Till I was 21 years old, I thought it was okay to be a punching bag.

HOW TECHNOLOGY BECAME MY POWER TOOL IN MY ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH MY FATHER:

Today, I am embracing my empowerment and independence from the abusive relationship I have been for 23 years. Till I was 21 years old, I thought it was okay to be a punching bag. After all, my father has always ensured that I had food to eat, I had books and stationery to study with, and I had a roof over my head; he has also spent a lot of money for my education. He never ever failed to remind me and my family of these facts and he does so to date when I remind him that I am a human and would like to be treated with respect and not be abused or manipulated.

Don’t get me wrong, he has always asked me, his only daughter, to reach for the stars and be educated and he always said he would help me reach it. I will indefinitely be grateful for his progressive thoughts and his progressive actions. However, as I grew older and lived far away from him, I realized that his intentions for my success was more of a modern and progressive trap for me to forever be his puppet and his worshiper, I found being educated with his help less appealing. I knew I needed to free myself from the cage I had built in my head that was accepting of my father’s manipulations – I needed to empower who I was within and follow my passions rather than this person I was becoming who wanted to please my father so that my mother, my brothers, and I could be safe and sane.I don’t know if I would have ever thought about empowering myself from within, to become strong enough to say, “No, that’s enough. I will no longer be taking your abuse and your manipulations”, if I was still living at my parent’s home. I am still not sure if I could be strong if my father and I were face to face – I know there is still a side of me that will cower and fall back into the dark cycle of oppression thinking that the abusive treatment is exactly what I deserve because of having a voice and using it. But now, with thousands of miles of distance between us, and thanks to technology, I feel more free and empowered than I have ever felt before.

I never really could document what my father did to me except in words, after things had cooled down. And even the words I used had to be masked with metaphors to hide the shame.

If you are wondering how did technology help me. Well, when I used to live with my father and I was being maltreated, kicked, slapped, and dragged inhumanely, I never really could document what my father did to me except in words, after things had cooled down. And even the words I used had to be masked with metaphors to hide the shame. I never really talked about it with anyone because I was embarrassed of what I went through and I was scared no one was going to believe me and they would tell my father that I was being an ungrateful child, which has happened before.

Fast forward to being thousands of miles away, my father still found a way to torture me – using technology. When I couldn’t pick up his calls late at night, he would send me lines and lines of texts calling my mother whatever derogatory word he could think of, he would emotionally abuse and gas-light me via texts. It would be messy, hopeless and hurtful. It would trigger in me the memories of my childhood when I was beaten black and blue, when I was stomped on the face, and of all those times I was certain I was going to be stabbed to death by my own father. I would be mentally devastated and unable to function at school and in life.

There would be times I would ignore the messages and there would be times I wrote back. The first time I empowered myself and texted my dad that all his abuse was being recorded was the most enlightening and eye-opening moment in my life. Immediately, there was a change in his tone of texts. It shifted from being hurtful to a tone where I felt a sense of fear in his texts. He started texting things like: “Record and put it in my grave”, “When I will die you will remember and cry”, “I pray for you but Allah will accept it or not, I have doubts”, ” I don’t know what mistake I do”. You get the idea – he starts writing texts where it sounds like he is the one suffering and he brings religion into it, saying that he is hurt but will still pray for me but God will not listen because I am a bad person, little does he know that trying to bring the good light and pity on himself he was still being manipulative.

Suddenly, I realized that I had a tool to protect myself and stop my father from escalating his anger and manipulative ways. Anytime, my father would call me and start verbally and emotionally abusing me, I would casually say that he is being recorded and he would completely change is tone, tell me that I will suffer when he is gone and then cut the call. I never felt that kind of happiness before. But I also realized how technology is super underrated and underdeveloped in dealing with domestic violence situations. Maybe if we had the proper technological tools, then we could subtly save evidences of abuse without the abusers knowledge in their presence; victims of domestic violence wouldn’t have to fear being caught recording evidences like I did when I used to live with my father.

It takes a lot of effort to actually pucker up the courage and start recording evidences- for me, distance made it easier to start thinking about how I could protect myself, not just to remind myself that my father is abusive and I shouldn’t give in and let my guard down when he acts like the kindest man on earth, but also if things were ever to escalate I will have something to show and go by the legal route.

HOW DISTANCE EMPOWERED ME TO NOT FALL BACK AND TO SPEAK UP IN MY ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH MY FATHER:

As a child up until my 21st birthday, I used to think that since my father has done so many things for me to make sure I am alive, I should respect how he treats me, how he treats my mother and my brothers. I knew he just wanted us to be his grateful, obedient, and most compliant servants who never argued to anything he said or yelled, who took his beatings and his outbursts like a proper servant should. After all, he is the reason we weren’t on the streets begging for food, or being man-handled or enslaved by other people, as he always reminded us graciously.

Back when I used to live in his house, anytime he had a bad day, he was angry with anything, or anytime we did something he didn’t like, he beat us, he publicly humiliated us, he called us names, he told us how we were nothing without him, and how he could throw us to the street whenever he wanted and people would treat us like slaves and they would do very bad things to us, he told us he was our God and he could do anything he wanted to do to us, and how he could kill us and nobody would care because we were nothing. He reminded us in every way how he had power over us and that we were helpless and powerless.

Sometimes, I would forget my place as a servant and I would fight back whenever I couldn’t take it anymore. I would tell him to stop beating us or try to physically defend myself by pushing him off. I would argue back and ask him to not shout and to talk sensibly to us. I would tell him, “we are not afraid of you”. He didn’t like that, obviously. Every time I did these things to defend and protect myself and my family, I knew I was just adding fire to the fuel. I knew things would only go to the worst from there. But there was only so much torture I could take quietly. It always escalated his anger. I would only stop defending myself and my family when I was begging for my life thinking that he was going to kill me.

I don’t remember what exactly would slow him down and stop his one man war against us. He could go on for hours and hours whether I fought back or not. Every time, I would just cry myself to sleep. That was the only escape when he would slash our ear buds with his sharp words. It was a good day if he didn’t attack us physically or do something worse like tear my books.

He would calm down the next day or so and find ways to reconcile by saying he only gets angry because he loves us and cares about us. I would remind him of some hurtful things he had said to which he would say, “don’t make me angry then, you know how good men get angry very fast” and then relate to some great leader like Stalin or Putin, or he would deny he ever said anything bad. He would remind us about how he is a good man and he is different from other fathers. He would tell us that he would do anything for us and he does more than any father ever does for their children. He would say and he still says that we would realize how good of a man he is when he is dead, which he constantly reminds us could be any day. He says that we would miss him and realize we shouldn’t have fought or disrespected him when he is dead. He would make us feel guilty until gave in and told that we were sorry and that it was our fault.

I would instantly fall for his manipulations when I lived with him. He is my father. I don’t want him dead and yet there would be times I would fantasize a life without him or even, you know – wish he was dead so that we didn’t have to live in torture. When he would calm down, he would act so nice and kind, I would forget that he ever did anything out of place and tell myself that I probably deserved the inhumane treatment because my father only does things because he cares for us. I would go back to, not being his daughter but, being his servant. He loved it when we treated him like God and I would do as much as I could to please him and pray he didn’t get angry again.

Now, as an adult living away from my father, I am grateful for the distance. I am grateful that he sent me abroad to study. Little did he know that it was his own befalling. Now as I confront his abusiveness and request him to seek therapy, he tells me how I have changed, and I have become disrespectful and disobedient and maybe it was his mistake to send me abroad. He still calls me late at night to tell me hurtful things and to use me as his punching bag for his unresolved anger problems. I don’t know what would trigger these thoughts in him and want to give me these late night verbal slaps and punches. We are literally an ocean away and I still had to be aware of my next attack.

I feel guilty sometimes, wondering if he had not send me away to study would I have been as I am now. Would I have continued sucking up to him so that he wouldn’t lose his mind and drown us in his miserable and destructive temper? Would I still been that little girl who accepted every black eye and green bruises thinking it was to make her a better person? I am trying to be happy to know that my father’s mistake led to my triumph. It is difficult to not feel guilty and make deals with the devil. It is very difficult to stand up for myself and minutes later feel like I am doing something wrong and that I am terrible daughter. Sometimes, it is so very difficult to pull myself from the whirlpool of PTSD and hopelessness. But I grow stronger every time I push through those mentally exhausting times and rejoice my independence, my empowerment through distance, and my freedom from the domestic violence.

Needless to say, throughout my life at my parent’s place, I always lived in fear and anxiety, awaiting another explosive outburst from him. Life at that place was very unpredictable. My mother, my brothers and I were constantly trying to read my father’s mood, trying to be invisible unless called upon. Looking back, our cautious and strategic behaviour never really helped. He would find ways to torture us and show us that he had power over us. He was so afraid to lose power over me, he never let me hang out with friends outside of school. If I had a favourite teacher, he would always get angry and say things like “Go fuck/marry your teacher”, “Your teacher doesn’t know anything, I can teach all that easily and better”, “I was an excellent student, only poor student become teachers”. If I had a close friend, he would tell me that he was the only one in the world I should trust, that he was my only best friend. He told me not to have friends. He told me if anyone tried to be friends with me, it would be to use me because my father was rich. He would tell me, “Jari, you are not very good looking, you should study hard to succeed in life. No one will be your real friend, only I am your real friend. Don’t trust anybody. Because you are not so good looking, people will only try to be friends with you to use you.”

For the most part, I used to believe him and developed trust issues. But he couldn’t keep me from making friends. I had some amazing friends in school. School was my solace. I just tried my best not to talk about my friends or role models to my father after I realized it would trigger a bomb in him. Any time I did out of excitement or by accident, he would lose his mind. He would yell for hours and hours at me saying things like, “Go ask your friends for food then”, “They only like you because your father has money”. He just didn’t do it when I was in school but even when I was in University. He would constantly remind me that he wasn’t paying for my education to make friends.

It was honestly just fucked up. He made me feel so bad about myself. My self-esteem and confidence was very low. I was very suicidal both in school and in university. The only things that kept me going was that I needed to protect my brothers from this monstrosity, that I knew I had amazing friends whom I loved, and that I wanted to make a difference in this world. Now that I think about it, I realize that his fear of losing his influence and power on me was so high, he was jealous of my friends, role models and teachers. He tried every thing to have me not have friends. And he was successful in keeping me imprisoned at home after school. But in school, he was powerless.

HOW EDUCATION AND INDEPENDENCE SAVED ME:

My father would always tell me that education was everything. He would say that he had a very difficult life getting education so he wanted to make sure we had a good one. I am very grateful for my father for this. However, my father wanted to provide us with education so that we would be forever indebted to him. He would talk highly of educated people but my father has also torn my books and thrown my bag in the garbage if I ever talked highly of any teacher or if I tried to debate his ideas. He would say that he wasn’t sending me to school to fall in love with teachers. Once he almost burnt my books, because I questioned his beliefs he was thrusting upon me. I remember him screaming, “I know everything. You know nothing. I know more than your teachers and these books. You have become so brave thinking you know everything because I send you to school. You are nothing without me”. So many times he would threaten me that he would stop my schooling until I begged and cried to him to let me. Once when I went back to visit from University, he almost tore my passport because I told him to not yell at my mother so I couldn’t go back to university. My mother and I had to beg and say that we were sorry and were at fault till he gave me my passport back. He really enjoyed that. He still wants me to beg him for forgiveness when I tell him to not yell at me via phone or text. Just I can respond differently now that I am far away.

His hypocrisy baffled me then and amuses me now. As I mentioned earlier, my father believes that he made a mistake sending me abroad to study. He thought I would be forever indebted to him because he did something that no other muslim father would do, that is, send his daughter abroad to study. He would constantly remind me that he was different and no one would ever send me abroad. He was giving me the best education. I will forever be grateful to him for this.

Unfortunately for him, he handed me powers that would fight against him. He thought I would forever suck up to him. Treat him like God because of this. I do respect him but I have learnt here that how I lived was not normal; What I went through was not normal.

My first two years of university, I used to believe that I had to do it. As the oldest child, I just had to deal with this aggression and I was supposed to be understanding. I used to think that I was strong because I could take this abuse and maybe this was my purpose, I had to be strong and handle my father. I tried to never confront him and quietly take the verbal beating. I kept guilt-tripping myself and my father also helped in keeping the guilt in me that I owed my mental health to him for beating as he has done so much for us.

University, however, was a huge change for me. I went from being anxious all the time because a threat was actually around to being anxious all the time when no threat was around and not knowing what was scaring me all the time. I was confused and unable to focus in studying. I was constantly looking for distractions. I was amazed and joyful at all the love I was getting from my new friends and my student leaders. The world was so wonderful around me that I kept seeking this joy that I never felt before. I wasn’t imprisoned anymore. I could go anywhere I wanted after school; I could explore the world around me fearlessly and learn things that I was kept away from. Needless to say, I didn’t do well in school. This gave my father just more reason to yell at me and make me feel less than I was. I became very anxious and very suicidal. I didn’t really know about mental health well back then or the importance of talking about it and seeking help. I learnt a lot about it when I was training for a leadership position.

In my third year, I truly started questioning the acts of my father. I started deciphering what he did to us. I had never pieced it together that we were in a domestic violence situation until I started learning more about mental health. I started really speaking up. I used to tell my father that he had anger management issues and that he needed help. I tried to understand where all the anger was coming from. I tried to reason with his terrible acts.

He never listened. He only talked back at me and I tried to be an active listener and support him. In my third year, I found out that my father started using online sex chats. He is poor with technology and didn’t hide his footprints well. My mom found out too and confronted him. And obviously, he lost his mind. He would call me and send me lines and lines of texts saying terrible things about my mother. I finally confronted him. I told him I knew what he was doing and he should stop attacking my mother. I told him that what he was doing is domestic violence and he was violating our rights. It was a terrible battle where I lost and won at the same time. He stopped talking to me and my family for a bit. But suddenly, as an international student, I was left with no financial help.

The tuition and the living cost as an international student is huge. I was close to being homeless. I was mentally devastated, depressed and anxious. I wasn’t eating so that I could save money. I had lost my job. I really thought ending it all would be just fucking great and awesome.

My greatest strength has always been that I don’t give up easily. It is one of the reason I am still alive. I knew that until I graduated I had to be sensible. I just really had to push through, graduate and be independent from him. I luckily found a job. My father was kind enough to pay for my tuition. I made sure that all my other expenses was all on me. I worked throughout my school year. I worked on my mental health piecing together why I felt the way I did and the ways I should deal with it. I really couldn’t afford the time to commit to a therapist because of work and school but the few sessions I did go to I tried very hard. I found the foundation to help myself. I wanted to really help people like me and that’s when I decided to change my major to Psychology.

Honestly, I don’t know if I would ever have managed to heal myself had I decided to cling on to the relationship with my father. Realizing that I had to be independent from him opened my eyes. It motivated me to work hard and stay focused. It took a while but eventually I did. It even showed up in my GPA, nothing stellar but some improvement. I worked on myself and less on needing to deal with my father’s emotions.

3 hard years later, I graduated. The day I received my certificate. I was relieved. From now on, I am free. I knew this was my sword, this was my key, I felt endless and powerful. Soon after I graduated my father sent me a lines of texts trying to guilt-trip me, tell me how I was nothing, and all I replied was, “Okay”.

That was the most powerful moment for me. I realized I could ignore all his abusive words. I no longer belonged to him. He had no power over me. Anytime he would text me or call me to talk down on me, harass me, I told him that I didn’t have to take his emotional abuse and that I was recording him. He obviously tried to guilt me by saying that he would die soon and I would be crying for him or that he shouldn’t have been sent to Canada but he doesn’t go on and on when I tell him that he is being recorded. I feel saved with my education and independence. Now, I hope to save my mother and my brothers still stuck in that vicious web built by father.

The power of distance, independence, and technology has given me a new chapter in life. A chapter where I am in charge. I want to bring it to people who need it.