The story of a woman who suffered from domestic violence: 'Easy or difficult solution is to train our sons well'

Domestic violence has emerged as a major problem in Pakistan. In this regard, the BBC spoke to a woman who suffered from such violence and whose life was changed by the process. Read this woman's story in her own words.

Domestic violence happens in our society by both men and women, but the majority of its victims are women, and no matter how much we talk about it, no matter how much noise is made, but the main thing is that women are inferior. .

I thought a lot that I was educated, I belonged to a good family, I studied in a good school, I could speak, I did all the housework, I worked harder than my brothers, I was a thousand degrees better than them in studies, but on the first day Since then, it was instilled in the mind to serve the brothers, when the brother came, mother's voice would be heard, shy, got up and gave water to the brother.

But when I reached the bad house in hot weather, my brother would not be missed and despite the fight and discussion, I had to go and drink water from the fridge by myself and this is a minor example. Picking up the remote control of the TV and moving it around, carrying plates, carrying shoes and clothes of others is my job, my sisters' job.

And so a red line was drawn in my throat, with many freedoms, but when it came to men, the line deepened. Then when I grew up, I watched TV dramas and from them this line became a wall. These plays were also written by women, some of them were also directed by women, but this was the whole lesson in them. Be patient, be virtuous or you have no time

It is violence that destroys you deeply and physical violence and beatings are normal. Once I went to my friend's house and it rained and we showered in the rain in this empty house. When I reached home, I was beaten by my brother and then by my father. I still don't know why. But perhaps it was an attempt to prove control as a memorization priority in the metric to cut it right there.

I wouldn't say that my father was one of those men who believed in domestic violence, but he did put his hands on my mother when I was young. Later they played a role in improving my self-esteem. Maybe he wanted to atone for his past sins.

The role of men in this whole process remained the same, the reactions of women were more painful as their influence was negative. These were the women from whom I needed courage, but they kept pulling my leg. Some knowingly, some unknowingly.

All my friends who show me pictures of their imaginary or real boyfriends or fiancees or tell me their stories, make me feel that my lifelong goal and answer is only marriage. If I am not married, I am of no use.
All these things are part of the violence that was done to me internally and externally. Now I have not mentioned the beatings of my mother and relatives for trivial matters. For speaking loudly, for dupatta being high and low, for talking to someone, for listening to someone, for not serving a male relative and the list is long.
And then came the occasion of my marriage and I was tied to a man who was lost in himself, who could see nothing beyond himself. What little self-confidence he had in me, my husband began to chip away at it one by one. Opted for a job and stayed at home so that I depended on him for money. Objections to my spending, objections to clothes, objections to colors and many times when the objections do not stop, verbal abuse.
There was so much pressure on me, but after listening to the stories of my friends who got good fiances, I used to think, come on, my husband looks good, looks better with him, earns well, has a good house, offers luxury, what is it? The one who gets a little angry or sometimes more, is for my betterment, but as a result of this compromise, taking my silence as consent, it escalated to a beating one day.

It so happened that we went to eat in a restaurant and my iPhone fell from my hand and its screen broke and so we left the restaurant in a hurry without eating. There was a storm of anger that would not let up. I just said that there is a phone screen that is not broken by my mistake, the phone can be dropped by anyone and it will look like new. It's just too late to say that I was hit hard by it. I even had slap marks on my face, the things lying in the car including his phone were picked up and beaten.
When I reached home, I went inside quietly because if I stayed more in front, what would have happened. And so it began a new method that grew. Beating has become the norm, it is no longer a matter of slaps, it has reached to punches. And one day to the belt and then to the wood. I didn't tell my parents because they lived in another city and I was alone with my husband. Lived. And I used to have problems at home even if I talked to them. My phone records were regularly checked to see how many minutes I spoke to whom.

Thus three years passed and the third year of childless marriage was spent in violence. For the first two years, I thought it was my reformation, but there came a moment in the beating when I felt that it was not reformation but something else.

I used to watch a human rights activist on TV. I thought I might talk to her and get some help, but when I mustered up the courage to approach her, I found her beating her 12-year-old maid with a plastic pipe. I returned in reverse because there were more than one young maids working in his house.

Gradually my confidence and hope that I will be able to get out of this whole situation started to disappear. The beatings lessened because I limited myself so much that there was no difference between me and a robot. And maybe that's what my husband wanted.

But many times I think about what I am doing in my free time. Some of my past friends used to explain my situation when they saw me, but I thought that they were misleading me. I would think about their words later, but a war would start inside me and the human inside me would take the place of the robot. And I felt like I was committing a sin. Doing something wrong and I would have taken myself back to the same prison.

The whole process would have started a chain of events in which violence was an important link.

Then my son was born and that changed the whole thing. Now I had two chains of love on my feet and for the sake of my son I placed another stone on my heart. The goal for me was to live now so that my children could grow up in peace.