GED KEARNEY MP: ‘I said “he never hit me”, but he trapped me in silence and control.’
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For too long, coercive control has been the “invisible” reality of domestic abuse, leaving thousands of Australian women without clear legal recognition of their experiences. While NSW, Queensland and South Australia have now criminalised coercive control, other states and territories are still considering or developing standalone offences. In our new series , Mamamia is unpacking the warning signs, the profound impact, and the legal shifts, finally naming this behaviour for exactly what it is.
This article reflects the author’s personal experience.
“But he never hit me”.
I still can’t believe, even now, that I uttered those words.
I hesitate to write this.
As the Assistant Minister for Social Services and the Prevention of Family Violence, I hear stories of violence every day — stories of unimaginable cruelty. Stories that stay with you.
Stories that made me wonder how my own experiences could compare.
But what may surprise people — and what may resonate with far more people than we acknowledge — is that the more I learn about violence, the more I recognise myself as a victim-survivor, and the more compelled I feel to tell my story.
Because violence doesn’t only start with fists, and fists are not the only form of violence.
Violence often escalates with excuses, with minimisations, with little rules that suddenly feel like laws. It often begins with men who push boundaries because they know coercion won’t leave bruises — because they believe coercion doesn’t count.
Because they’ll say things like “but I never hit her.”
The experiences I describe here relate to a past relationship.
He stopped me visiting my family and friends and didn’t allow them to visit me. Or, if they did visit, or I dared to visit them, there were always consequences.
He held bank accounts in his name only, leaving me with less financial agency.
On occasions, if I did go out, he’d lock me out of my home altogether.
He threw meals in the bin, wouldn’t talk to me for weeks, isolating me in my own home.
It was emotional pain used as a weapon.
It felt deliberate and systematic.
I lived on eggshells. Hyper-attuned to tone, posture, even the distance in his voice. I worked constantly to keep him “happy,” as if managing his moods was part of my job.
Home wasn’t a refuge; it was a tactical environment.
Sometimes he’d wake me in the middle of the night and not let me go back to sleep: punishment described as something I “deserved.”
Read more https://www.mamamia.com.au/ged-kearney-mp-survivor-story/
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