I have been thinking a lot about Mica Miller.
Maybe it is because parts of her story feel far too familiar.
Not because our lives were the same. They weren’t. But when I hear about the confusion, the control, the fear, and the struggle to make other people understand what was happening behind closed doors, something inside me recognizes it.
I know what it is like to look at a man everyone else sees one way and know another version of him entirely.
I know what it is like to wonder: “Why can’t anyone else see this?”
And I know how difficult it can be to explain abuse when the person hurting you has spent years convincing everyone — including you — that he is not the problem.
The Mask
One of the most frightening things about abuse is that abusive people do not necessarily look frightening.
They can be charming.
Helpful.
Funny.
Successful.
Generous.
Respected.
They may be wonderful friends, coworkers, neighbors, community members, or even religious leaders.
And then they go home.
The person living behind that closed door may experience someone entirely different.
This is one of the things I desperately wish more people understood.
When someone tells you that a person you know is abusing them, your personal experience with that person does not disprove theirs.
“But he’s always been nice to me.”
“I just can’t imagine him doing that.”
“That doesn’t sound like the person I know.”
Those statements may be completely true.
He may have been wonderful to you.
But you didn’t live in their home.
You didn’t hear the conversations that happened when no one else was around.
You didn’t see what happened after everyone left.
You didn’t experience the punishments, manipulation, threats, humiliation, control, or carefully placed fear.
Sometimes the public version of a person is precisely what makes private abuse so difficult to expose.
Why Didn’t She Just Leave?
People ask this question far too easily.
Why didn’t she leave?
Why did she go back?
Why did she defend him?
Why did she believe him?
Why didn’t she tell someone sooner?
Why didn’t she call the police?
Why didn’t she see what everyone can see now?
Because when you are living inside abuse, you don’t have the perspective of someone watching it from the outside.
Your reality can be dismantled slowly.
It doesn’t usually happen all at once.
A boundary moves.
Then another.
Something terrible happens, followed by an apology.
You’re blamed for his behavior.
Then you’re told you’re too sensitive.
You’re reminded of everything he has done for you.
There may be promises to change.
There may be tears.
There may be scripture, counseling language, children, finances, illness, reputation, or fear tangled into everything.
Eventually you can become so confused that you no longer trust your own interpretation of what is happening.
People sometimes call that “brainwashing.”
I think of it as losing ownership of your own reality.
And getting that reality back can take time.
Sometimes Leaving Is a Process
There is something else I want people to understand:
A person asking for help may not be ready to leave the first time.
Or the second.
Or the fifth.
They may reach out and then go back.
They may tell you something horrifying and minimize it the next day.
They may defend the same person they were afraid of yesterday.
They may suddenly stop talking about it.
Please don’t assume that means they lied.
Please don’t decide they don’t really want help.
Please don’t say, “I’ve already told you what you need to do.”
Abuse can create fear, dependence, confusion, shame, isolation, and an extraordinary amount of self-doubt.
Leaving may not be one brave moment.
Sometimes it is a hundred tiny moments of courage that eventually become a door.
And to the Person Who Is Trying to Get Out
Please keep asking for help.
If the first person doesn’t understand, tell someone else.
If someone minimizes what is happening, tell someone else.
If you’re embarrassed because you went back, ask again anyway.
If you defended him before and now you’re afraid no one will believe you, tell someone anyway.
If you aren’t even sure whether what is happening “counts” as abuse, talk to someone.
You do not have to present your story perfectly.
You don’t have to have every date written down.
You don’t have to understand why you stayed.
You don’t have to explain why you loved someone who hurt you.
And you don’t have to wait until something becomes unbearable before you are allowed to ask for help.
Keep reaching.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until someone takes your hand.
And If Someone Reaches for Yours
Listen.
Not for inconsistencies.
Not for reasons the person they are describing couldn’t possibly be that bad.
Not for the moment when you can tell them what they should have done differently.
Just listen.
“Are you safe?”
“What do you need?”
“How can I help?”
And perhaps most importantly:
“I believe you.”
You don’t have to become an investigator.
You don’t have to know exactly what happened.
You don’t have to diagnose anyone.
You simply have to understand that the person sitting in front of you may know a version of someone you have never met.
Help them connect with people who are trained to help.
Stay present.
And if they aren’t ready today, leave the door open for tomorrow.
We Have to Become Better Listeners
Mica Miller’s story has stayed with me because behind all of the headlines was a woman.
A human being.
Someone’s daughter.
Someone’s sister.
Someone who deserved to feel safe.
Her story has also forced me to think about how many other people are trying right now to make someone understand what is happening inside their home.
Maybe they aren’t telling the story very well.
Maybe they’re confused.
Maybe they still love the person hurting them.
Maybe they haven’t decided to leave.
Maybe the person they’re describing is someone everyone loves.
Believe that there may be things you cannot see.
And if you are the one desperately trying to make someone understand:
Keep talking.
Keep documenting.
Keep reaching out.
Keep asking for help.
Find another person if you have to.
And another.
There are people who will listen.
There are people who will believe you.
There are people who understand that abuse doesn’t always leave bruises anyone else can see.
Sometimes the most important thing we can do for another human being is believe that the life happening behind their closed door may look nothing like the life we see from the outside.
And sometimes believing them may help them find their way out before it is too late.
— Jewel ✨