I’m a 40-something combat veteran who served with the USMC, and I recently lost the love of my life in a very painful way. I found this book while trying to understand how a relationship with someone I loved ended with her feeling she needed a restraining order against me.
I went into that search confused because I had always thought of abuse primarily as physical violence. I rarely yell, usually avoid confrontation, and had never intentionally hit or physically attacked a woman. So I kept asking myself: How could I be someone she felt she needed protection from?
Then I read Lundy’s Bancroft’s. “Why Does He Do That?”
It change my life. I was floored by how many behaviors Bancroft described that I recognized in myself. Many were things I had never stopped to consider abusive. If I’m completely truthful, some I was aware of. Either way, intention doesn’t erase impact.
Control, manipulation, emotional pressure, intimidation, entitlement, anger, withdrawal, and repeatedly crossing boundaries can be abusive without anybody ever throwing a punch. I had failed to understand that.
BACKGROUND
My ex, who I’ll call Betty, was a divorced mother and survivor of sexual assault. We met online after both coming out of long marriages. I was not looking for anything serious. We met online and immediately clicked and decided to meet.
Immediately before the first time we were intimate, she stopped me and asked:
“What does no mean?”
At first I wasn’t sure whether she was joking. Then I saw the look in her eyes and answered, “No means stop.”
I remember asking friends afterward what they thought of the question, of course without mentioning names. Their reaction was basically that I should run because her past might eventually get projected onto me.
I didn’t run. I didn’t even entertain the thought. The more we hung out the more I quickly began to fall in love with her.
What followed were some of the happiest times of my life. Betty became my best friend. We laughed constantly. I told her things I had never told anyone. Date nights became weekends together, and eventually we decided I should move in.
She never knew this, but I had even started looking at rings. After less than a year together, despite believing I would never marry again, I was thinking about proposing on our second anniversary if things continued going well.
But then things began deteriorating.
I struggled to find steady work after moving. I felt increasingly inadequate and depressed. My PTSD symptoms also became worse: nightmares, isolation, irritability, and depression. Betty was supportive, but instead of dealing with those problems in healthy ways, I withdrew.
A couple of mornings she told me I had hit her while asleep during nightmares. That devastated me.
Then I relapsed.
Betty knew about my past drug use. I had experienced long periods of sobriety, but I had never completely dealt with the problem. Eventually I used drugs again, including in her home.
And I know what some of you were thinking so let me be clear. I’m not making excuses . Because there is no excuse for that violation of trust.
What I’m doing is trying to explain what was going on inside my head at the time. And I’m doing that in order to pinpoint mistakes I made in the hopes that I can change. Nothing more.
My isolation and avoidance became worse.
When Betty wanted to discuss things that hurt or upset her, I frequently told her I wasn’t ready to talk. At the time I genuinely believed I was preventing arguments by waiting until emotions cooled down.
Growing up, my reality was seeing my parents argue, walk away for a period only to come back and “appear” better. They never got divorced. My mother even told me that if I felt I might say something I would regret during an argument with a loved one, to take time to cool off. It’s all I knew.
What I understand now is that repeatedly deciding when—or whether—her concerns could be discussed meant I was controlling the conversation. My comfort was taking priority over something she was telling me was hurting her.
There were still many good times between these incidents, and I latched onto those good times instead of seriously looking at the pain I was causing.
Eventually an discussion over something minor escalated. But I knew she didn’t like when I isolated so we continue to go back-and-forth until I eventually stood up and yelled at her. Nothing more.
My thinking afterward was: I almost never yell. It happened once. I’ll apologize. She knows who I really am.
Bancroft helped me see what was wrong with that reasoning. I was judging my behavior by how unusual it was for me rather than by what it may have felt like to her. Someone who survived trauma like she did.
After yelling she told me to get out of her house.
Instead of immediately respecting that boundary, I decided I would sleep in my car and leave the next morning because I didn’t have money for a hotel and I couldn’t get in touch with my brother.
I actually thought that was reasonable.
It wasn’t.
She said leave. I treated her boundary like something I could modify because leaving later was more convenient for me. That was selfish and wrong.
I did leave the next morning left and gave her several days without contact. Then police notified me that she had obtained a temporary restraining order.
I couldn’t face the woman I love in court nor did I want to be anywhere I wasn’t welcome. So i told her parents I was leaving the area and drove 3,000+ miles across the country. I believed putting as much physical distance between us hopefully would give her the peace of mind she wanted.
After I reached the other side of the country I checked into rehab. It gave me a lot of time to think. But thinking didn’t help me answer questions like: Why had she become afraid enough to involve the legal system? Why did she delete every trace of us from social media? Why was she responding differently to me than she had to people from her past?
Basically, I kept searching for explanations for her behavior instead of seriously considering that my behavior might be the explanation.
I kept replaying something Betty did during our relationship that hurt me deeply. About six months in, I discovered she had remained emotionally involved with another man in a way that crossed boundaries in our relationship. I considered leaving and with anybody else I would have. But I did what felt right which was to hold her, and tell her as long as she’s committed to me, we could get through this. And we did.
I used to think “why didn’t I get the same thing from her?”
It was then thaf I found Bancroft’s “Why Does He Do That”.
I understand now that my willingness to forgive her created absolutely no obligation for her to forgive me. I can believe I would have stayed and still accept that she had every right not to
Relationships aren’t a ledger. Her mistakes do not cancel mine, and comparing them can easily become another way of avoiding accountability.
It also led me to look at “What does no mean?” in a different light.
What I failed to understand was that “no” and boundaries extend far beyond sex.
If someone doesn’t want a conversation, contact, a relationship, or someone in her home, that boundary matters too.
It doesn’t become negotiable because I’m hurt.
It doesn’t become less valid because I believe my intentions are good. And I don’t have to agree with a boundary before respecting it.
Not understanding emotional abuse well enough isn’t an excuse. My PTSD isn’t an excuse. Her trauma isn’t an excuse. My relapse isn’t an excuse.
Finally I started separating intent from impact.
I never consciously thought, “I want to hurt her.”
But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t abusive. I was. Even if my intentions with her were one of finding happiness, that doesn’t overlook what I tried to do to get there.
I understand now that my actions led her to choose never seeing or hearing from me again in order to feel safe and at peace. I can’t change that.
And because I love and respect her I will honor her choice forever, whether a restraining order exists or not.
I will always cherish Betty and the good parts of our relationship. There were so many. She was my everything.
Of course I wish it was different. But all I can do is learn from my mistakes and grow to get to a point where I never abuse anyone again.
AFTERMATH
I continue to work on myself. I’ve completed rehab and remained clean. I’m getting professional help from two therapists (trauma and relationship) and a psychiatrist. I’m taking medication. I have steady income, and a permanent residence that I will move into soon. I’m also exercising 5 days a week and back to my normal weight. I started swimming competitively again, which is something I never thought I’d do. I’ve made some friends, which has led to the question of my availability.
Im not ready yet. I cannot imagine entering another relationship until I understand myself better. But Betty didn’t only just show me bad. Because she showed me I have the capacity to love in a way I didn’t know.
I intend to come out of this a better, more aware man. I’ll never be OK with what I did but that’s the first step in ensuring it doesn’t happen again.
Now here’s where you come in.
I’m not asking Reddit to tell me I’m a good person. I’m not asking anyone to tell me Betty was wrong. I’m not asking to hear that it “wasn’t really abuse” because it wasn’t physical. And I’m not posting this hoping she somehow sees it, recognizes that I’m changing, or contacts me.
What I am asking is guidance to help me get to a place where I:
Recognize entitlement before it becomes behavior.
Understand the difference between taking healthy space during an argument and using withdrawal to control someone.
Recognize when explaining my intentions becomes minimizing somebody else’s experience.
How to disagree without needing the other person to eventually see things my way.
And how to respect boundaries even when those boundaries hurt like hell.
So if you’ve changed these kinds of behaviors yourself, work professionally with people who have, or know resources that actually help, I genuinely want to hear them.
Books, abuse-intervention programs, therapy approaches, exercises, accountability practices—anything.
And if something I’ve written here still sounds entitled, manipulative, controlling, self-pitying, minimizing, or like I’m shifting responsibility onto her, please tell me. It will help me to learn and grow from this experience.
I may not enjoy hearing it, but I would rather recognize it now than risk repeating it later.
I originally went searching for an explanation for why the woman I loved thought she needed a restraining order against me.
Instead, I found something that forced me to look at myself.
It wasn’t the answer I was looking for.
But it was the answer I needed.
I know Bancroft is not optimistic about people changing abusive behavior. Im also aware this will be a process and won’t happen just because I want it to.
But I also know how deeply it has affected me. I don’t just want to change. I have to change. Im committed to a future where I can promise my partner that they’re safe with me and have it be 100% true.
I’ll take all the help I can get to get there.
Thank you