Domestic Violence Can Be Hard To Recognize

Women’s Resource Center of Northern Michigan sees domestic violence as a spectrum of control.

I pedaled into the parking lot of Women’s Resource Center of Northern Michigan in Petoskey. The building was large and gray, with big windows and a playground outside. The playground was surrounded by a high wall. I locked my bike outside the entrance and pressed a bell. The security staff knew I was coming and buzzed me right in.

The Women’s Resource Center of Northern Michigan began in 1977 as a public gathering of a hundred women. This meeting sparked nearly five decades of advocacy, spanning multiple generations of survivors, frontline workers, and systems change. Today, the center offers modern facilities, counseling, advocacy, a 24-hour helpline, a Safe Home, education, and comprehensive services for survivors of domestic violence, sexual assault, stalking, or human trafficking.

I was greeted in the foyer by Claire Houser, the Marketing and Communications Director. She took me to a conference room filled with colorful artwork, and introduced me to Executive Director Gail Kloss, Assistant Director Andrea Koch, and Outreach and Advocacy Program Director Megan King.

I’d been biking across Michigan and camping in the forest for over a month, so it was slightly disorienting to be in such a clean, professional space. At the same time, I recognized how important it was for survivors to enter that kind of calm, boundaried environment. It felt contained and protected.

We chatted for a few minutes about the ride and the facilities, and then Gail led us on a tour of the building. Our first stop was a security room with a video monitor that showed footage from all angles of the building. We went back into the hallway, and Gail pointed out exterior windows made from bulletproof glass. It was one of many security details they’d thought about when they constructed the building.

It gave me pause. By then I’d heard enough stories to understand that when women are threatened with violence, you can’t assume it’s just a threat. Abuse tends to escalate over time, and abusers typically become most dangerous when the victim tries to leave. It’s not uncommon for an abuser to stalk their victim for days, months, or even years after she escapes. The security system and bullet-proof glass made perfect sense; at the same time, it put things in stark perspective: this was a women’s resource center.

We continued walking into the foyer, and I tried to describe what I was feeling. “There’s just… there’s just nothing else like this in society,” I said. “Except… maybe jails?”

The team nodded. “But it doesn’t look like a jail,” someone added, pointing to the art on the walls.“We try really hard to not make it look like a jail.” I glanced around at the plants in the corner and the carefully selected furniture. She was right. It did not look like a jail. Every design choice–from security to potted plants–was meant to invoke a sense of safety and comfort. It was remarkable.

We spent the next half hour touring the rest of the building, which included rooms for counseling, children’s services, offices, and meeting spaces. Each time we went through a door, someone from the team had to unlock it with a key fob they carried on cords around their necks. They explained that the Safe House was in a separate location across town and had its own extensive security system.

Eventually we went back to the conference room and sat at a big table. I was curious to hear more about the scope of their daily work, and what they’d learned about the nature of violence in communities. We discussed the center’s education programs, counseling services, and how domestic violence affects every member of a community. The team was quick to point out that although the threat of violence–including homicide–is real, many abusive relationships never become physically violent.

They described domestic abuse as a spectrum of control that includes isolation, intimidation, financial abuse, and psychological manipulation. These behaviors create an environment that keeps the perpetrator in a position of power and prevents the victim from leaving. “From a perpetrator’s standpoint,” said Gail, “If I'm controlling you and getting what I need just by threatening and intimidating, I don't have to go further and use physical violence.”

The security system and bulletproof glass were there for a reason: the risk of physical violence was real. At the same time, many survivors were coming from relationships in which no physical violence had happened. The threat itself–the control, coercion, fear, and manipulation–was the abuse.

The team explained that this is why supportive communities and resources are so crucial. Abusive relationships are often hard to recognize, and survivors may not fully understand what happened to them until months or years after they’ve left. It takes time, resources, and community to recover.

“Just building those supportive communities is the best intervention and prevention tactic that I can think of,” added Megan.

After our meeting, we snapped a few photos outside the building and I pedaled away. As I rode, I thought about the relationship between the center’s security system and the reality that abuse is often not physical at all. Each reality informed the other: it was one spectrum of control.

Communities that believe survivors disrupt that spectrum. The hundred women who gathered together in 1977–and every advocate and systems worker since–understood that.