“If I Just Do the Right Things…”
I read a comment recently from a woman in an abuse support group. She wasn’t asking whether her relationship was abusive – she already knew. She wasn’t even asking whether he would change. She said she believed he wouldn’t.
What she was actually asking for was help holding onto what she already knew – because every time he swore he’d change, every time he promised it would never happen again, she felt her own certainty start to slip. She was looking for research, for other women’s stories – anything solid enough to hold onto when his promises made her doubt herself all over again.
That stopped me mid-scroll because I recognized it immediately.
What she’d described is one of the cruelest features of an abusive relationship. It’s not enough that he hurts you; he’s also persuasive enough, in the moment, to make you doubt the very truth you’ve already arrived at. You know. And then he speaks, and suddenly you’re not sure you know. And you find yourself searching for outside proof of something your own gut already settled.
I lived in that exact place for a long time.
When I was confronted with the reality that I was living in an abusive relationship, I spent an enormous amount of energy trying to convince myself of one of two truths – both of them unbearable.
The first truth went like this: They say this is an abusive relationship but they’re wrong. Sure, we have rough patches, but there’s a chance I can fix it if I just do the right things. If I stop provoking him. If I get on the same page about everything. If I get better at anticipating what he needs so he never even has to ask. Marriage isn’t easy for anyone, and I made a commitment – for better and for worse. It’s up to me to find a way to make this work.
The second truth was the one I could barely look at: They’re right – this relationship is abusive. He’s never going to change and there’s nothing I can do to fix this. And if that’s true, how do I move on without his financial support? His logistical support? Whatever emotional support there was? I know the depths of his violence and his hatred – what if he threatens me or the people I love? Not only that, but how do I face everyone who will surely look down on me for being foolish enough to get involved with him in the first place?
Do you see the trap? Both truths led somewhere I couldn’t bear to go. So I lived in the exhausting space between them – trying, hoping, managing and never quite letting myself land on either one.
Here’s what I didn’t understand then that I understand now…
The first truth – the if I just do all the right things one – felt like hope. But that’s not what it really was at all… It was me taking responsibility for another adult’s behavior. And I clung to it for a reason that took me years to see clearly:
If it was my fault, then I could fix it.
That belief – I can fix this if I try hard enough – feels like power (especially to someone who feels she has none). As long as his behavior was something I thought I could influence by being calmer, more patient, more accommodating, more attuned to his moods, then I wasn’t powerless. I had a job to do, and doing it well meant I could “earn back” the person I thought he was.
But it was a cage dressed up as control.
The truth I didn’t want to face is that his behavior was never mine to engineer. I could be perfect – and I tried, God knows I tried – and it wouldn’t change who he was or what he did. The only thing that was ever actually in my control was whether I continued to put up with it.
Taking responsibility for his behavior didn’t give me power – it slowly erased me. Every day that I spent managing the landscape of the relationship – anticipating, accommodating, walking on eggshells, making myself smaller – was a day I disappeared a little more into the job of keeping him okay.
And the hope kept getting renewed with every abuse cycle that ran. That’s the part that’s so hard to explain to people who haven’t lived it: an abusive relationship has an unnamed “script” that runs continuously under the surface.
The truth is, it wasn’t all bad. There were the good moments – the remorse, the tenderness, the glimpses of the person I fell in love with. Every time I was ready to give up, something would happen that reignited the belief that he could be that person again, if I just held on a little longer.
I’ve since learned that this isn’t unique to me or to him. This cycle – the harm, then the reconciliation, then the calm, then the harm again – is one of the most well-documented patterns in abusive relationships. The loving moments aren’t evidence that change is coming – they’re part of the pattern itself. Experts who have spent decades working with these dynamics have found that genuine, lasting change is rare – and only happens under specific conditions that are almost never met.
So if you’ve been hoping, and trying, and holding on – hear this: you’re not foolish. You’re responding exactly the way the dynamic is designed to make you respond.
So let me say the thing I most want you to hear:
You already know.
That woman in the support group knew – she said so herself. She believed he wouldn’t change. What she was looking for wasn’t the truth. She already had the truth. What she was looking for was something strong enough to help her hold onto it when his promises made her doubt herself.
If that’s you – if you find your own certainty slipping every time he swears it’ll be different – I want you to understand what’s actually happening in those moments. It isn’t that you don’t know. It’s that his words are powerful enough, and the pattern is practiced enough, to make you question something you’ve already settled in your gut.
That’s not confusion. That’s not weakness. That’s not you being unable to make up your mind. That’s the erosion of your own knowing by someone who has a great deal invested in you not trusting it.
I’m not here to convince you of anything. I won’t tell you what’s going to happen in your relationship or what you should do about it. I don’t know your life, and the last thing you need is one more voice telling you what to think – even a voice that agrees with the part of you that already knows.
What I can tell you is this: the truth you keep arriving at, then losing, then arriving at again – that truth is yours. It didn’t come from the people telling you he won’t change. It came from you – from everything you’ve seen and lived and felt. His promises can make you doubt it – but they can’t actually make it untrue.
The work isn’t convincing yourself of something new. The work is getting quiet enough, and steady enough, to hold onto what you already know – even when he’s standing right in front of you, swearing it’ll be different this time.
You already know. The question is whether you’re ready to trust her – the part of you who’s known all along.
Finding your way back to your own clear voice – the one underneath all the convincing, the managing, the hoping – is exactly what Story Mining is for. If anything here resonated, I’d love to talk. No agenda, no pressure – just a conversation. The first one is always free.
Regina Blitstein — Story Mining Guide
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