My family would understand if I had a hand print on my arm, or a black eye.
They don’t seem to grasp that some wounds are less obvious. That neglect can be as hurtful as a dozen backhands to the cheek.
We’ve been a private couple.
When we went into infertility treatment, only one couple we were friends with knew. And even then, only because certain procedures needed anesthetic, which meant we needed a driver. When my cancer was diagnosed, I waited to tell our families, until after we were aware of the outcome. When we completed adoption paperwork, only the essential people knew. No one knew the husband has multiple urologic/hormonal issues. Very few people were told the details of my assault last November.
When I do try to share a little bit with our loved ones, I get grief. We shouldn’t burden them; we shouldn’t bother them, and so on. We have gotten very good at these methods. Keeping secrets, omitting information, dodging questions.
It does cause me to wonder if he’s been hesitant to share because he’s a private person or because he likes having me feel isolated.
I’ve always said I’d leave the moment a man raised his hand to me. Why is that so much worse?