Growing up, I learned that intimate partner violence was obvious with violent outbursts. But I quickly learned that abuse is more like the story of a frog in boiling water. For example, if you put a frog into boiling water, it quickly jumps out. But if you put a frog in cold water and slowly increase the temperature, the frog doesn't recognize the danger.

We met online because dating in the LGBTQ+ community is challenging, even under the best circumstances. At first, the connection felt exciting and genuine. There were a few "red flags" I willingly overlooked — addiction, significant mental health concerns — but they were working on those, so I wanted to be supportive and help them on their journey. It started with little things, fairly early on in the relationship. Comments like "No one else will love you like I do." Because it was my first relationship, and my self-esteem was already low — being new to the LGBTQ+ community and struggling with my identity — I believed them. Over time, those words began to wear me down.

“Setting boundaries became almost impossible. Arguments became more frequent, and I felt myself becoming dull, losing the spark I once had…”

Then came the boundary violations and control. Even though we were in a long-distance relationship, I had to be on the phone with them almost constantly. If I didn’t, it became an argument. It didn’t matter if I was at work — I had to be on the phone. They critiqued everything and it wasn’t constructive; it was sharp, leaving me feeling like I could never get anything right. I began to question myself constantly, wondering if I was truly the problem. Worse, they wouldn’t respect my physical/sexual boundaries. There were times I wasn’t comfortable with something, but they would ignore my discomfort, so I would mentally check out of my body telling myself that it was okay. They reassured me by telling me couples have sex even if they don't really want to, to make the other person feel good. And I believed them, because again, it was my first relationship and I didn't know better.

Setting boundaries became almost impossible. Arguments became more frequent, and I felt myself becoming dull, losing the spark I once had. There was one moment, I remember I was washing the dishes. I used to listen to music and dance while doing the dishes. I realized that I hadn't listened to music or danced for months. I felt so lonely and sad. Their behavior escalated — they would squeeze my wrists so hard they ached, drive recklessly, nearly crashing our vehicle, and tell me they hated me. They cheated, gaslighted me, twisting reality until I doubted my own memories. I believed it was all my fault. 

There was one moment that will always stand out — a chilling realization that if I died, it could be because of them. But it wasn’t just the actions — it was the look in their eyes during arguments. Cold, empty, like there was nothing behind them. I didn't recognize them, and it was terrifying. They would back me into corners, yelling, their face inches from mine. They suggested we go to therapy, and I thought it might help. But because we were a same-sex couple, the topic of abuse never came up. Because we went to therapy, I felt that I had to try harder in the relationship. This retrospectively made it harder to leave because they would use things we learned in therapy against me and again I would doubt myself and feel like everything is my fault. However, because there were no bruises, I assumed this was normal. It wasn't until they crossed another boundary regarding cheating and with the significant support of my friends, that I was able to leave. Even after I left the relationships, my boundaries around having no contact were constantly violated. They would call me, text me, and leave incredibly unsettling voicemails. They called my family, texted my friends trying to get a hold of me, and even called my family’s employers. When I blocked her number, they would call from different phone numbers. This continued for close to a year since our breakup and did not stop until I changed my phone number and had all of my friends and family members block them on all communication forms. Still, I was terrified she would come to my apartment and because they knew the code - I bought additional locks and door/window bars.

“Time, therapy, and supportive friendships all played a crucial role in my healing. What also helped me the most was rebuilding my self-esteem.”

How do you think someone in this situation can find themselves again?:  Time, therapy, and supportive friendships all played a crucial role in my healing. What also helped me the most was rebuilding my self-esteem. When I left the relationship, my confidence was SO low. But as the dust settled, I reconnected with my friends, started working out, and even went back to school to pursue my degree. These small steps gradually empowered me, and over time, I found my spark again. Since then, I’ve found an amazing partner, and I’m so grateful to now experience a healthy, loving relationship. It truly feels wonderful.

How do you think your experience could help others?: I hope that my experience can help others recognize that abuse isn’t always loud, and it doesn’t happen only to heterosexual couples. I also hope that by sharing how my self-esteem was targeted, I can show that healing is possible. You can feel good about yourself again. Just because this happened doesn’t mean you can’t go on to have a beautiful life and a healthy relationship. Healing from IPV is possible, and you are so worthy and deserving.