Maid Review + My Survivor Story

Trigger Warning: Domestic violence, emotional and mental abuse.

Possible Spoilers?

I apologize in advance as this is not so much of a review as it is a chance for me to reflect upon my story. I recognize my privilege in that I never experienced poverty, never had the stress of taking care of a child, and education was readily available to me. While I can never fathom what Alex and so many single mothers experience, I know the abuse, the manipulation, the fear all too well.

Uttering the words "I was abused" still causes me to choke up. A lump forms in my throat as I force the confession out of my mouth. I actually did not know that what I went through qualified as abuse. Like Alex said, "Abused for real;" I certainly felt that I had no right to label my past situation with people who went through physical abuse. I think deep down I also did not want to categorize myself with abuse victims as I felt a profound sense of shame. How could I have let this happen to me? Why didn't I leave sooner? These questions still flood my mind. "I am stupid. I am stupid. I am stupid." God, have I muttered those words too, Alex.

For context, I was in a 3.5 year relationship with my ex. We met when I was 17 and he was 19, and we started dating two months after I turned 18. I had never been in a relationship of any kind. I was never the type to have suitors following me, thrusting themselves at me for a chance to win my love and affection. No person had ever showed a romantic interest towards me. Of course, what I now realize is that what was exhibited towards me was not romance. It was a trap ready to ensnare me and swallow me whole. The moment I stepped in, any independence or freedom I had gained as I stepped into adulthood was violently snatched from me.

I never felt any sort of attraction towards him, rather I wore rose-colored glasses to force myself to feel attraction. I know now how wrong this is, but physical appearances were never a top-tier priority for me. I thought that I could convince myself to feel attraction and love. What I felt was not love; it was a cry for attention, to finally feel "seen." It snowballed into me hypersexualizing myself as I later discovered that my brains, my heart, my personality did not go nearly as far as my body did. And while I felt internally disgusted at being objectified, it was far preferable to the ever increasing loneliness of young adulthood.

A few weeks after we started dating, I got into a car accident that would change my life forever. While I survived, it was the beginning of living in constant survival mode. My ex used the opportunity to manipulate me into believing that I needed him; that I could not function without him. It's much harder to object when you are at rock bottom; when all light and hope has diminished. The dissociative state began, autopilot, lying at the bottom of the well.

It took me a long time to become the role of an outside observer into my past relationship and pointing out toxic behaviors that I had missed or perhaps refused to acknowledge. He painted my family and friends to be the villains in my story, out against me, out against "us." As the separations from my loved ones widened, the more he could have me to himself. While he never forced me to stay in per se, he would come over to my place every day (side note: he never paid rent, in fact, he would steal money from me) so that I could not make plans with anyone in the outside world unless he accompanied me. The walls of my apartment would become my own prison. When Alex peered out of the window when Regina visited her and Sean's trailer, I know that sickening feeling of helplessness, wanting to reach out to the outside world, to call out for help, but the opportunities always slipping away.

Back to my piece of shit ex. Control. He lived in constant fear that I would leave him, as he knew that I was far above his league, my intellect could take me to many new heights, and my work ethic would take me out of our small town and into the world. He just could not have that. When his measures of stealing money, trying to convert me to Catholicism, going through my phone when I was not looking, and separating me from my loved ones were failing as I started standing up more for myself and regaining my voice, he pulled out his best and most effective techniques yet: belittling me, kicking me when I already was on the ground.

Alex certainly shared this experience with me. When you're already broken, how can you repair when the pieces have already been shattered to smithereens? My ex picked apart my appearance, going as far as to comment negatively on my genitalia (I still cannot look at myself naked without crying). He would casually mention how "No one else would deal with you but me" and his oh so favorite phrase he loved to constantly cry into my ears "Please don't leave me" or "If you leave me I'll kill myself." Just like the guilt Alex felt inside, I felt immense guilt. Despite what he had done to me, I did not want to see him hurt. I know Alex carried that with her as she struggled with how to deal with her ex, Maddy's father, admired by their mutual friends. I pushed any thoughts aside about leaving. I thought so poorly of myself after him slowly and slyly making me insecure throughout the years, the thought of leaving simply did not exist in my mind. There was one thing he could not take from me.

Education. My safe space. My escape. My home. Alex's love of writing, her journal, her stories - as she said in group therapy, no one could take that away from her. She saw education as the key to her and her daughter's freedom; a hope of a better future for Maddy. One of my professors who would become my second mother, her class was my sliver of freedom, of expression, of love, of hope. While I never knew what I would go home to, I knew that every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I had something to look forward to. My new mom would always be there, a constant and comforting presence in my life that I lacked. I took her courses for three semesters before her metastatic breast cancer came back with a vengeance. On November 28, 2020, she passed away at the age of 54. Oh how I wish she could have lived long enough to see me now. That I made it. I got out. While the grief of her loss and being alone feels so overwhelming, her presence guides me still. How lucky and privileged I was to have her. I know Alex felt the same with Denise, Regina, Tania, Danielle, Brandi - just being there, listening, supporting - the power that women have in uplifting each other is such a beautiful thing.

What I did not know at the time, my happiest day was in the horizon. I finally got out. While the trauma still lingers and threatens to take hold of me, I am still here. Even though my BPD and depression feel almost unbearable, I am free. When Alex and Maddy made it to the top of the trail and screamed as they looked out over Missoula, I experienced that during my first solo trip to Iceland. The sunlight beamed on me when I reached the top of the glacier Svínafellsjökull (they filmed Interstellar there btw!!). I took it all in. I never thought in a million years I would be in another country having the freedom to do as I pleased, being able to do something that I had always dreamt of doing.

Alex survived. I survived. So many others have survived. The way out might feel impossible, unreachable, but it is there. And oh how beautiful does it feel.

Thank you Maid for telling our stories. Emotional abuse IS abuse. Survivors' stories are valid. They deserve to be heard. To those who listen, thank you from the bottom of my heart.