Advice from the Astroturf:

“You need to stand your ground. Don’t let him push you around. Hit him if you have to, that’s what I done.”

“Punch him one in the face. What’s done behind closed doors stays there.”

“I tell’t you before, you hae to stand up for yersel’. You cannae let him walk all o’er you.”

“Knock his two manky teeth oot.”

Advice from my Mum:

“Pray for him and be kind to him”

After a week of eggshell-treading and close encounters, including another threat to “Split (me) open”, I attempted to strike a balance between my two streams of advice. I thought a lot about the positive qualities that I was able to recognise in him: his creative talents; the love he had for his son; the humility that he had showed me one day when he apologised for his violent words (the “cunt-punching” day).

There were things that I wanted to believe about him: that he is loved…that he is special…that he is important…that there is good in him. But as I looked at him from my perch I found that I was struggling to believe those things. All I could see in front of me was a bitter, cruel, aggressive and warped individual.

Although I don’t hold a belief in God, I decided to attempt to reframe my thinking by revisiting some of the teachings that I had received from the Church as a child. I found that by using religious language I was able to take a step closer towards believing what I wished I could believe… feeling what I wished I could feel.

He is loved by God

He is special to God

He is important to God

God has put goodness inside him

The next day, he stepped up onto his bed, reached up to me and grabbed me by the throat and squeezed.