< Translator’s note: The original formatting of the stories has been preserved. The translations aim to remain as close as possible to each author's original wording and expression.

 

It is very hard to fit a story that lasted around 15 years into a short text. It is very hard to find the words to describe the horror that went on for so long, and that will remain in my memory forever. But I will try, because it matters to me that women value themselves and understand: this is not normal, and it should not be tolerated for even one day, not even one minute.

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Violence from a partner doesn’t start straight away. The beginning of a relationship is usually very beautiful and special. It was the same for me.

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My first love began when I was 16. Those first feelings were very intense, and it seemed impossible that they could be something terrible. But looking back at how it began, I can see the first manipulations, the first emotional rollercoasters. At 16, I didn’t recognise psychological abuse as abuse. Five years later, when physical violence began from someone I loved, I kept making excuses for him. Because by then, you no longer understand why your life doesn’t belong to you. You do everything you can not to anger him, you bend and break yourself so thoroughly and stop listening to your own needs so completely that you lose yourself entirely.

 

Repeated attempts to end the relationship (I can barely bring myself to call it that now) never worked, because it seemed as though only he was capable of making me happy. You feel such a strong dependency and need for that person that there simply is no strength to resist. And on top of that, a crushing sense of responsibility for HIS life — not your own.

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I only began to come back to myself after ten years, and it took another five to finally break free from this hell. And it was a true hell. I felt guilt and shame about everything: that he beat me, that he drank himself unconscious, that he raped me (because in a marriage, there supposedly “can’t be rape” — it’s supposedly a duty).

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There were weeks when I didn’t sleep at all, for several days in a row. For several years, I couldn’t bear to hear my own name, because hearing it meant danger — that I was about to be hit, raped, humiliated, diminished. Bruises all over my body and constant pain from beatings — I hid all of it from everyone around me, out of shame, because it felt as though no one would understand me. And I kept finding excuses for what he did.

 

That hell could have broken me. But somehow, against all odds, I came out stronger. I managed to break the cycle and get out. I built a new life. And now, ten years after I finally got free, I can say with certainty: it is possible. I know exactly who I am, what I want, and how to get there. The road isn’t easy, but it is the right one.

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Tetiana; story shared in 2023 as part of the “16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence” campaign