Trigger warning: This article discusses domestic violence, coercive control, corporal punishment, and the ways childhood experiences can shape our understanding of love, authority, and personal autonomy.
I've been thinking about something that I don't think we talk about enough when we talk about women and domestic violence.
We love to tell women who end up in abusive relationships that they need better self-esteem.
Know your worth.
Love yourself.
Respect yourself.
Okay.
But what if that's not the problem?
What if the problem is autonomy?
Not the ability to set boundaries. Not raising your self-esteem or loving yourself more.
Something even more basic than that.
The deep, almost instinctive knowledge that you belong to yourself.
I keep thinking about how early we start teaching girls that they don't.
Not deliberately. Not usually. But through a thousand little lessons about being good, being agreeable, keeping the peace, not making a fuss, not disappointing people, not being difficult, sublimating your desires for relational harmony.
And then there's the whole authority thing.
Some of us were raised with a very clear understanding of who was in charge.
I am the authority.
You obey.
Don't question me.
Don't argue.
Don't say no.
Because I said so.
And if you were also raised with corporal punishment, there's another message layered on top of that.
The person who is supposed to love you more than anyone in the world, protect you, feed you, house you, comfort you when you're scared... also hits you.
And somehow it's okay because it's "discipline."
No. That's bullshit.
Because a child doesn't experience that as a philosophical distinction between violence and appropriate discipline.
The lesson can be much simpler:
The person who loves me can hurt my body.
The person who takes care of me can hurt me.
The person who has authority over me can use my body as the place where that authority gets enforced.
We need to pay attention to that.
Domestic violence doesn't usually start with someone punching you.
It starts with entitlement.
It starts with someone deciding they get a say in your body, your time, your money, your friendships, your sexuality, your choices.
Here's where autonomy becomes so important.
We talk constantly about boundaries.
Set boundaries.
Communicate your boundaries.
Enforce your boundaries.
The problem is, a boundary isn't actually the starting point.
The starting point is knowing that the territory belongs to YOU.
If you don't know that, you're standing at the edge of your own life asking someone else whether you're allowed to draw a line.
That's a dramatically different problem.
You can know you're smart.
You can know you're capable.
You can have a career, run a business, make money, raise children, manage an entire life and still have a weakly developed sense of personal sovereignty.
You can know your worth and still not fully understand that your life is yours.
That's why the red flags matter so much.
Not every controlling behavior automatically means someone will become violent, but these behaviors are often early evidence of entitlement.
He doesn't like your friend.
He wants access to your phone.
He gets angry when you make plans without him.
He wants to know where you are.
He pressures you after you've said no.
He punishes you for disagreeing.
He tells you that if you really loved him, you would...
And maybe you're thinking:
Is this reasonable?
Am I overreacting?
Should I be more understanding?
There's another, more important question that comes before that.
Who decided you have authority over me?
Because the answer is:
You don't.
You never had jurisdiction here in the first place.
And this is where I think the conversation about boundaries gets turned upside down.
A boundary isn't a request for permission.
You don't need someone to agree that your boundary is reasonable before it becomes real.
And if you've clearly said, No, this isn't okay with me, and they ignore you?
That's information.
They heard you. They understood you. Then they decided what they wanted mattered more.
Sometimes the most autonomous thing you can do is leave.
Not because you failed to communicate or didn't set the boundary firmly enough, but because you finally understood that you don't have to negotiate ownership of yourself.
What if you weren't raised with that understanding?
You can learn it.
You can practice it.
You can start ridiculously small.
What do I want?
What do I think?
Do I actually want to do this, or did I automatically say yes?
Can I change my mind?
Can someone be disappointed in me without me rushing in to fix their feelings?
Can I say no without writing a three-paragraph dissertation explaining why?
Can I let someone be angry and remember that their anger does not create an obligation in me?
This is the part I find hopeful.
Autonomy isn't something you either got as a child or you're screwed forever.
You can re-parent yourself.
You can start noticing all the places where you've been handing over authority without even realizing it.
You can take it back.
Your body. Your time. Your money. Your friendships. Your sexuality. Your choices.
Yours.
That's the conversation we need to be having.
Not just Do you know your worth?
But:
Do you know who gets to decide what happens to you?
There is a HUGE difference.
You can love someone and still say no, still disagree, still leave...
Love does not give another person ownership of you.
The moment you really, deeply understand that you belong to yourself, something changes.
The red flag isn't just bad behavior.
It's an intrusion.
The controlling partner isn't just being difficult.
They're claiming authority they don't have.
And suddenly the question isn't:
Am I overreacting?
It's:
Wait a fucking minute.
Who the hell decided they get to control me?
That's the line.
Not the boundary.
The line underneath the boundary.
The one that says:
You belong to yourself.
And once you know that, you can finally see the line.
And you know exactly whose side of it you're standing on.
If you or a loved one is experiencing coercive control or intimate partner violence, we have a resource page under the community tab on our website here or you can always reach out to Maaike directly through any social messaging, contact form, email SunshineAlchemistsAndSoapCo@gmail.com or call/text (509) 591-6674. You are not alone.