Coercive Control and Technology-Facilitated Sexual Abuse

Habit tracking can be an incredibly helpful tool for building healthy habits and accomplishing goals.

Unfortunately, it can also be a convenient method for abusers to exert further control over their victims.

I’d repressed this aspect of my abuse so hard that it made me feel dizzy and sick when it resurfaced recently, even though the relationship ended nearly three years ago. The pit of revulsion in my stomach tells me that this is a vital topic to address for the sake of others who may be at risk of similar manipulation.

In this article, we’ll explore a few of the controlling behaviors and cycles that keep victims trapped in sexually abusive relationships. We’ll also address technology-facilitated abuse in relation to habit trackers. My hope is that by spreading awareness of these tactics, we can recognize the signs of and root out these toxic behaviors.

Self-Preservation and Risky Sexual Behavior

My abuser didn’t feel he needed to pay any mind to the notion of contraception. Whatever warped, main-character narcissism was suppressing his own traumatized inner child caused him to bizarrely (and with zero evidence) claim that he was infertile.

When pressed about why he thought that, he’d trail off on some nonsensical reasoning about how serving in the military had caused him to somehow become sterile, how he’d had a lot of unprotected sex without any repercussions, or how he could just “sense” it.

Alright… So Anyway, I Got an IUD

While it couldn’t protect me from the dangers of unwittingly dating someone who was cheating on me with multiple partners, the Mirena intrauterine device’s 99+% effectiveness from pregnancy seemed like the best chance of protecting myself during a time when I wasn’t in control of how often I was having sex.

One thing I feel is important to mention is that while I love my IUD, it hurt like hell to get inserted. I mention that whenever I’m discussing how access to that form of contraception benefitted me because I do wish someone had been more honest about how much pain to anticipate.

Considering my circumstances at the time, however, I would still have chosen to get the IUD if it meant maintaining a shred of autonomy.

To learn more about the ridiculous experience that was trying to get my IUD replaced in a conservative state, I recommend checking out my article My Doctor Lied So She Could Deny My Contraception.

Saying “No” to an Abuser: Fear, Shame, and Manipulation

As you could likely infer, my abuser demanded to use my body for his own pleasure nearly every day. It didn’t matter if I was in the mood, if it felt painful for me, or if I was even awake. I was his property, and he was certainly going to take what he felt entitled to.

Trying to reject his advances always came with a price. It was a rare day when an attempted no from me for any reason was respected, but two or three days? Out of the question. Even if I was injured or sick, the expectation was there.

As he continuously moved the goalpost, not providing enough sex for his satisfaction would result in various forms of backlash, depending on the day and his mood.

Nearly always, it began with an abrupt and frigid stonewalling that’d leave me holding my breath and tiptoeing around our house. I’d feel that shift in the atmosphere and it was like someone had sucked out all of the oxygen. I knew I’d end up groveling in one way or another.

This behavior could last for hours and typically accompanied a tantrum of some kind. Something that would make it very clear how much he could hurt me: Cabinets slammed, banisters ripped off walls, holes punched in doors, guns flailed. Adolescent mixed with bull.

Always, the violent symphony was punctuated by the metronomic snap of beer tab after beer tab.

Emotional Manipulation and Entitlement

He lived for the days when I’d “done him wrong” somehow, whether by withholding sex or some other perceived offense he could invent or exploit. He had a true gift for making me to blame for any and everything, from the actions of others to things that happened before we even met. Never one to let go of a grudge, he used them like bricks to weigh me down.

When we fought, he’d gleefully sling every past mistake, every perceived insult, every wild accusation, every private confession of shame or embarrassment he’d ever siphoned from me, back in my face.

On these occasions, he’d let slip his mask and display the monster only I got the displeasure of witnessing. He’d laugh as he did so, making sure I knew the disgust on his face was directed at me.

He’d try to humiliate me by recording me without my permission or knowledge. Sometimes, he’d call our family members or mutual friends to tell them I was the one who’d gotten too drunk and was acting “crazy”, voice dripping with pity and faux-concern.

No topic was off-limits, and there would be no apologies. If I dared defend myself or criticize him, it’d only give him more ammo later, when he’d twist my words and force me to apologize for something else I didn’t say.

Disappearing Acts, Blackouts, and Assaults

During the course of these episodes, my ex would occasionally storm out of the house completely, disappearing without contact for hours or entire nights. He’d show up, still blacked out, the next afternoon, having driven home from who knows where.

He typically didn’t remember much about where he’d been; usually a combination of dive bars, casinos, and strip clubs. On more than one occasion, he claimed to have woken up on a stranger’s front lawn. All of this he did while armed with at least one firearm, which often ended up in his drunken hand for some reason or another.

On other occasions, he’d black out at home instead. While the highway was certainly safer on those nights, I took the brunt of his belligerence in the form of physical and sexual violence.

He liked it best when we both had a couple of days off work in a row. Several days when he had no expectation (or intention) of sobriety, where he could take his time cycling between as many of the above behaviors as he wanted.

Plenty of time to start a persisting fight, really lay into me, and otherwise fully ruin any chance of peace or rest that might help me see more clearly.

Learned Helplessness: The Path of Least Resistance

If the above scenario sounds exhausting, that’s because it absolutely was. I was frazzled and burnt out trying to pacify the explosive combination of his mood and BAC. These behaviors were so frequent and rapid that they left me constantly on edge, holding on for dear life while anxiously anticipating the next whiplash-inducing buck of the bull.

It was a constant practice in juggling his dangerous behaviors, trying to mitigate the damage, but there was only so much I could do when it came to avoiding his sexual demands.

After a while, I learned that the safest path was typically the one of least resistance. I’d give in to avoid the fight, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. When he was drunk, this often meant enduring sex that was much rougher and more violent than I enjoyed.

Sometimes, it meant going to sleep alone and awakening in the middle of the night to his drunken weight holding me down as he writhed on top me.

If he had the self-awareness to realize when my moans stemmed from pain rather than pleasure, or when tears streaked my pillowcase, I don’t know. Regardless, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Bad Habits: Becoming Complicit to Survive

If I knew I was going to try to get out of having sex that day, I’d have to wait on my abuser hand and foot, trying to get him in a good mood before laying out my argument.

In the course of my recovery, I’ve learned this was a manifestation of the Fawn stress response, or attempting to placate my abuser to avoid harm. This is an incredibly common response in situations of complex trauma, as abusers strive to break down victims’ boundaries, self-expression, and senses of safety.

It got to the point that I downloaded a habit tracker app, logging every time we had sex (or, more accurately, anytime I made him orgasm). I did this so I could have evidence of how ridiculously often we were having sex, hoping I could prove to him that it was more than “enough” sex and allow me more time to recover without being groped.

I had to act as though I enjoyed using the tracker in order to try to get him to buy in. I convinced him I wanted to use the tracker because I wanted to give him more sex as he was constantly demanding, when really it was so I would have a visual aid to help him see that I needed breaks.

On occasion, this pleading did actually work, so I guess I did benefit from using it.

Typing this feels ridiculous. Add it to the list of ways victims are humiliated and dehumanized. It made me feel even more complicit in my own abuse that I had to log it as though it were an accomplishment.

That was five years of my life.

Five years.

Alright, I’m back.

Never Enough: Technology-Facilitated Abuse

My abuser used technology to track and manipulate me in many ways, a phenomenon known as technology-facilitated abuse.

I was required to be reachable at all times and share my location. He’d regularly look through my phone and computer for anything with which he could incriminate me.

Of course, while the responsibility of tracking our sexual habits was a means of survival for me, I wasn’t always trusted to accurately report it.

My abuser would deny the accuracy of my tracking, saying we’d had far less sex than I’d logged. Wildly, he’d often try to insist I was sleeping around and that some of those stats were other men.

Can we pause on the absolute absurdity of that accusation?

Yeah man, I’m using the app I downloaded in an attempt to convince you to maybe hopefully rape me less often to keep a record of myself fucking other people.

What are you even talking about?

Arousal Carousel: Sexual Dysfunction and Abuse Survivors

It probably wouldn’t be surprising to learn that since my escape I’ve had an ongoing struggle with sexual function and trust in sexual partners.

Even though I’m now in a healthy relationship with someone who would never pressure me, I still see that habit tracker in my head. Some days, the thought of hands on me, even gentle ones, makes me want to scrub my skin off and start fresh. Untouched. Untarnished.

Other times I’ll enjoy being physical at first, then some innocuous movement or phrase will flood me with an urge to bolt from the room and keep running.

It’s not that I don’t ever feel aroused or enjoy sex, but there are definitely days when the idea of letting go and being that vulnerable with another person brings with it such overwhelming panic that I think about never having sex again just to avoid the anxiety.

It’s tough to feel safe expressing myself honestly when I’m feeling triggered or struggling to get in the mood. It’s even tougher feeling like I reset a stopwatch every time my partner and I have sex, putting ever more pressure on me to perform without considering my own needs. It can turn sex into an obligation, causing me to experience a bristle response at the very idea.

Breaking the Habit: The Aftermath

The more I’ve spoken out about the manipulative and controlling tactics my abuser used, the more heartbreaking stories I’ve read in response from others with similar experiences.

It’s been wild to see the ways so many of our stories align, especially after years of being made to feel so isolated and alone.

By spotlighting these toxic behaviors, I hope to help those in abusive situations, along with their loved ones, who may not yet be able to see they’re being manipulated. I also hope to smash through the shame victims feel about having been victimized.

I’m Glad You’re Here

After years spent advocating for domestic violence victims while hiding my own suffering, I refuse to let anyone feel abandoned in their abuse or its aftermath.

Trauma sucks. Recovery shouldn’t. That’s why I’m making communicating about my own experiences as normal as possible while actively calling out abuse and inequity when I see it.

Please support my continued writing (and help me inch my way toward my first book) by following and engaging with me on trauma and advocacy. I’d love to hear from you!

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