“Well, did you do it?”

“What?” Shocked that he would even ask me that

“Well, did you?”

“No, of course not!” I said with an edge

“Okay, then take yourself out of the equation and re-look at the situation” 

“Why?”

“Because, that is the only way you are going to get past all of this anger – you need to reconnect with who you are and that is someone who can see the other side of shit. That is where your kindness and empathy lives” and then he kissed me on my forehead and went back to cleaning up…..leaving me with a different focus.

______________________________________________

Domestic violence has been on my mind a lot lately.

Maybe it’s the conversations happening in public spaces. Maybe it’s the nonprofit events I’ve been attending. Maybe it’s just life putting something right in front of me that I can’t ignore anymore.

But what I can’t shake is this: We don’t talk about abuse against men.

Not really.

Recently, I spent time with a friend- someone I respect, someone kind, someone who, on the surface, seems like he has everything together. But I started noticing small things.

He would untag himself from photos we took together.

At first, I brushed it off. Privacy, maybe. Preference.

But it kept happening.

Eventually, we sat down and talked. And what came out wasn’t about social media- it was about fear.

Not physical fear. Something quieter. More invisible.

The kind that makes you change names in your phone.
The kind that makes you monitor what you post.
The kind that makes you shrink your friendships just to keep the peace at home.

His wife is deeply insecure. Jealous. Controlling.

She’s accused him of things that don’t exist. She’s projected her discomfort onto innocent interactions. And instead of addressing her own behavior, she’s made someone else– in this case, me- the problem.

And here’s where it hit me:

If the roles were reversed, we wouldn’t hesitate to call this abuse.

If a man demanded access to a woman’s social media…
If he monitored her interactions…
If he forced her to distance herself from friends…
If she felt like she had to edit her life to avoid his reactions…

We would call it exactly what it is.

Abuse.

But when it happens to a man?

We minimize it.

We call it “relationship issues.”
We call it “jealousy.”
We laugh it off.
Or worse- we justify it.

We ask what he did to cause it.
We blame the woman he interacts with.
We look anywhere except at the behavior itself.

What I’m witnessing isn’t just insecurity.

It’s control.
It’s emotional manipulation.
It’s isolation.

It’s a man being conditioned to believe that keeping the peace is more important than being free.

And that’s not okay.

What’s even harder to watch is how easily accountability gets redirected.

Instead of asking, “Why do I feel this way?”
Instead of working on trust, communication, or self-worth-

The blame gets outsourced.

To the friend.
To the coworker.
To anyone who becomes a convenient scapegoat.

Scapegoat: a person, group, or thing unfairly blamed for the mistakes, failures, or sins of others – often to deflect responsibility. 

But here’s the truth:

No one outside your relationship is responsible for how you show up inside it.

And when control replaces trust, when fear replaces openness, when manipulation replaces accountability- that’s not love.

I’m not writing this because I’m angry.

I’m writing this because I see it.

I see how quiet this kind of abuse is.
I see how easily it hides behind social norms.
And I see how little support men get when they’re in it.

I did what he told me to do- I finally took myself out of the equation, and relooked at the situation, and I kept coming back to the same thought:

What must it have taken to get here?

To wild and unreasonable accusations.

I cannot imagine how much gaslighting, emotional manipulation, and quiet intimidation it must have required for me to become the scapegoat in this situation.

Because this didn’t happen in a vacuum.

Years ago, I had already seen glimpses of what was happening. I had voiced my concerns about the dynamics in that marriage- the tension, the control, the subtle ways things didn’t feel right. So this season, as confusing and frustrating as it is, didn’t feel entirely out of nowhere.

If anything, it confirmed something deeper.

That what’s happening on the surface is only a fraction of the story.

And that behind closed doors, the layers of manipulation must be far more complex- and far more difficult to navigate- than anyone on the outside can fully understand.

Because you don’t just wake up one day believing a narrative that doesn’t align with reality.

You get there slowly.
Piece by piece.
Conversation by conversation.
Until doubt replaces clarity… and survival replaces truth.

And when I allowed myself to really sit with that- not as someone being pulled into it, but as someone witnessing it- something shifted in me.

My empathy finally unlocked.

My care, which had been buried under frustration, reignited.

And my heart- guarded, angry, defensive- began to soften.

Not in a way that excuses the behavior.
But in a way that understands it.

Because sometimes the most difficult truth to accept is this:

The people who participate in harm are not always the ones holding the power.

And the ones caught in it don’t always know how to name it- let alone escape it.

When I sat down with my friend and listened to him describe the thin lines he’s been walking, I kept thinking about something I had written recently- my piece on OTWOA- and the list from the United Nations outlining the signs of abuse.

I wanted to send it to him.
I wanted to ask him to read through it and just… see what stood out.

Not because I needed to convince him of anything, but because sometimes it’s easier to recognize something when it’s written plainly- when it’s not wrapped up in emotion, history, or the need to “keep the peace.”

Because that’s what this really is about.

The quiet compromises.
The constant calculations.
The subtle shifts in behavior to avoid conflict.

The kind of things that don’t look like abuse at first glance- but slowly start to shape someone’s entire reality.

And that’s the part we don’t talk about enough.

We do need to be honest: abuse doesn’t have a gender.

It doesn’t always look like what we expect.
It doesn’t always leave visible marks.
And it doesn’t always get taken seriously- especially when the person experiencing it is a man.

But minimizing it doesn’t make it disappear.
Explaining it away doesn’t make it healthy.
And ignoring it doesn’t make it any less real.

If anything, it makes it harder for people to recognize what they’re living through- and even harder to leave it.

So maybe the starting point is this:

We stop asking who is supposed to be the victim…
and start paying attention to what’s actually happening.

Because control is control.
Manipulation is manipulation.
And fear- no matter how quiet- is still fear.

And until we’re willing to call it out- no matter who it’s happening to- we’re failing the very people we claim to support.

With so much deep love, xoxo J