My thigh is on fire and I know there’s going to be a nasty bruise. My husband is on top of me, most of his weight holding down my lower body while his left forearm presses into my neck. Luckily I’m laying on my side. As he punches me with his right hand, his fist connects with my ribs, my hip, and my arm, over and over again. I desperately try to get away but I can’t get him off me. The more I struggle, the harder he presses his forearm into my neck, and the harder it is to breathe. I try to remain calm and focus on my breathing. There’s nothing I can do at this point except pray for it to end. As I lay here struggling to breathe, I listen as he screams and yells and tells me what I did to deserve it this time.

I was one of those women who said, “That will never happen to me!” Aren’t those the famous last words? I’d always heard about other women who had been in abusive relationships and I could never understand how they let themselves get into that situation in the first place. But the most confusing part for me—and I know this is confusing for a lot of other people, too—is once women find themselves in an abusive relationship, why do they stay?

See, I always thought I was different than all those “other” women. I came from a “good” family. I was raised to have respect for myself, and more importantly, I was taught to never let a man disrespect me. My parents wouldn’t allow me to leave the house on a date unless the guy came to the door to pick me up. No boyfriend of mine ever pulled into the driveway and honked or sat in his car, waiting for me to come out. They had to park the car, walk up to the door, ring the bell, ask for me properly, and, once invited in by my parents, be interrogated until I appeared. If my parents weren’t done with the interrogation by then, we weren’t allowed to leave. My dad made sure my date knew exactly how I was to be treated.

So I knew what to expect from men, what was acceptable treatment and what wasn’t. But that was high school. That was before I went out into the world and lived on my own. I enlisted in the Air Force a year after graduation. After Basic Training and Tech School, I was stationed at Maxwell AFB in Alabama. I had been there for about six months before I met and started dating Bill on Memorial Day Weekend of 1993.

I fell in love almost instantly. What wasn’t to love? Not only was Bill respectful, he was also extremely sweet, kind, and very romantic. He told me every day how beautiful I was and he loved to surprise me. All of my friends were always so jealous of the way he treated me. They wished their boyfriends treated them the way Bill treated me. Everyone always talked about how “lucky” I was. I happened to agree.

Bill and I soon learned everything there was to know about each other. We spent all of our waking time together; most of that time was spent talking. I told him all about my family and my past and he told me about his. I learned his dad had been much older than his mom, and they had divorced when he was very young. His mom had a boyfriend in her life, and his name was Ray. Although they never got married, they were still together almost 11 years later. Ray has ALS and is an alcoholic. Bill told me he was abused verbally and physically by both Ray and his mom. When I asked him about his dad, he explained that his dad died when he was 12. He said his dad is the only person in his life who ever loved him, and now he’s gone.

Hearing all those things broke my heart and made me fall in love with him even more. I saw this man who had been hurt, and I wanted to make his life better. I wanted to show him that I loved him, too. He continued to tell me stories about his childhood. For example, I discovered that he loves presents; he never received them when he was growing up. I paid attention to everything he said so I could make up for the horrible childhood he had and make sure that his future was brighter and happier. I vowed to myself that he would never go through anything like that again as long as I was around.

We continued to get closer over the summer. By the end of August we were spending all our free time together. We both lived in the dorms, but in separate buildings. Neither of us had a roommate but we spent more time at his dorm than mine because most of our friends lived in his building. By the end of August, I spent my nights in his room as well and only went back to mine if I needed something.

The first time I experienced his anger was during the summer when we had an argument. We’d had minor arguments before, and I didn’t think this one was any different. It too was minor, and to this day I can’t recall what it was about.

I’m in his dorm room, standing with my back to his locker and he’s facing me with his back to the bed. We’re arguing and something I say makes him angry. He grabs me by my upper arms and pushes me into the locker. He holds me against the locker and yells directly in my face, almost nose to nose. I’m not even concentrating on what he’s saying because I’m scared to death of the look in his eyes. As soon as he lets go of my arms, I run out of his room as fast as I can, not stopping until I reach mine. When I get inside I lock my door.

Safely inside my own dorm room, I slide down the door and let the tears fall. I’m so scared I’m shaking. My arms hurt where he grabbed me, but it’s the look in his eyes that scared me more than anything. His eyes are dark brown. When he was yelling at me, they were so dark that I couldn’t see where the iris ended and the pupil began. They were black. I never want to see that look again, but I know I’ll never forget it.

A few minutes later there’s a knock at my door. I know it’s him because I heard him follow me. I yell for him to go away but he says he’s not leaving until he talks to me. He keeps saying he’s sorry, over and over again through the door. I can hear the anguish in his voice and I know he really is sorry. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk to him or forgive him.

Who does he think he is? He can’t just treat me like that and expect me to forgive him and move on. And yet…I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. He’s never given me any indication that he could hurt anyone. We all say and do things sometimes that we regret. And what about these last few months? Don’t they mean anything? I love this guy. Can I just forget about him that easily? If I can, then I didn’t really love him in the first place. Don’t I at least owe it to him to let him explain? I’m so confused.

I don’t know what else to do so I let him in. He immediately tells me how sorry he is that he hurt me. I can tell that he’s sincere by the tears in his eyes. I believe him when he says he honestly didn’t mean to hurt me. He says he doesn’t know what came over him, he was just so frustrated that he snapped. I tell him how bad he scared me and that I refuse to be with someone who’s going to treat me that way. I ask him if that’s ever happened before and if he’s ever hurt anyone else that he dated. He swears it hasn’t and he’s never ever laid a hand on a woman before. He swears to me this will be last time something like this ever happens. He doesn’t want to be in the same type of relationship as the one he grew up in.

Since I know how much he loves and respects his dad, I use his dad’s memory as a reminder or a reason for him to keep his promise. I remind him how much his dad loved him and ask him what his dad would say if he knew what he had just done to me. The shame he feels is apparent immediately. He doesn’t even have to answer me. I feel like I hit on the one thing that means more to him than anything, the memory of his dad and the intrinsic need he has to make his dad proud.

So, against my better judgement, siding with my heart rather than my head, I forgive him. He takes me in his arms and holds me all through the night while telling me repeatedly how much he loves me. The next day, everything goes back to normal as if nothing had happened.

A few weeks later Bill surprised me by taking me to Panama City Beach over Labor Day Weekend. My birthday is September 2 and usually falls on or near Labor Day or Labor Day Weekend, making it the perfect excuse to get away. I assumed this particular weekend trip was the beginning of my birthday celebration and I was really looking forward to it.

The trip started out great. We left right after work on Friday and drove straight to down to Panama City Beach where we checked into our hotel. Later that night, however, when we were playing a game of miniature golf we got into another argument.

At first, I had no idea what was wrong. One minute we were enjoying a game of miniature golf and the next, Bill was giving me dirty looks and making exaggerated movements with his golf club. It was obvious he was mad, but I had no idea what he was mad about. Next thing I knew, he had thrown his golf club down and was walking off the course. I called out to him but he wouldn’t turn around or stop. I didn’t know what else to do so I dropped mine and went after him.

By the time I reached the parking lot, he was in the car. I ran up to it and tried to get in but he had locked the doors and wouldn’t let me in. I went to the driver’s side to talk to him and he rolled down the window and started yelling at me about some guy on the golf course. I had no idea who he was talking about, but his anger obviously had to do with jealousy. I started yelling back at him telling him he was ridiculous and that I hadn’t even looked at another guy let alone talked to one. He called me a liar and things just got worse from there.

He ended up leaving me in the parking lot of the miniature golf course, but not before telling me I needed to find my own way back to base because I was no longer welcome at our hotel for the weekend. I’m so angry I start to cry big, hot, angry tears.

After he pulled away I realized I was more hurt than angry. Here’s this guy that I love and trust and now I know that he doesn’t trust me. Not only that, but he just abandoned me in a strange city, in a different state, hundreds of miles from base with no way to get back. The tears start falling faster and faster.

Then I looked around and noticed all the people that were still there. All I could think of at that point was how embarrassed I would be if they saw what happened. So what did I do? Pretended everything was fine. I dried my tears as inconspicuously as possible, put on my happy face, and walked over to one of the benches, waiting for him to return as if that was the plan all along.

Fortunately, after what seemed like forever, he did return. He pulled up next to me and without a word I opened the door and got in. He apologized for leaving me there and I apologized for embarrassing him, which is why he said he left me in the parking lot to begin with. When he was inside the car and I was standing outside the car and we were yelling at each other, he said he was embarrassed. Anything that draws unwanted attention to him embarrasses him. I tried to explain that we wouldn’t have been out there to begin with if he hadn’t gotten jealous in the first place, but I could already see that wasn’t going to go over well.

I had already learned over the course of the last few months that Bill had very low self esteem and zero self confidence. That was the source of his jealousy as well as his fear of being embarrassed or having negative attention drawn to himself. What he failed to realize is that more often than not, he was the one who drew the attention to himself due to his behavior.

When we finally made it back to our hotel room, we sat down and talked for a while. Once we talked it out and finally had our relationship back on track, he suggested we take a walk on the beach. By this time it was almost midnight, but there were quite a few people still out walking the beach. It was such a nice night that I agreed.

We made our way down to the beach and started walking. After we walked a little ways, he got down on one knee and proposed. I was completely shocked! I definitely didn’t see it coming. Despite all that had happened between us, I immediately said yes. The other people who had been walking on the beach stopped when they realized what was going on and as soon as I said yes, they started clapping and cheering.

When we made our way back to our hotel room he explained that his proposal was why he had gotten so jealous earlier. He knew he was going to propose and he was nervous. When he thought I was flirting with another guy, he started second guessing himself and whether he was good enough for me, whether I would say yes. He blamed it on a case of pre-proposal jitters. His explanation actually made me feel better about the whole incident. For some reason, I understood. Either that, or I was willing to justify it because I was in love with him and love clouded my judgement.

Looking back on that night and all that came before it, you would think I would have read the signs and been smarter, said no. In hindsight, I can’t believe I let it get as far as a weekend getaway. But I did. When you’re young, naive, and far from home, living on your own for the first time, you think you know it all. Especially when you’re in love.

Yes, I made a lot of stupid mistakes, but I’m not the only one who’s ever made these kind of mistakes, nor am I the only one to ever find myself in these kind of situations. I don’t share my story to be judged, or criticized, or condemned for my choices.

I’m sharing my story with the hope it will help others. Maybe it will prevent others like me from repeating the same mistakes, perhaps it will help those of you who know someone like me understand how we get into these relationships and why we stay. More importantly, maybe it’ll help you understand why it’s not so easy to leave.

My story is far from over and there’s a lot to be learned, so I’ll be telling it in parts. Follow me or the Human Parts collection for new installments.