Abuse of Power

THE clearinghouse on police-perpetrated domestic violence

...our need to be heard is overcoming our fear

His Target

When we first met I was struck by his deep brown eyes, his strong jaw structure, and his perfect posture. His appearance in his uniform was just as breathtaking. As I sat behind the dispatch console, I felt lucky that he had selected me as the target of his flirtation. Little did I know then that those striking physical attributes would evolve to negative characteristics such as dark eyes, clenching jaw, and menacing posture. Little did I know then that I was more than a target of flirtation. I would become a target for his hateful words, physical violence, and attacks on my self-image.

As a survivor of domestic violence, I now know that when we first met he thought I was less than him. He was the police, and I was a dispatcher. He was charming, handsome, attentive, and complimentary. I did not recognize that he had all the signs of a battering personality.

About a year into our intimate relationship I made a decision to apply to a neighboring law enforcement agency. He laughed, "You are too feminine. You are too small. You are too weak," were the words I heard him say over and over. Six months later I was accepted into the Academy. Having grown up with four older brothers, I had been "ground fighting" since age two. My father was a gunsmith and I had been reloading ammunition and shooting a variety of weapons since eight years of age. I was athletic and I liked to run, and therefore, I excelled as a recruit.

It was during the sixteen-week Academy training that I first became his target. How ridiculous that we argued over whose agency was better. How confusing when I realized that the man that I was in love with had leg swept me to the floor and I was pinned underneath him. How ashamed I was that we became physical and he had proven that I was weaker. How torn I was the next day when he placed a card on my windshield in the Academy parking lot apologizing for his actions and promising his love and desire for me.

Little did I know then that my Academy training would become a target and his method of operation for all of the future attacks on my body and mind. "Show me what they taught you," he would say as he would shove me in the chest. "You work in a man's world. You wear a man's uniform. You do a man's job. Show me what they taught you," he would taunt.

For six years this was my dance. To fight meant more serious injuries and the inability to report for duty. To succumb to his tormenting without physically engaging meant feeling battered as well. I nearly lost my identity and my career in law enforcement. And I lost a lot of valuable time and energy keeping the secret and protecting my job.