Neos Kosmos continues its series on gender-based violence within our community, to expose a pervasive issue often hidden behind closed doors. As part of the global “16 Days of Activism Against Gender Violence” campaign, we bring you another true story—raw, heartbreaking, and courageous.
Today, we share Anna’s story. While her name has been changed for her safety, her voice is real, her pain is real, and her resilience is an inspiration. Through her journey, we aim to raise awareness, foster understanding, and provide essential resources for those who need help.
“There were always signs”
Anna* was just 21 when she met the man she would later marry. “It was a big love story,” she tells Neos Kosmos. Their relationship, however, was tumultuous from the start, marked by periods of separation followed by reconciliation before they finally married six years after they met.
The abuse began almost immediately after marriage. Verbal assaults quickly escalated into physical violence, with Anna recalling the horrific moment her husband punched her while she was pregnant with their first child.
“There were always signs,” Anna says, even before their wedding. “But I thought things would get better, things would change.”
She describes her husband as narcissistic, controlling, conservative, and jealous. He dictated every aspect of her life—from forbidding her to work or have friends, to monitoring her expenses, demanding explanations for every penny.
“I never spent a cent on myself,” Anna said.
“He put me down all the time. Now I realise that it was because he probably never felt good about himself. But back then, it was like walking through a thick forest—I couldn’t see the light, or a way out.”
Love kept her tethered. “I really loved him. For a long time, I thought I was to blame somehow—for his temper, for not doing enough, or that somehow I provoked him.”
The element of shame, ντροπή, that she was failing in her marriage stayed with her throughout her ordeal.
“I always had a suppression,” Anna says. “I never had the confidence to be myself and own my identity.”
Raised in a traditional Greek Australian household, Anna lacked the freedom to go out, explore relationships with boys and then men, before marriage. “My family was traditional. Even though there was no abuse between my parents, my mother would do everything for my father, and I believed that that was how it was meant to be.”
Her kids were the reason she finally fled the marriage. They had to be safe and protected
Living under her husband’s oppressive control felt like a “dark cloud.”
“I was not working. I was relying on this one person for everything. How could I leave?”
In public, her husband appeared the perfect partner, making it difficult for Anna to confide in anyone. Even her mother-in-law, who occasionally chastised him, would ask what Anna had done to provoke his behaviour.
Fear became a constant in her life. She walked on eggshells, trying to guess his moods and avoid his rage. But, when the abuse turned toward her children—and having confirmed that her youngest was being sexually abused by him—Anna knew her only option was to leave.
“That is when I said, enough is enough,” she says.
“I left with my children that night at midnight, with nothing but my nightie and slippers.” Her children were 13 and 3 at the time.
Anna returned to her parents, who had suspected her suffering.
“My parents were very supportive. I am very lucky. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Initially, Anna felt she had “destroyed her life” by leaving. Looking back now, she wishes she had been better informed about available resources.
“I wish I’d tapped into the right people and prepared before leaving—found out my options. I went to my parents to survive, but not everyone has that support. Many women struggle for a long time after leaving.”
Your journey starts when you leave
Her journey was financially and emotionally taxing. She received no child support and spent years fighting for full custody of her youngest child, all while starting over without a job or education.
“I had to feed my kids and put them through school,” Anna says.
Despite the hardship, Anna says she made the right decision.
“Your journey starts when you leave. That’s when it’s most dangerous, but I would do it again—sooner though.”
“My kids were my main drive. They had to be safe and protected, but also made aware and know what their choices are in life. To know their worth and understand that they have an identity and choices, and make sure their self esteem is strong.”
The fear continued, and the stigma in the Greek community was isolating
For two years after she left, Anna was terrified every time she went to work, afraid that she would be found and attacked by her ex-husband.
“It was a nightmare. Even though I had professionals working with me it took a very long time to recover and start to trust. And I still have difficulty trusting men.”
Anna acknowledges the stigma in the Greek community.
“The ντροπή ntropi (shame) keeps people silent. I battled alone for a long time. My cousins turned their backs on me, and people didn’t want to believe me or found excuses for his behaviour. It was isolating.”
Anna found her feet. She worked three jobs to make ends meet, while studying. Today, she channels her knowledge and experiences into social work, helping others navigate similar situations.
She says that domestic violence affects men too, although many are too ashamed to speak out, remaining in abusive relationships for decades even.
Reflecting on the rising tide of domestic violence and femicide, Anna believes more support is needed also for perpetrators.
“To kill someone, you can’t be in your right mind. You are in a state of psychosis.
“They’ve lost control of their lives, and that’s why they’re so dangerous when you leave. It’s about control, but they had already lost control when they started the abuse.
“It’s a sad situation on both aspects. I have no hatred for them. It’s not right what they do, and I don’t excuse it, but I have no hatred.”
They need to be dealing with these issues, and men’s programmes are usually booked out for months.
“We need to accommodate not only people who have gone through this abuse, but also those who actually abuse,” she says, adding that the key to change is educating young people about addressing learned behaviours—whether those that lead to abuse or those that make someone vulnerable to becoming a victim.
Seek help. Open up. Talk about it.
Anna’s message to those experiencing domestic violence is one of hope.
“I don’t want to paint a beautiful picture. It is not. It is full of challenges. But there is life after this and it can only get better. Seek help. Open up. Talk about it.
“Even if five doors close, one will open.” she says emphasising how important she believes the organisation ‘Orange Door’ is, as the first point of contact for someone seeking advice or help.
Anna points to her children and her work as a source of pride.
“I’m proud of the person I’ve become and the journey I’ve taken. My children are strong, and I’ve helped others find safety and hope. If I didn’t have my boys, I don’t know if I’d be here talking to you today.”
Every day, Anna says, is a blessing. “When you’ve been through something like this, you learn to value every moment. I have got my freedom, I’m out of that cage, that dark shadow.”
*If you or someone you know needs support, don’t stay silent. There are organisations that can help. Call 1800 RESPECT or 1800 737 732, or visit the Orange Door at www.orangedoor.vic.gov.au for advice and support.
