In a reunion-like meeting today, I learned that two friends had been hit by their spouses.
It was painful to see that their eyes had lost a bit of light.
Abuse. Something I loathe with all my might.
I don’t come from violent household, thank God. Alhamdulillah, I have got a loving family. Even though dad had got reputation for being strict and unyielding in his principles —and we’ve had our disagreements openly— he had never ever used violence.
But, I have met friends who have been affected by domestic violence to varying degrees. I had personally met a guy who would marry a good friend and asked him to “treat her right. Else I’ll go after you, wielding a sword.” Had he considered it a threat, so be it. I’d meant every word I’d said. For the good friend had been in anguish for much of her life because of a broken home.
She had to endure witnessing her father hitting her mother that her mother’s teeth were broken.
She had been angry, very angry, that her mother had chosen to stay in the marriage for the sake of the children. “Don’t use me as an excuse!” She had yelled at her mother.
I mostly stayed out of their conversation. But I had to ask these two friends. Why don’t you leave your marriages?
They had their reasons.
Right. The children.
Somehow I could not bring myself to question their choices. Neither did I know their reality nor have I ever been married myself, I felt that I was in no position to give counsel.
We parted with words of hope for each other. For them, I sincerely offered my support. If there is anything I can do, let me know. And I received words of caution in picking a spouse. “Be. Very. VERY. Careful.”
But part of me kept wondering. Have I become a bystander? Again?