Safe access to care and education isn’t just a right, but a matter of survival. Join me in exploring some of the ways abuse victims are particularly vulnerable to harm caused by restrictions on women’s health.
The right to choose
Throughout history, women have been embroiled in a fight to control our bodies. Recent years have shown an especially disturbing assault on laws pertaining to women’s rights. These changes have already been shown to cause immeasurable harm to our society.
The erosion of reproductive rights, including safe access to women’s healthcare and education, poses a grave threat to the well-being and autonomy of women nationwide. The consequences of these attacks are far-reaching, perpetuating cycles of abuse, entrapment, and generational trauma.
Gradually restricting liberties
For five agonizing years, my ex-partner exerted an insidious level of control over all aspects of my life. When it came to my privacy, there were no boundaries — he wanted to know where I went, who I saw, and every thought in my head. Anything he could possibly hook into to keep me in line.
His suffocating authority extended to nearly all aspects of my physical, financial, psychological, and sexual independence. Trying to deny access to anything he deemed “his,” including my body, meant I was either hiding something or didn’t trust him, both punishable offenses in his mind.
One effect of this crushing regime contributing to my CPTSD to this day is the learned helplessness I developed as a result. It was as though I had no control over my own decisions or movements. I even learned that my opinions needed to either align with his or be kept to myself for my own safety. This manipulation left me feeling profoundly conscious of my own bodily autonomy, or lack thereof, even long after escaping my abuser.
The lifesaving power of reproductive freedom
One particular aspect of women’s healthcare holds immense significance for me as an abuse survivor: access to safe and reliable contraception. The overturn of Roe v. Wade in June 2022 has resulted in many states enacting bans or restrictions on abortion, as well as attacks on other birth control methods.
As we’ll explore below, the ability to choose when, or if, to become a parent is crucial for survivors seeking to break free from abusive relationships.
In my case, getting an intrauterine device (IUD) proved to be a life-saving decision. During a time when I had little control over when my body would be violated, reliable contraception offered a sliver of control over my future, a chance to protect myself from an unwanted pregnancy that would have further shackled me to my abuser.
The alternative: Ties that bind
Our “justice” system regularly re-victimizes survivors in many ways, one of which is the disturbingly common practice of forcing victims to share child custody with their abuser. A neverending cycle of custody disputes and appeals often keeps families trapped in a state of constant apprehension, unable to move forward with a new life free from their abuser. This prospect can even be daunting enough to prevent victims from reporting or attempting to leave their situation.
In addition to this already existing problem, recent restrictions on abortion access and other forms of birth control have made being a victim in America even more unsafe. This is especially true for victims of abuse or sexual assault who may be forced to carry a pregnancy they neither wanted nor consented to.
The deeply invasive nature of recent restrictions on women’s health and wellness education triggers distressing memories of that bleak period when I didn’t have the agency to move freely or make my own choices. This stress response is a deeply-ingrained survival mechanism resulting from the trauma I endured.
I often reflect on how fortunate I was to escape my abuser without becoming pregnant, especially considering his nonchalant attitude toward his part in preventing pregnancy. The thought of a scenario like the one below makes me shudder, and my heart breaks at the idea of it being a reality for any victim:
- As someone who knows I don’t want children in the first place, becoming pregnant would have been a nightmare in itself for me.
- Had I been forced to have the child, I likely would have ended up legally entangled with and reliant upon my abuser for the rest of my life.
- Because he and I both worked long hours, I likely would have had to quit my job to care for the child. It probably would have happened relatively early in the pregnancy, since I worked in a dangerous field at the time.
- This would leave me with little time to make financial arrangements, and also make me reliant on him for health insurance… but only if we got married, further fortifying the bars on my cell.
- The financial costs of raising a child would drain me of the ability to escape or seek other support.
- I harbor no delusions that he’d suddenly see the error of his abusive ways, nor that he would ever get treatment for his anger or substance abuse. It would likely, as it so often does, continue to escalate.
- As a result, the child I never wanted to have would have been exposed to the continued brutality (and probably eventual murder) of their mother. They’d also likely become victims themselves, perpetuating a cycle of trauma and abuse that will devastate another generation.
One in five women will experience sexual assault in their lifetime. The grim hypothetical above represents reality for many of them. These life-altering impacts of a lack of bodily autonomy underscore the importance of safe access to women’s healthcare, education, and a society that supports and believes in victims.
Intersectional considerations
I’d like to highlight the fact that I’m speaking from the perspective of a white, middle-class, bisexual, cis-gender woman, a view that is by no means all-encompassing. I also acknowledge the fact that having access to resources and support needed to escape my abuser safely came from a privileged position in itself, which is exactly the problem.
Additional considerations have to be made regarding the impact of women’s health resources on other underprivileged populations. Instead of attempting to speak for other groups, I’d love to invite anyone affected by these issues to share their experience in the comments.
Conclusion
My journey as a trauma survivor has instilled in me the deeply distressing impact abuse can have on one’s sense of bodily autonomy. Had it not been for access to reliable, safe contraception and sexual education that I personally sought out, I may never have escaped my abuser. The trauma symptoms I continue to experience years after are a testament to the urgent need to protect women, particularly in the face of attacks on our reproductive freedom.
Access to women’s healthcare is not a luxury; it is a lifeline for survivors attempting to break free from the chains of abuse. Together, we must advocate, raise awareness, and fight for a future where every person, regardless of gender, can claim their right to autonomy and safety.