Member-only story
A Day In the Life of a Coercively Controlled Woman
Many believe that the criminalization of coercive control is an overreach into private relationships — this is why they are wrong.
It’s 5.32pm. I pull into the driveway and walk quickly to the front door. I’m late, I take a deep breath and brace myself. The reprieve is over, 14 hours until I can again drive away to the office, what I refer to in the privacy of my own mind as day release. Tomorrow is Friday.
I hate Fridays.
For years my real workday commenced when I got home from the office. Unlike the law practice that I part-own, where people listen to what I have to say and I can express my opinion without risk of belittlement, home was a place where the floor consisted of eggshells and the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.
Unlike work, where I am valued for my skills and experience, at home I faced a daily enemy, one that sought to erode any fragments of worth that I may have scraped up during my hours away.
I didn’t know it then, but I was a victim of coercive control. My husband was engaging in a pattern of behavior designed to gain complete control over every aspect of my life.
