The Night I Was Accused of Domestic Abuse
For months, I believed I was an abuser. It took telling the police everything, including the parts I was ashamed of, to begin seeing that night differently.
For months, I genuinely believed I was a domestic abuser. I cried, questioned myself and felt ashamed of what I'd done. When I eventually told the police everything, including the details that made me look awful, their first words to me were:
"This is self-defence."
To understand why those words meant so much, I need to take you back to the night it happened.
A Night Out That Was Supposed to Help
I'd had a terrible day at work, and my partner suggested we go out for the evening. I thought it was a lovely gesture, something to cheer me up. But before we'd even left the house, the evening had become about him.
Could I choose his outfit, iron his clothes, shave his head and cut his toenails? Meanwhile, his priority was alcohol. He had already started drinking before we left.
Looking back, I questioned whether the evening had ever really been about making me feel better, or whether my bad day had simply provided an excuse for him to go drinking.
Then came the comments about my appearance. He'd tell me how gorgeous I looked, but quickly follow it with comments about how other men would be looking at me.
To someone else, that might sound like a compliment. But I knew how uncomfortable he could make situations involving other men. Instead of feeling beautiful, I felt self-conscious and anxious about what might happen if he thought someone was looking at me.
The Restaurant "Experiment"
By the time we arrived at the bar and restaurant, he was already drunk. Almost immediately, he commented on a table of men who were apparently staring at me. Personally, I didn't think they were.
While he was in the toilet, where I suspected he might have been taking cocaine, a man approached our table and asked whether they were serving food. I offered him one of our menus. That was it, a completely innocent interaction.
When my partner returned, visibly agitated and full of energy, he noticed the missing menu. I explained what had happened and instantly felt that familiar sense of dread.
He decided the man had been trying it on with me. Then he announced he was going to conduct a little "experiment": he would leave me sitting alone, go outside and watch through the window to see whether another man approached me.
As he walked out, he said something to the group of men, causing them all to turn around and stare at me. I felt humiliated, frightened and exposed. I had no idea what he hoped to achieve or what he might do if someone approached me.
Eventually, I telephoned him and asked, "Have you got what you wanted? Can you please come back inside?"
I was begging the person who had created the situation to come back and protect me from it.
The Evening Gets Worse
The rest of the evening was no better. He started talking about wanting to buy cannabis, insisting I shouldn't have a problem with it because it was simply a lifestyle. Knowing how I felt about drugs, I tried changing the subject and suggested we dance.
But now he was shouting insults at the DJ, and once again I found myself trying to calm him down. I felt embarrassed and exhausted. What was supposed to make my difficult day better had made it considerably worse.
I wanted to go home. Apparently, that meant I'd ruined his night.
He complained about getting the bus, wanted more alcohol and insisted on expensive taxis despite us saving for a house. As we approached home, things became frightening.
The Night I Reacted Physically
He began insulting my family, my daughter and my parenting. For what felt like hours, I repeatedly asked him to stop.
"Please leave me alone. Please stop shouting at me. Please stop insulting my family."
But he carried on. His voice became louder, his behaviour more intimidating, and nothing I said seemed to make a difference. He was a big man, and I felt frightened.
When we reached our driveway, I was desperate for him to stop before we entered the house. My daughter was out, but I knew she might see what was happening on our camera. I didn't want her witnessing another argument or worrying about me.
I begged him to leave me alone. He continued. Eventually, overwhelmed and frightened, I reacted physically. I hit him in the chest while holding my shoes, and the heel caught his arm.
I'm not proud of that moment. But I remember how desperate I felt after repeatedly asking him to stop.
His response was immediate: "I can't believe you've just domestically abused me."
Suddenly, everything that had happened that evening seemed irrelevant: the drinking, the intimidation, the shouting, the insults and the hours of begging him to stop. Now the focus was entirely on what I'd done.
I ran inside, frightened of what might happen next, and locked myself in the bathroom. When I eventually came out, hoping he'd calmed down, he continued shouting at me.
He cornered me in the living room, and I felt my only way past him was to push him. He lost his balance, which I believed was because he was so intoxicated.
Now he was telling me he was frightened of me, that I was abusive and that I would have to make it up to him.
I had spent the evening frightened of him, yet somehow I had become the person he claimed to fear.
For Months, I Believed I Was the Abuser
This is the part that still makes me emotional. For months afterwards, I genuinely believed I was an abuser. I cried and replayed those moments constantly, wondering how I could have reacted physically. I felt ashamed and questioned everything about myself.
My friends and family could see how much the relationship was affecting me. My daughter had even seen me running frightened into the house on the camera. But I was so consumed by guilt that I struggled to see anything beyond my own actions.
Meanwhile, I learned that he had been telling people I'd hit him and had been abusing him. I felt as though people were turning against me based on a version of events that left out everything leading up to those moments.
Because I knew I had hit and pushed him, I found it incredibly difficult to defend myself.
When I Finally Told the Police
Months later, I told the police everything. I told them I'd hit him, about the shoe catching his arm and about pushing him. I didn't leave anything out to make myself look better.
I also explained the drinking, the intimidation, the shouting, the insults and how frightened I'd been. The first thing they said was:
"This is self-defence."
I cannot explain what hearing those words meant to me. For months, I'd believed I was the abusive one. Yet when I told the police the whole story, they understood the circumstances differently.
On another occasion, when things escalated further and the police attended, they arrested him to keep me safe. I have since obtained a non-molestation order for my protection.
An arrest isn't a conviction, and a protective order doesn't determine every disputed event. But these experiences were important turning points in how I understood what I'd been living through.
For so long, I'd believed I was the person he needed protecting from. Yet I was the one who had been living in fear.
Why I'm Sharing This
I'm not telling this story because I think hitting or pushing someone is something to celebrate or automatically excuse. I'm telling it because context matters.
I can acknowledge that I reacted physically and wish those moments hadn't happened. I can also explain the fear, the intimidation and the repeated attempts I made to get away from a situation I felt unable to escape. Those things can exist together.
For months, I allowed the accusation to define how I saw myself. I believed I was a terrible person because I'd been told I was. Perhaps the hardest part of healing has been learning to trust my own understanding of what happened.
I don't want to rewrite my past to make myself look perfect. I want to understand it.
I also want anyone who has spent months questioning themselves after a frightening relationship to know that their experiences deserve to be heard in full. Not just the final argument, the moment they reacted or somebody else's version of events.
The whole story matters.
I cannot change what happened that night. But I can stop allowing someone else's version of it to define who I am, and remind myself of something I wish I'd understood much sooner:
You don't have to be perfect to deserve kindness, respect and safety.
With love,
ReBecoming Her
Heal ♡ Grow ♡ Transform
Where to Find Support
If you're experiencing domestic abuse or recognise parts of your own life in this story, support is available.
You can find support resources and links to organisations that can help in the Get Support section of my website. You don't have to navigate this alone.