Time to read: 12 minutes(s)

November 25 is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. Today, thousands of women in Russia are repeating the fates of their mothers: enduring beatings, raising children in fear—because "that's how everyone lives." Most of these stories will never be known because in Russia, it's customary to remain silent about them.

"NeMoskva" tells the story of one woman who managed to escape the cycle of violence and agreed to share her story. Nadezhda M., 43, lives in Magadan and has five children, two of whom are now adults. 

Next - from the first person. 

The article also includes the opinion of the foundation's psychologist. No to violence Vlada Ignatova. 

A warning. This publication contains graphic violence. Do not read if this content is objectionable to you. 

Father

Until I was three, I had a wonderful childhood. We were an ordinary family: my father worked at a factory in the port, and my mother cleaned various places. They say that the memory of those who have experienced violence is blocked, but for some reason I remember even my early childhood clearly. And I remember the abrupt transition to what came next. 

One day, my dad got drunk and got into an accident. He suffered serious injuries and stopped thinking when drunk. That's when my life changed completely. If my father drank even a little, he would immediately become aggressive towards my mother and me. He would beat us severely for the slightest offense. I remember how I was always afraid of doing something wrong, of somehow angering him. 

When he came home, I often didn't even play, but simply sat stunned in the corner. I'd hold my doll in my hands and try to become invisible, to blend into the room, the brown closet, and the matching floor. He'd pass by, his gaze flickering, and sometimes it was as if he didn't even see me. 

But if something happened, there was no hiding. One time, I tore my jacket on the street. Mom told Dad. He grabbed the jacket, came up to me, shoved it in my face, and yelled at me for not appreciating the things he was toiling for like a slave. He grabbed my hand, threw me onto the bed with the jacket, grabbed my leg to keep me from twitching, and started beating me with a belt, screaming, "Ask for forgiveness!" I held the jacket to my face and cried, repeating over and over, "Daddy, I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry." 

I went to kindergarten and still remember my mother telling me: God forbid anyone sees the bruises. She asked me to hide them, to change my clothes myself, so the teachers wouldn't notice. She scared me, saying that if they saw the bruises, they would take me away from my family and send me to an orphanage. 

Grandfather

My father started having problems with his job. He couldn't afford the rent, so we moved in with my grandparents in a private house. I was five years old at the time. 

When I was alone with my grandfather, he raped me. It all started with him asking me to give him oral sex. He'd bring me to him, sit me down next to him, and take off his pants. He'd say that good girls should... Forgive me, it's hard for me to remember and describe such details. I even remember the smell—sour sweat, an unwashed crotch, black and gray hairs that got into my nose. 

If I refused, he beat me and blackmailed me: he said he would tell my father, and he would beat me to death. I had to obey. 

By the time I was seven, he wasn't just forcing me to give oral sex, he was also reaching into my underwear and trying to rape me. Apparently, I was still too young for him; he couldn't do it. During this time, my father was often drinking and beating me. Mostly with a cord—to the point where the veins on my arms would bulge and leave blue marks. 

Then school started, and everything continued at home. One teacher, apparently, noticed me and began to suspect something. She tried to talk to my parents. They simply told her to mind her own business. 

By the time I was 11, my grandfather was fully abusing me. I couldn't take it anymore, called the police, filed a report against him, and told my parents everything.

There was a huge scandal. My mother said it was wrong to act like that—it was family, after all, and I should have either endured it or gone to them first. In the end, I retracted my statement at the police station, and the case was dropped. 

From then on, my grandfather stopped touching me. But my father went crazy: he drank even more heavily and beat me more severely. He used not only cords, but also hoses, or simply kicked me. When he was drunk, I was afraid to go home from school because I knew I would be beaten. 

Mother

At 16, I couldn't take it anymore and left home, starting a life on my own. I lived with friends, then with a boyfriend, while still going to school. I worked odd jobs to keep my apartment rent-free. 

I tried to talk to my parents about the past once. After that, we never talked about it again. Because they simply said, "How much do you need to keep quiet?" In other words, they offered to pay me to keep quiet. I turned around and left. 

Back then I just wanted to hear "sorry" from my mom. 

And later, when I grew up, my grandfather apologized himself. The last time we spoke, he said, "I'm sorry for what I did, I didn't understand. I'm sorry for ruining your life." That was our last conversation. 

Then he died. He died suddenly, without even getting out of bed. And I felt better. I forgave. I think I forgave. I don't know how to say it... I just don't think about him anymore. I don't think about that period of my life with evil thoughts. I used to. I wanted him to suffer, I hated him, I imagined him being hurt physically. When he died, those thoughts went away. 

Expert comment: "Forgiveness isn't important for everyone. For a believer, it brings meaning and relief. But if there's no inner motivation, you can choose not to forgive, and that's okay too. Sometimes, it's the permission not to forgive that liberates. We have the right to be angry; it's a natural emotion. Through anger, a person experiences pain and gradually comes to accept what happened to them."

Husband

I got married at 19. When you've been exposed to violence since childhood, to your parents fighting and arguing, it's like they drum it into you that it's normal, that's how it should be, and that it will happen to you too. My husband started beating me while we were still dating, and I thought, "If he beats me, it means he loves me." 

I bore him three children during our marriage. Throughout this time, there were periodic beatings. One day, I found out he had another woman. I decided to have a peaceful separation, but it didn't work out because we shared an apartment. Then the worst began. He came home drunk, beat me, and tried to throw me and the children out of the apartment. 

The last time he beat me so hard he knocked out my front teeth. I endured it, I kept quiet, I didn't say anything to anyone. But when he hit the child who was protecting me... My son ran out and started shielding me with his body, screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, don't, Daddy, let Mommy go." And he hit him. 

Everything flashed before my eyes then...

I remembered my whole life with my parents. How I was afraid to go home, how I'm still afraid of my father. I realized that my children live in the same hell I lived in. 

It was as if something had switched inside me. I silently packed my things, and the children and I left my husband. 

I put up with him for 13 years. I thought I loved him, that he would change. He made promises: I won't do it again, I'm sorry, gifts, all that stuff. And I had my parents' example before my eyes: if my mother put up with it, if they lived together, that must be what love is. 

Expert comment: "Children who have experienced violence often fail to learn that violence is abnormal. If adults haven't explained this, they grow up not recognizing aggression and may believe that 'it happens' or 'it's my own fault.' As adults, this leads to a repeat of the scenario: they remain in abusive relationships because they don't feel like it violates their boundaries. This is an unconscious cycle ingrained in their life experience."

Itself

I tried to get a job to raise my children. I wanted to become a salesperson in a store. It's a shame they turned me down. They said, "We would have hired you, but your teeth are important." Unfortunately, I couldn't afford them for a long time. 

Some people ask why I didn't call the police. I did. And then, when he knocked my teeth out, too. The police showed up and said, "You're husband and wife, you'll sort it out yourselves." 

I didn't have a plan. I had a friend, and we moved in with her, and she supported me. It was a difficult time; I didn't have enough money. I got a part-time job cleaning at a school, then I started going to stores and businesses offering cleaning services. I managed to secure a few more jobs. I'd come in at night when the kids were asleep. 

Then we took it off small family, where we lived with the children for several years. The older children grew up. My father didn't try to get us back; he didn't need us. We managed to get child support payments from his salary through the courts; they were automatically deducted, although they were small. 

It was difficult at times, simply unbearable. We had to take out loans—microloans, mostly for food and rent. At one point, the bailiffs started writing off child support payments, even though they're legally forbidden. For several months, while I sorted things out, went to the authorities, and wrote letters, we lived hand to mouth. By New Year's 2022, we had no money left at all, and the celebration was very modest. The only joy was that we were together. 

Expert comment: "Escape from an abusive relationship is extremely difficult because the person gradually adapts and loses their sense of normalcy. Often, by the time they realize "something is wrong," there's no support: the partner has isolated them, they have children, no job, and nowhere to go. Complete dependence develops, both financial and psychological. Even if they manage to leave, the same mechanics apply as with addiction: first, the euphoria of freedom, then the fear of loneliness and doubt, and the abuser returns with promises to "change everything." These promises fuel the addiction, and the person falls back into the same cycle."

Soon, we were given a two-room apartment in a remote area through the municipal housing program for large families and low-income families. This was a big deal: finally, we had something of our own, even if it was far from the city!

There was a period when I tried to build relationships, I met men, but they didn't go far—I didn't allow new people into my life. However, from a relationship with one man, I had twins; they are now seven years old and go to school. 

My first husband, when my older sons grew up, started seeing them occasionally, even taking them fishing. That's their relationship, I don't interfere.

Now I have a job in a cleaning service and five children, two adults and schoolchildren. 

We respect each other, listen, and often talk about important things. For example, about love and supporting each other. We discuss successes and the future. Childhood doesn't come up that often, so it's not like we talk about traumas... The older children remember everything, but they don't blame me. I only regret not leaving sooner. 

I really want them to be a support system for each other when they grow up, so they won't be left alone, so they'll have someone to tell everything to and get help. That's the main purpose of family: no matter how difficult things are, you always know there are loved ones who will support you, and you'll have somewhere to go. Even the thought of that gives you strength. 

I decided to tell my story so that women who see themselves in me would think twice and change their lives. So that they would know: if someone hits you once, it will happen again, and often. You have to leave. It will hurt. But that's not love. It's an addiction, a habit. Don't wait for change, just change your life. 

Expert comment: "Honestly, I haven't encountered a case where the violence didn't recur. For a person to truly change, they must acknowledge their own responsibility for the pain they caused and admit their guilt—and that's extremely difficult. More often than not, those who commit violence grew up in an environment where it was the norm. Even if a man sincerely repented, relationships after violence almost never become healthy. The experience of pain doesn't fade—it remains in the memory and the body, like a dog that was once beaten: it will flinch at every blow. So too, a person lives on guard. One is afraid of causing pain again, the other is afraid of being hurt again. As a result, both live in anxiety and guilt, and such relationships are almost doomed."

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According to human rights and official sources, domestic violence has remained a leading cause of female mortality in Russia over the past ten years. In 2022–2023 alone, died more than 2,200 women, and in total about a quarter of all murders in the country committed in family and domestic conditions.
Research shows that up to 66% of murdered women become victims of violence from partners or relatives, and every fourth Russian encountered with domestic violence personally or in the immediate environment.
The bill "On the Prevention of Domestic Violence" is the subject of heated public debate in Russia. It was introduced to the State Duma in 2016 but has yet to be passed. According to opponents actively opposing the bill's passage, it "creates a mechanism that allows for interference in the family lives of citizens on vague and unspecified grounds."

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