#domesticviolence
Beautiful creatures cannot be confined. Her wings will grow, she’ll find the sky.
Music: Choir
By Sonia Taneja
You know when you go to your doctor’s office and tell her about your cough and she tells you what you can do about it? Everything in that visit – from the lung exam to the prescription she gives you and even the conversation she has with you – is taught in medical school. I will save you lots of tuition money and one year of rotating between classrooms and hospital rooms to let you in on a little secret about what it takes to be a good doctor. It isn’t knowledge of every disease and it isn’t even an understanding of how drugs work. It’s mastery of a simple, dying art – the art of listening well.
To be honest, I initially thought being trained on ‘how to listen’ in medical school was futile. To be even more honest, I thought it was ridiculous. We listen and respond all the time – to our teachers, our parents, our friends. I believed that as long as we communicated with our patients using some degree of emotional quotient, we really couldn’t mess this up. It’s not brain surgery or anything, or at least not yet.
And could listening even be taught? Working with clients at Sakhi for South Asian Women taught me that, apparently, it can and somewhere along the way, I may have learned.
There is a rather significant component of listening that I never used to follow before medical school and before Sakhi – the not talking part. I would respond to the problems that friends would bring up with me by offering them prescriptions and solutions almost immediately. This did several things, none of which were assuaging their anxieties: I would cut them off from the opportunity to give me more of themselves, effectively telling them that I understood them, their concern, and their perfect solution completely. At best, this type of interaction can cause people to feel that sharing additional information might be unwelcome, making further conversation unlikely. At worst, it makes them feel unheard and abruptly judged. And when the topic is difficult for people to put into words, like with medical issues or experiences of domestic violence, their induced silence becomes far more dangerous.
Friends weren’t usually looking for to-do lists from conversations like this. They wanted to know that their problems were valid and that I would be there for them, no matter what. Similarly, a patient recently diagnosed with diabetes isn’t only looking for insulin. They want to know that their fears about living with a chronic disease are common and that their symptoms are real, but that they will be able to manage their new lifestyle with professional support. The best way to treat peers and patients is to treat them well – to ask, to listen, to understand, and then to hand them tools so that they can carve their own path to recovery.
When I spoke to my first client at Sakhi, all I wanted to do was to prescribe. Within the first few minutes, I wanted to tell her to run, to leave her house immediately – what else would you want for someone who describes her own home as unsafe, threatening to her life? Bound by my year of clinical training, however, I only said that I thought she was strong and that I was happy she came to Sakhi. “Tell me more,” I added. As she left our meeting, she expressed that she had never talked about everything that had happened to her out loud before, “It felt nice.” There was much more power in my open silence than in my prescription.
Doctors see their patients at their most vulnerable: sick, weak, often unclothed. But Sakhi for South Asian Women does the same – clients may not be exposed physically, but to share the intimate, traumatic details of their lives that are often considered by our own communities as unspeakable personal issues or ghar ka mamla is naked enough.
This stigma concerning domestic violence that is prevalent within South Asian community is impregnated with fear – the fear of being burdened with uncomfortable information and unsolicited responsibility. What will people say about her? About me? Log kya kahenge? Why should I get involved? And as a result, the people who could mean a safe location to stay or a phone number to call don’t. A community of potential listeners is lost.
That’s the sad thing about our world. Society makes us think that those who are struggling are weak.
But the clients at Sakhi have taught me that those who struggle are strong enough to do so without breaking. And the only thing strong people need to turn their strength into action – action to win custody of their children, to work within a complicated legal system to convict their partner of violence, to find a job that will support their new family and themselves – is to be heard, to be seen, and to know that they are not alone. To my beloved South Asian community, let’s listen.
Sonia Taneja is a student at the Yale School of Medicine interested in working at the intersection of social justice, public health promotion, and medicine, towards a goal of health equity for historically disenfranchised groups. She has worked as a Parker Huang Fellow in India studying the mental health of female sex workers and women coerced into prostitution and also has an MSC in Public Health from the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine where she studied race as a barrier towards cervical cancer screenings in the U.S. Outside of work, Sonia is an avid comedy clubber, Bollywood watcher, and bhangra dancer. She is a summer 2016 intern with Sakhi for South Asian Women.
I Once Was Blind: When Intimate Partner Violence Happens To Those We Love
I Once Was Blind: When Intimate Partner Violence Happens To Those We Love
“Ayo, I don’t even know you and I hate you!”
It was a random moment during a road trip in November 2020, that my connection to “Love Is Blind” by Eve featuring Faith Evans deepened. I passionately rapped the words along with Eve and began to see the connection between Intimate Partner Violence (IPV), commonly referred to as domestic violence.
The song has always been one of my favorite songs. As a child, it was because of my love for Eve and storytelling. In early adulthood, however, it was having experienced a similar situation as the one described in the song. I connected to the lyrics written about her sister/friend who she felt unable to protect from intimate partner abuse.
As a child, I sang the song not truly understanding the truth behind the lyrics. Understanding came when one of my close friends confided she was in an abusive relationship. Over the years, I stood helplessly and angry on the sidelines, watching the effects of IPV play out in each area of my sister’s life. All of my efforts and cries fell on deaf ears. As my journey in maternal and child health continued, I began to recognize and understand the impacts of intimate partner violence and domestic violence on birth outcomes and maternal and child health and also the impact that it was having on my friend’s life.
For Black women, sisterhood is an integral part of our life journey. We take pride in being able to be there for our sisters. But what do we do when our help and being there are not enough? Over the course of “Love is Blind,” Eve takes the listener on an emotional journey of sisterhood and contemplates what happens when our help is not enough. She embodies the feelings of helplessness and anger experienced when your close friend/sister is the victim of intimate partner violence with excruciating accuracy. Intimate Partner Violence, according to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), is defined as “abuse or aggression that occurs in a romantic relationship.” (It is important to note, however, that romantic relationships can be sexual and non-sexual).
Intimate Partner Violence can be expressed in one or a combination of the four following ways—physical violence, psychological aggression, sexual violence and stalking.
Psychological Aggression
Psychological aggression is the category that non-verbal and verbal abusive communication—mental and emotional abuse—falls under. Isolation and financial control are other tactics of psychological aggression.
Sexual Violence
Sexual violence encompasses control over sexual and reproductive health. Each way, minus stalking, is alluded to in the various lines throughout “Love Is Blind.”
Perinatal Intimate Partner Violence
Perinatal IPV is intimate partner violence occurring anytime within one year of pregnancy and one year after pregnancy. This distinction is critical because the majority of reported cases happen to women during reproductive ages (18-34).
Pregnancy and the overall perinatal period are a highly vulnerable time for people; hence, it is important to look closely at the impacts of abuse during that period and work to prevent it.
Nationally, one in four women experiences IPV, according to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV). Eve captures her friend’s experience with perinatal IPV. In the final line of the first verse, she wrote: “I could have killed you when you said your seed was growin’ from his semen.” My sentiments were not exactly those of Eve’s, but my friend also experienced perinatal IPV.
https://isolatednotalone.com
- It’s a free COVID-19 resource helping everyone affected by the crisis, with a focus on those grieving from losing loved ones to COVID-19, as well as healthcare workers on the frontlines.
- It’sbuilt by teenagers and is a non-profit project.
- The main focus of the site is healthcare workers and grieving people, but some of our amazing partners have given us discount codes for everyone on the site to use. There’s something for everyone there! <3