Nearly one in two women has experienced domestic violence (DV) in their lifetime, yet accountability remains limited, as nearly half of survivors never report their abuse to law enforcement. Out of fear of retribution, survivors often minimize harm and shield their perpetrator’s behavior, shifting responsibility away from them: “That’s just how men are,” or “He didn’t mean it.” DV affects almost everyone—directly or indirectly. Nearly half of people know someone who has experienced it, through personal experience, witnessing it in childhood, seeing loved ones endure it or encountering it in public spaces.
DV has taught me about silence. The silence of victims who feared retaliation or shame. The silence of witnesses like me who did not know how to intervene. And the silence of communities that preferred to avoid conflict and not to disrupt the image of a functional family. Silence does not protect anyone; it allows the harm to continue.
In America, toxic masculinity thrives in that silence. It discourages men from seeking help, discourages women from speaking out and discourages bystanders from stepping in. Over time, domestic violence becomes predictable as patterns emerge—slammed doors, raised voices, a tension that fills rooms before anyone speaks.
Over time, beneath their rage, I’ve come to understand that many male abusers are suffering too or have suffered. The problem is, intimate partner violence will not end by ignoring men. This raises essential questions beyond how did we get here, in a nation that champions violence and spends more on its military than on education and social services. For example, who is intervening to address husbands and boyfriends who batter? What tools are needed to support men in building lives free from violence? Let’s be clear, addressing these challenging concerns will not only benefit men, but also their families and society more broadly. Families deserve to heal from domestic violence, and men should be part of that equation.