Facing Domestic Violence

***TRIGGER WARNING DOMESTIC VIOLENCE***

I woke up buzzing. I had the best night last night, commentating on a fight promotion fir the first time. It was 6:30 AM - I always wake up with the sunlight streaming in the window. I was scrolling through my phone, reading and responding to the many kind messages from old and new friends, when I heard a thunderous crash next door. That had to be in the room next to me, and I was at the end of the hall. Maybe a drunken celebration resulting in a fall, I thought, and continued scrolling. After a minute, I heard voices - dampened by the thickness of the walls there, but it was definite screams. I opened my door, and in the hallway, I could listen to the loud conversation clearly.

“Get away from me. Let me leave,” a woman’s voice cried through sobs.

“Why are you doing this? You’re drunk,” a man’s voice responded. Both had a distinct British accent.

“I’m not drunk. I want to leave, I don’t want to be here anymore, but you won’t let me leave.” The volume had increased and I could only assume they were on the other side of the door.

“You’re a horrible person, you know that?” His voice was cold, emotionless, but full of venom he spit with every accusation. “Go to sleep and see if you still want to leave when you wake up.”

“I don’t want to sleep here,” she cried. Another sound of something falling after it was hit. “How am I supposed to sleep with you after all this?”

“The beds aren’t even together,” he retorted.

It’s easy for me to identify domestic violence after years of living through it myself. The disinterest and gaslighting from your partner while you’re fighting for your sanity. While some may argue that I didn’t know everything happening behind the door, I know that no argument should ever include you’re a horrible person. I quickly, but silently walked back to my hotel room, and found the phone. It took me a moment the rush of adrenaline to remember how to phone the front desk, finally remembering it was ‘0.’

“Hello,” a voice answered cheerily.

“Hi,” I tried to remain calm and speak clearly, though I quieted my tone out of fear somehow next door they would hear what I was doing. “I’m in room 602. There was a loud crash in the room next to mine, and there’s yelling. It sounds like a domestic violence situation. Could you please send someone up to check on it?” They confirmed my room number again and said someone was coming.

I stayed with my hotel room door cracked monitoring the situation with my head out on the lookout for the incoming help. Moments later I saw the employee coming down the hall. The man was smaller than me, and I felt a little bad for bringing him into this situation at 7 am. I waved to him and confirmed with a point that the room next door was the one in question. Not that it wasn’t obvious from the loud argument happening behind it. I pulled my body back into the room, but kept the door open so I could hear clearly. He knocked and spoke with a very soft and very Thai style “Excuse me,” to get their attention.

The yelling stopped and after a moment I heard the door open. “excuse me sir,” the employee started, but was cut off by the response of the man from the room.

“It’s finished now. I’m sorry, it’s finished” he said calmly.

“I’m going downstairs anyways,” she lowly chimed in.

The employee was set free, and all seemed to settle. While I sat back on my bed processing everything. And remembering my own experiences I realized. There’s no way this is finished - she hasn’t left yet. They just got quieter. I opened my door again and immediately was met with the familiar voices yelling in hushed tones. Now not loud enough to hear through the wall, but still very clearly from the hall. The berating continued. The story unfolded they’d been out clubbing the night before and when she came out of the bathroom he was sitting with a girl and she’d left him in a drunken state and in his words ‘ran off into Bangkok.’

“I wasn’t drunk, or running off, I didn’t want to be with you,” she said.

“I can’t believe you told your mom,” he continued. “That wasn’t even what happened, I sent the girl away, and now what is your mom going to think of me?”

“I can talk to my mom about whatever I want!” She said and I agreed in my head. “She already thinks (something unclear) about you.”

“I’ve never laid a hand on you,” he said.

“Are you joking? You can’t be serious. You pushed me and grabbed me by the back of my neck!” she confirmed my suspicions and fears. “And now you won’t let me leave, please just let me leave!” She cried again.

What so many people don’t remember about domestic violence is that it doesn’t always show up how you think. My ex-husband never punched me or slapped me in the face. In fact the first time he hurt me, was in a hotel and I was trying to leave an argument we were having. He balled his fist and swung down on my thigh as I was standing to get up. It hurt so badly and shocked me, but because I had only seen representation of abusive spouses as hitting their wife in the face, it took time for me to see that this was just as bad. Sometimes abusers don’t even have to touch you, but break things around you so you are scared of them.

I have to do something, I resolved. I wasn’t going to bring that sweet Thai man back, it had to be me. I paced back and forth in the hall and my room making my plan. I’ll knock tell him she should be able to leave - he’s going to claim that he’s worried about her safety, so I’ll say that she can come stay with me in my room.

After a moment to gather my courage I did it. I stood in front of the door in my sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt and knocked 3 distinct knocks. Silence followed and I waited, arms crossed to help soothe my nerves, but still appear strong and composed. after a minute or two I realized they were going to just try to hide it out. I stepped to the side of the door, so he couldn’t see me out the peep hole and waited for the argument to resume.

It wasn’t long before it did, and I heard the same cries about wanting to leave and something about him pushing her against the bathroom door. He kept reminding her she was a horrible person, she should go to sleep, and she was drunk.

I took another deep breath and stood in front of the door again more resolved to have to do whatever I needed to do to put an end to this. I knocked again. This time after a few seconds the door opened slowly halfway. I saw a man almost as tall as the door, stocky and blonde, who must have been in his early 20s. Before he could speak I started. I knew I needed to show no fear or emotion in this confrontation for both my own and the woman’s safety.

“It sounds like she wants to leave. I think you should let her leave.” He tried to start the same script as he had with the employee.

“It’s all finished now. She’s just drunk and I’m trying to get her to calm down.”

“She wants to leave. I think you should let her leave,” I repeated.

“Just leave it, it’s finished.”

“It’s not finished, and it’s nothing for me to leave, because you’ve included me in this. I woke up to something being thrown and yelling. I’ve been listening to this the whole time. So I know it’s not finished, and you should let her leave.”

“She’s drunk and needs to sleep.”

“Cool, she can come sleep in my room. That way you don’t have to worry about her. How is she supposed to sleep there with everything that’s been going on.” Realizing I wasn’t going to cave to his requests for me to let it go, he turned to her.

“Faith, look what you’ve done. Tell her.”

She came forward from behind him - fully dressed from their night out with puffy red eyes and a tear-stained face. It was notable to me how incredibly calm he was about the situation, unphased, no signs of distress. This was another thing I recognized about my past abuse - how calm and agreeable they appear to those on the outside.

“I’m okay,” she conceded reservedly. “I’m just drunk.”

In that moment I wanted to say that I’ve heard how many times she’s expressed she wasn’t drunk and it’s okay. But I know that could put her in more danger. I decided to focus on the threat at hand.

He continued and changed his tactic. “We just were out and had a bad night. It’s one of those things you know? Well I don’t know if you know.”

“I’ve lived life,” I answered shortly. “I think it would be good if she comes and sleeps in my room. Nothing is going to be sorted right now with you two, so a little space to help you calm down before you keep talking. And that way you don’t have to worry about her safety.” I added in the last part to try to appease him, just like he was to me.

“I really can’t thank you enough, for caring about her and about us. I’m so sorry we woke you.” Now his strategy was trying to soothe and compliment me.

“I don’t care that I woke up. I want to make sure she’s good and you’re good, and I think this is the best answer.”

“Thank you really so much for thinking of us and we will definitely let you know if we want to take you up on it.”

There wasn’t much else I could do. “Yes please do.”

He shut the door and I turned and walked back into my room. I messaged my friends and cried. It was such a complex feeling of pride in who I’ve become, as well as remembering my past pain and fearing for this woman. I hate conflict, but I’m so grateful to be the kind of person who is willing to step up and face it when I know I need to. I also don’t know if I helped enough. I really just didn’t want to make it worse. That fear brought me back outside their room and to check if it had truly ended. It sounded like they were coming out so I rushed back inside my door, heart racing. I don’t know if they heard me go in, but I don’t care if they did, they both needed to know someone is watching and listening. I heard their door open and close, and decided to get dressed and go to breakfast. Still taking everything in that I’d experienced. I saw them in the lobby, talking to someone at the front desk, maybe getting a room for her, maybe changing to avoid me. I wondered, but I knew I couldn’t help anymore than this and tried to accept my place.

I’ve wondered since if there was something more I could do. I’ve cried hoping I didn’t add to repercussions she might face as part of the fallout. I think back if I’d spoken to her directly and asked if she wanted to come with me, if that would have been better. Leaving a relationship with domestic violence is hard. For someone to abuse you physically, they first have to break you down, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually so you’ll stay. You love them and when you get upset they say all the right things and apologize and love-bomb you back into comfort and compliance before they start again. It’s even harder to leave that relationship because statistically that’s when women are the most likely to be killed by their partners. They’ve typically been isolated and don’t have access to money, or family support. It’s terrifying.

All I can hope is that my speaking up and saying something was enough to show her, what she was going through isn’t okay, and even a stranger cares about her safety. If not right now, maybe it will plant a seed for her to be able to do that for herself in the future. For him, I hope that this was a one-time event. That my intervening may have been enough to not only get it to stop today, but realize it’s not okay. Generally I have less belief that men who have started this pattern will change because it takes A LOT of work, but I always hope.

The day before was 9 years since I married my ex-husband who was abusive. I was taking a moment to think about how far I’d come from that version of myself. So much love and respect for her being where she was, as well as the full understanding of the pain I went through and how I’ve adapted to protect myself from that pain in the future. And the following morning, I tested and saw how much I truly had grown. Not only do I recognize the gaslighting, and all the signs of abuse, I am willing to put myself in harms way to stop it, and to stand up for someone else like I dreamed that someone had done for me.

I share this not for asking for recognition or praise from others, but as a PSA to allow people to potentially recognize abusive situations for others or themselves, and give an example of how you can face it. In this situation, though I was smaller physically, I had the confidence I would not face an attack from him because it was in public and I was a stranger in a foreign country. I stood my ground and prepared mentally that if he were to do something I would scream loudly for help to get others out of their rooms.

We are meant to help each other. Domestic violence isn’t “none of your business.” Hold your friends accountable if you know that they’re abusive and continue a friendship, you’re saying you’re okay with abuse too. Learn the signs and if you find yourself in a position where you can help, please do. It could be the thing that save somebody’s life.