This is what physical abuse looks like. See the pain, not only on the woman’s face, but also in her countenance. Verbal and emotional abuse cause just as much harm; it’s just that others can’t see the wounds and the scars left behind.

This Woman Took A Photo Of Herself Every Day For A Year. I Was In Tears When I Saw The Last One.

By sharing photos of one woman’s face over the course of a year, this video conveys a powerful message that needs to be shared. “One photo a day in the worst year of my life” was created by the Croatian government in response to a danger that many women across the globe live with every day. The harrowing message is made even more impactful by the sign the woman holds up at the end. It reads, “Help me, I don’t know if I will be alive tomorrow”. Warning: the video contains graphic images towards the end.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ertu9_MhFiM

Dear friend, I have no idea how long you might listen before you decide to shut me out.  But what I have to say is important, and I hope you will give me just a few precious minutes to share what is on my heart.

What I need to say may change how you see yourself and even, perhaps, the course of your life.  Please consider my words.  My prayer in this moment is that you might give yourself permission to be completely honest with yourself.  Listen to what your heart says.  You will know if what I am saying is true.

You see, I know a lot more about you than you might imagine.  I know you think no one knows what is going on in your little corner of the world.

But I know.

 The sun had barely crested the horizon that morning, when I awoke in my daughter’s bed.  Turning over, I realized that, during the night, my neck and shoulders had turned to stone.  I rose slowly and began to massage my neck to release some of the tension and became immediately overwhelmed with an emotional exhaustion too intense for words.  The night’s horror returned to revisit in full force.

Fortunately, none of our four kids were at home – three had spent the night at their grandparents’ house, and one was at a slumber party.  The timing could not have been better, as the evening’s events encompassed a full range of terror and tears that ended without resolution long after midnight.  I had confronted my husband about the relationship he was obviously pursuing with another woman, and he raged at me for having the audacity to eavesdrop on the late-night telephone conversation I overheard him having with her from our bedroom.

“No one else will ever want you.”

It is as though he has taken a branding iron and seared the words into your soul.  Rather than reject them and recognize that the one who speaks is both cruel and a liar, you find yourself teetering on the edge of self-doubt, pondering the words, allowing them to resonate and take root – undisputed.

“Why would he say something so hurtful?  He must see something that I don’t see in myself.  What if I am truly unlovable, a loser, a failure?” 

It is a heartless deception.  Should you allow those thoughts to simmer, apart from a proper understanding of the abuser’s agenda, you may begin to accept and even believe the lie, if for no other reason than the one spewing the slander also has the audacity to tell you that he loves you.  It is somehow easier to accept that he is sincere than to believe that he is deliberately trying to hurt you – and therefore doesn’t really love you at all.  That option is just too painful to entertain, and that little crack in your broken heart allows his hurtful words to seep in.

They don’t want to hear my stories.  They refuse to believe what I say.

“Show me your scars,” they tell me, crossing their arms in disdain.  “Prove to me the harm he has done.  Without physical proof of your pain, I have to assume you have none.”

I suppose it is easy for the outsider to distrust wounds for which there is no physical evidence.  And I confess, such indifference further adds to my pain.

If only he would hit me.  Sometimes I wish he would.  Then they might understand what he has put me through, how much it hurts, that some of the deepest wounds never bleed.  Maybe if my bones were broken, if blood flowed from all the hurting places, the cynics and know-it-alls would not be so quick to downplay my fears or tell me that the things he does or says are inconsequential.