. Unfortunately intimate violence is no stranger to college
campuses. The first group I'd reccomend No Visible Bruises to is
police, lawyers, policy makers, clergy, psychologists, teachers,
guidance counselors, social workers, clergy...basically anyone who
might encounter domestic violence victims and their children. The
second group is anyone with suspicions that a loved one is a victim.
On a purrrsonal note, Eugene and I did get to the in-laws' for turkey
day dinner. He got out of work at about noon and picked me up at
home. Amber and Brian dropped by in the afternoon but didn't stay til
dinner because they didn't want to be driving in the dark. The dinner
itself was good, especially the homemade blueberry pie. I got to
spend good time with my niece, Maggie, who will graduate college next
spring.
I made my own turkey dinner Friday. It came out well. But my heart
was aching. Joey loved turkey so much. It felt lonely not having him
to share with.
Mostly I've been burying myself in schoolwork and doing my best to
avoid Christmas music, Christmas ads, basically anything to do with
what's going to be my first Joeyless Christmas. There's only one gift
I want for Christmas. Doesn't look like it will happen. I don't
think Santa has cats at the North Pole. Old Town Animal Orphanage
hasn't found me one. I've heard Bangor Humane Society is short on
cats this year. If I had a car I would have driven out to
Androscoggin County Humane Society (wherever that is) because they
were at one point needing to home their resident cats in anticipation
of the arrival of 82 more.
A great big shout out goes out to the best little cat in the world who
loved me.
jules hathaway




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