Empty and crying, I looked into the mirror and for the first time in my life, I saw my father. I had become my worst nightmare.
But me, I wasn't the kind of abuser who hit his girl for no reason. I thought my acts were validated. I was always in the right ā just like my father.
The first time I remember hitting a female, I was about 17.
She'd done nothing to offend me. It was just something about my being in control and my wanting her to understand that I was stronger than her. I was a man.
How empty I must have been to have thought that my being larger than she was ever would make me more powerful. What I was, was ignorant and emotionally impotent.
I remember asking her a question, her not answering me the way I wanted her to, and walking over and slapping her for no reason at all, just because I could.
As she held her face with both hands, I felt nothing and did nothing to comfort her. I felt in control, as if I had somehow gained the rights to determine her every movement.
In reality, I was the one who was stuck. Sure, from birth I had been beaten, but I had no right to do to her what was done to me.
[For more of this story, written by Anthony Hamilton, go to http://www.npr.org/2014/09/16/...-i-used-to-hit-women]
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