shoutout to people whose parents hit them growing up as a form of ‘punishment’ and who were emotionally/mentally damaged because of it
shoutout to those of y'all who lived in places where physical violence being used against children as a form of punishment is normalized if not outright encouraged
shoutout to those of y'all who struggle with whether or not what you went through 'counts’ as child abuse or whether you have the right to consider yourself to be a survivor
shoutout to those of y'all who feel like what you went through wasn’t “bad enough” to be abuse because you’ve been taught that open palmed hits aren’t abuse only closed fists or because it didn’t leave bruises or make you bleed
shoutout to those of y'all who have a scream in the back of your throat every time the debate about whether hitting your kids is okay is acceptable and you see people trying to justify the thing that hurt you so much
shoutout to those of y'all whose relationships with your parents are irreperably damaged if not outright destroyed because of what they did to you
shoutout to those of y'all who can’t stand to be hugged or otherwise touched, who flinch away from contact, who can’t trust you parents or any of the rest of your family or anyone else, who feel like you can’t talk about what happened to you because you feel like people won’t take you seriously
shoutout to those of y'all who feel “weak” for being so affected by what happened to you
know this - there is absolutely no scenario that exists where it’s acceptable for a parent (or anyone) to lay their hands on a child in violence. what happened to you was not okay. what your parents did to you was not okay. it was abusive. no matter if it wasn’t “as bad” as what other people have gone through what happened to you was still abuse and your parents were still abusive. you did absolutely nothing to deserve what they did to you.
AN ABUSER IS A HUMAN BEING, NOT AN EVIL MONSTER, BUT HE HAS A PROFOUNDLY COMPLEX AND DESTRUCTIVE PROBLEM THAT SHOULD NOT BE UNDERESTIMATED.
The common view of abusive men as evil, calculating brutes can make it difficult for a woman to recognize her partner’s problem. She tends to think: My partner really cares about me and has a good side to him. He has feelings; he’s not a sadist. He couldn’t be an abuser. She doesn’t realize that he can have all these positive qualities and still have an abuse problem.
At the other end of the spectrum we find an equally common—and equally misleading—view of abusers: the abuser as a man whose gentle humanity is just barely hidden under his abusive surface and who can be transformed by love, compassion, and insight. One morning he will wake up to realize how hurtful he has been and will renounce his cruelty, particularly if he has the love of a good woman. This outlook is portrayed and supported in popular songs, movies, romantic novels, and soap operas. The painful reality is that bringing about change in abusers is difficult. An abusive man has to bury his compassion in a deep hole in order to escape the profound inherent aversion that human beings have to seeing others suffer. He has to adhere tightly to his excuses and rationalizations, develop a disturbing ability to insulate himself from the pain he is causing, and learn to enjoy power and control over his female partners. It is unrealistic to expect such a complex structure, one that takes fifteen or twenty years to form, to vanish like steam. Yet women are often pressured by friends, family, or professionals to “give him a chance to change” and “have a little faith in people.”
i know it’s november but tbh i’m still not over how people spent like a month accusing taylor of ‘glorifying the language of abusers’ because she wrote a song called look what you made me do and then in the same breath accused her of ‘playing the victim’ as if that isn’t the most fucking classic phrase that abusers use to shut their victims up lmao i love cognitive dissonance
So out of curiosity in light of Raising the Barn, I was brushing up on power and control in abusive relationships, and I came across this interesting diagram:
These are tactics used by abusers to obtain power and control in their relationships. When used together, it creates what’s known as a climate of fear– and, with this, the victim will feel like they don’t have an equal voice in the relationship.
First off, I strongly believe Lapis was holding onto a sense of power over Peridot that she was at least somewhat aware of, leading to Peridot’s hesitation to voice her own wishes. And I’ll like to break down and illustrate the major tactics she used that unambiguously gave her power and control in her and Peridot’s relationship, because apparently there’s still debate on whether or not Lapis is an abusive character.
(mind you, not all tactics have to be used in a relationship, but considering I cover half of them below… I’d say it’s more than enough)
Hello hi! I have a prompt if you're feeling up to it? There is so much of Andrew looking after sick!Neil but can we have it reversed? I think Andrew would low-key (highkey) love the focused attention from Neil (also,,, Neil not being sure how to look after sick people and turning to advice from the other foxes as discreetly as possible bc there's no way Andrew wants them knowing he's anything less than impenetrable)
(I did my best w this prompt from one POV, sorry it took so very absurdly long! lots of Andrew thoughts with a side of useless boy dialogue)
He wakes up bleary and dry-mouthed, his tongue catching on his hard palate like papers rustling together. Andrew squints into his pillow, pressing two fingers into the eyelid of one streaming eye. The sun is too dilute to touch him, and the breeze from the cracked window chills him so much that it hurts, muscles locked and shivering.
He knew he was getting sick when the hurt that lives inside him flared real, visible and disgusting. All this hacking, running, sweating makes him vulnerable, loud when he wants to be quiet. Neil had called him overdramatic. He’d dragged the covers to his side of the bed in reply, battered sleep’s door until it splintered.
Now he feels like he always felt in the heart-racing countdown to withdrawal, fighting through sweat and aches and cracking lips, cracking skin, cracking strength. Whiskey won’t help him here though. Nothing will help him here, after rowing through the confused, freezing night and only now washing up in foggy morning, fever lapping at him.
Something drips onto his hot forehead and his chest pumps hard, startled. His eyes flash open.
Neil is frowning, looming over him and holding a cold rag that’s a bit too wet. It’s clumsy, but it feels better when Neil arranges it on his sweaty brow. His hand stays on the compress, a sustaining pressure, like he’s healing with just his hands and his willpower. Water runs into his hair like tears.
“How are you?” Neil asks. His other hand walks from the bedspread to Andrew’s side, he can feel the fingertips becoming a full-palmed press. It’s the comfort of a person who always feels better when he’s touched hard and deliberately, alive in a way he can feel.
Andrew doesn’t reply, but he knows that his closed eyes and relaxed body mean something to Neil. He trusts him with his hot forehead and his bedside.
“You look bad,” Neil continues.
“I am not playing,” Andrew says hoarsely. “If that’s what you’re angling for so tactfully.”
Neil’s hands retreat, Andrew’s forehead folds under the rag where no one will see. “I’m here because you’re my— I’m not worried about our goalie, I’m worried about you.”
“You’re here because this is your room,” Andrew corrects.
“Fine,” Neil says, voice full of the opposite. “I’m going to practice, anyway, since that’s all I care about.”
Andrew feels him leave their bed, and he finds that the wet smell of his hair was keeping his headache at bay. Another drop of water rolls down his temple, and he scrubs the compress from his face so he can watch Neil leave, but he’s already gone.
It haunts his heart, for a while, the snapped olive branch, the hurt that put its fist in its mouth and left the room so Andrew wouldn’t see it properly.
He knows, deep in him, that he’s not being any different than usual, but he also knows what Neil might have expected, seeing him spread out in their bed with his eyes wet. He’s trying to fix Andrew’s surface like he never tries to fix what’s underneath.
Neil doesn’t have the vocabulary for sickness that isn’t terminal, though. He can’t fathom something between a bandaid and a prosthetic.
He drifts, for hours, so thirsty that he can feel it in his skin, so stuffed from throat to nose that he can only breathe dry and heavy through his mouth. He can hear the wheeze inside of him.
In foster care, they would make him sleep in the garage when he got sick. They didn’t want him to infect a house full of already difficult children. He remembers watching the shadows of feet moving in the light under the door, the way the cold only made him sicker and angrier, a yoga mat between his body and the concrete.
He blinks and his eyes are crusted together. He can taste salt. He thinks of Neil and the pain in his chest changes. He latches onto the feeling, like the garage door opening in the morning, letting him back into the warmth.
You owe your family nothing if they’ve hurt or offended you. You are not obligated to be kind to them, you are not obligated to be present with them and, unless you are still in the custody of people who will force you, you do not have to visit them during the holidays.
I need to get something off my chest about fanfictions
I’ve been reading a lot of stories lately -mostly about Harry- where the female protagonist -his partner- finds herself being pushed away by him and keeps wondering what she did wrong. Ok, nothing too strange here. BUT, there’s always a point in the story where, despite all her lame efforts -like, cooking his favorite food and keeping his things organized when he comes home, like, WTF WHAT YEAR ARE WE IN-, he just keeps treating her like literal shit. And it’s not an empowering story about a girl getting out of a toxic relationship. On the contrary; it’s about a girl allowing his boyfriend to treat her like shit to the point where one, as reader, would -should- think “why does he even lives with her if he hates her so much?” or “girl, JUST DUMP HIM”, BUT NO. You can read comments like “bitch, try harder DON’T YOU LET HARRY STYLES GO. Now, what I want to say is: Can you, fanfic writers, stop romanticizing abusive relationships just because it’s Harry Styles? I’m honestly fucking tired of reading about girls humilliating themselves and allowing abusive and violent behavior (sometimes even getting hit) because after a few chapters he apologises and everything it’s right again. And I’m tired of it because the fact that you think that writing about being “a little mistreated” it’s ok if it’s by a famous guy and he apologises, it’s a contribution to perpetuate the idea that it is ok to cope with an abusive boyfriend if he’s famous (which btw I don’t think it’s very nice to put people you admire in that situation, why the fuck would you want to write about Harry hitting you?) and it’s not ok. Never. I don’t care if it’s Harry Styles, Tom Holland, the Pope or the fucking future king of England. Enough with this “ride or die” shit.
Conclusion: Nothing justifies abusive behavior. Stop romanticizing that shit.