She told a friend once: “The first time he raised his voice again, I knew.”Her friend asked, “How could you know? Maybe he was just upset.”Bu
She told a friend once:
“The first time he raised his voice again, I knew.”
Her friend asked, “How could you know? Maybe he was just upset.”
But she remembered the pattern—the way anger entered the room before he even said her name.
The way his body took up space until hers shrank smaller.
When she named it, when she called it what it was, he accused her of “playing victim.”
But she wasn’t playing anything.
She was surviving.
Reflection: “Playing Victim”
When they aren’t sorry for the harm,
they play up you “being a victim.”
They know exactly what they’re doing.
Women are pushed to forgive quickly,
to mend fences, to repair what was broken—
as if her pain doesn’t matter.
“He’s remorseful.”
“He had a bad childhood.”
“He misses you.”
“He had a hard time.”
But what about the hard time she had—
and may carry for life?
The moment he raises his voice,
moves too close,
shuts her down—
she recognizes the pattern.
She names it.
And suddenly, she’s “playing victim.”
No—
she’s remembering,
she’s protecting,
she’s refusing to be fooled again.
Affirmations
I am not “playing victim.” I am honoring truth.
My safety matters more than his comfort.
I trust the wisdom of my body when it tells me something is wrong.
Recognizing patterns is not weakness—it is survival strength.
I refuse to be silenced by shame or manipulation.
My boundaries are sacred. They do not require permission.
I deserve a life free from fear, free from walking on eggshells.
His excuses do not erase my reality.
I am not here to rescue his reputation. I am here to protect my peace.
My voice is not “too much.” My voice is necessary.