(Disclaimer: I am not.)
I’ve been in two relationships that people have thought of as abusive. I have been, and continually am, shocked by the many extremely poor ways they deal with this. Some recent posts have made me think about those experiences, and the one, the only one, that could have done me any good. The one time that someone who thought I was being abused could have actually helped me.
And I’ll tell you that, and hopefully if you’re concerned about someone, you’ll emulate it.
But this writing necessarily starts on the other end.
What are the worst ways to find out someone thinks you’re being abused?
I considered this for a while and in the end, it has to be a tie.
The first of these: after the fact.
One of those two relationships, people were right about. I was being abused, and everyone knew. But no one ever suggested it during. No one ever asked me if I was okay with the changes and sacrifices I was making in my life. No one questioned that I paired my definitions of love with tears and obligation and fear. But after? Oh, they told me after. Yes, after it was all done, really done, I started hearing it all the time. “We always knew he was abusive. We’re glad you’re finally out.” “I’m so relieved that you finally came to your senses.” “I am sorry I stopped being close to you. Your boyfriend’s treatment of you really disturbed me. But we can be friends again now!”
They all knew. Apparently. They knew better; they knew best. But they didn’t do anything, because… because it was too much drama. Because that was mine to deal with. Because surely I must have known how much they cared, that I could have come to them.
Time and time again, I hear from my friends who have also gotten out of abusive situations that they’ve heard these things after. But during? No, never during. Getting through that, they did alone.
And the other first place winner: through the grapevine.
That’s the way I have heard it most often about my current relationship. Screenshots sent by friends of friends. Posts I come across with vagueries about “the girl who crumpled up crying.” Randomly happening across my name in the comments of strangers on Reddit (seriously.) The things they do, people say? That can’t be healthy. She’s in too deep. There’s no way she really wants it. Classic Stockholm Syndrome. He controls her posts.
Whenever I hear these, I react poorly (as, I think, anyone would). It’s shit to be gossiped about, but more so when it’s people who want to show they’re “concerned” but simultaneously don’t actually care about you at all.
What they care about is being right. Being above. Pointing out all the things they’d *never* be; pitying the poor girl with no agency or desires of her own.
Now, here’s the thing:
I know what makes my relationship look abusive.
I’d bargain that most CNC types do. I am hyper-aware of it. I make sure to smile at worried parties after scenes; I am vocal about consent and risks; I keep a lot more private than I used to. This is intentional, after hearing I’m being abused so many times. I wouldn’t have had any idea when I was actually in an abusive relationship, but now? Sure. I know what their reasons are.
Many elements of my relationship, were my desires or our communication or anything else even slightly different, could be abusive: no safeword, no negotiation, phone tracking, ignoring as punishment being on the table, and so forth. If the concerned parties asked, they’d know about how I longed for this sort of thing all my life. They’d know about how unsatisfied I was without it. They’d know about the parts of our TPE that were actually *my* idea, how those discussions went, all my considerations of my risk profile and how each bit fits in.
But they don’t ask. Because—and I cannot say this enough in this writing I think—they don’t actually care. They might care about abuse, maybe. They certainly care about being righteous. They likely care about being right. But they don’t care about me.
Which brings us to the “mildly shitty” category.
These are the people who have just told me point-blank: this is abuse. They comment it on my photos and writings or send me a message to let me know. In a few particularly awful cases, they’ve mouthed it to me during scenes. They are willing to actually take that action, but they’ve already made up their minds. They know best. They care, but they care about telling me how right they are more than they care about me. They don’t care enough to think about their responses.
They also have no knowledge at all of the dangers of abusive relationships, and were I actually in trouble, they’d be making things worse. I refer you here to @Archeologist’s excellent On Suspecting and Calling Out Abuse on Fet or Any Other Social Media], which enumerates how public call-outs or contact on a form of media an abuser has access to increases the cycle of shame that goes along with abuse at *minimum*, and how they might very well cause dangerous retaliation and an escalation of the abuse the person was allegedly trying to stop.
So what do we do?
I’ll admit, kink makes this all particularly difficult. Healthy dynamics can be built in a way that looks to the world like abuse. They’re just a hair’s length away from the ones that actually are. So how do we tell the difference? Do we sit back and do nothing, lest we accidentally kink-shame? Do we just let adults be adults, declare it none of our business?
I don’t think so. I wouldn’t. I can’t. I’d like to think the people I love and trust couldn’t, either. They’d want to be as sure as they could that things were okay, and if they weren’t, they’d want to help.
And here’s the one time I’ve seen this done right.
It was in a conversation that I started with this person. We were discussing something else. My relationship did come up. She mentioned that despite things she’s seen or heard that she might consider problematic, she genuinely hoped it was making me happy and fueling good things in my life. And she said that if there was anything she could ever help me with, to reach out, and then she gave me her phone number. That was it. That was all.
I knew what she was saying to me. I think she knew I’d know; she trusted my intelligence. And I must admit, too, that I still initially balked at this. Insinuations that I’m being abused or that my partner is an abuser are always upsetting on multiple levels.
But you know what? Over a year later, I still know that number is there. And I almost used it once, about something completely unrelated. I genuinely believe that if I’m ever in *any* sort of trouble I have no support system for, I can reach out to this woman.
She’s the one who did it right. She didn’t come into a conversation with me with words laden with implications. She didn’t tell me what was going on in my relationship as if she knew better than I did. She didn’t make herself into a savior, a person with no other role in my life. And she opened a door for communication if I ever needed it. She opened it to be about anything.
I’m a lucky person. I’m in a healthy relationship that feeds all my needs. What’s more, I have people keeping an eye on me who legitimately care about my well-being and wouldn’t judge me if I needed help. Were the first not true, it is this one message, of all the other times it has been said, that would have given me knowledge of the second.
And there are a few other options that work, to be sure. I have a lot of compassionate people in my life who I feel I could tell anything to, and maybe they have established this trust with me with that possibility in mind. I’ve heard from DMs after intense scenes that people asked them to stop us, but those people were sensible enough to trust official channels, and they didn’t take things into their own hands when they were told “she knows what she’s doing.”
If you’re worried that someone is being abused, don’t rush in and tell them they’re in a bad situation. Not here, not in the middle of a scene, not as an opinion on their photos or writings. Don’t discuss it with other people like it’s the latest silly political tweet you’ve seen—*especially* not where someone could come across it, be they victim who you might force into more shame and secrecy, or stranger who just doesn’t deserve to hear all the things about their relationship that the world has decided are wrong. And for god’s sake, don’t stay silent and step away until after the fact, and then declare you knew the whole time.
Instead, consider opening a line of communication. Make yourself available. Be a good listener.
Care.