The Phases of Domestic Violence: How to Spot the Loops of Control—Before They Tighten (Part 1)
- GregCaiafa
- Jun 29
- 4 min read

Domestic violence rarely looks like an endless storm of punches. Far more often, it hides inside a repeating weather pattern—clear sky, gathering clouds, sudden thunder, guilty sunshine—that can stretch across months or decades. Many of the women I meet in session describe “low-grade” relationships: only an occasional shove or slap, yet a daily drizzle of criticism, isolation, jealousy, and fear. Learning to track that forecast—phase by phase—lets you name what’s happening, drop the self-blame, and remember that any level of abuse is too much.
Below, I’ll walk you through the classic cycle of abuse, show you how coercive control creeps in between explosions, and explain why self-worth starts to crumble even when bruises are rare. We’ll also look at the outside forces—kids, money, his drinking, cultural messages—that tighten the trap. My goal: hand you a map so you can say, “I see the pattern, and it’s not my fault,” then decide your safest next step.
Phase One: Tension Begins to Hum
Picture the start of a migraine: the room grows too bright, sound too loud, but the pain hasn’t landed yet. That’s the tension-building phase. Your partner gets prickly, critical, restless. He paces, sighs, slams a drawer, calls you “too sensitive,” or accuses you of flirting at the grocery store. You feel it in your body—shoulders tight, breath shallow, feet tiptoeing. Many of my clients say they’re “walking on eggshells,” trying to soothe him, make the right dinner, laugh at the joke that isn’t funny. In long relationships this stretch can last days or months, so you start calling it “his mood” or “work stress.” But beneath it all, the pressure is rising.
Phase Two: The Explosion
Eventually the cork pops. Maybe it’s one vicious shove, a night of screaming insults, a grip around the throat, or smashing your phone against the wall. Sometimes it’s subtler yet just as brutal—tearing up your passport, blocking your paycheck, forcing sex, threatening to kill himself if you leave. Whether blows land once a week or twice a year, the message is identical: “I’m in charge, and fear will keep it that way.” Survivors in sporadic-violence homes often tell me, “It’s not that bad. At least he doesn’t hit me every day.” But the threat alone is a leash; you never know when he’ll yank.
Phase Three: The Honeymoon Rush
After the blast comes the bouquet. Tears, apologies, diamond earrings, promises of therapy, whispered vows of “never again.” He morphs into the man you first dated— attentive, hilarious, desperate to prove his love. Relief floods your nervous system; hope flickers back on. You want to believe the crisis was an outlier. Love, fear, and optimism braid together, and the cycle resets.
Optional Phase Four: The Lull
Some couples glide through a quiet stretch after the honeymoon. Bills get paid, kids do homework, and nobody’s screaming. Yet control hasn’t left the building—it’s just wearing slippers. During this lull he may rewrite history: “You’re overreacting. It was just a little shove—you know how dramatic you get.” Gaslighting seeds doubt; you replay events, wondering if you exaggerated. Grateful for the calm, you work even harder not to “trigger” him, while he grows confident that consequences will never land. Over time, peaceful windows shrink; explosions grow sharper. That is the cycle tightening.
Reality check: Not every abusive partnership follows this script exactly, and physical attacks can be rare or absent. Emotional battering by itself still counts as abuse. Frequency doesn’t measure harm; impact does. The cycle rolls on because his choices keep it rolling, and because the push-pull of fear and affection makes leaving feel impossible—not because you’re weak.
Coercive Control: Abuse Between the Blows
Even on the days no door slams, power games keep humming like a low-voltage fence. Professionals call this coercive control—a web of behaviors that trap you emotionally, financially, and socially so you’ll stay exactly where he wants you. Let’s break down the common strands.
1. Isolation
Jealousy masquerades as devotion: “I just love you so much; can’t stand when others steal our time.” Soon brunch dates trigger sulks, your mom’s calls spark accusations, and he nudges you to quit the book club because “those women don’t really get you.” Move across town—or across state lines—and now your world shrinks to him. With friends and family distant, he becomes the sole narrator of reality.
2. Micromanagement and Money Leashes
Maybe he “helps” by taking over the budget, or insists you leave your job because childcare costs too much. He checks mileage on the car, demands receipts, or hands you a strict allowance. No cash equals no exit route. Add tracking apps on your phone and constant “where are you?” texts, and privacy disappears. In the most chilling version, children become bargaining chips—“If you walk out, you’ll never see them again.” That isn’t parenting; it’s terrorism.
3. Verbal Acid
“He calls me stupid only when he’s drunk.” “He just jokes that I’m fat.” Repeated digs—private or public—etch into self-esteem like acid rain. Pair that with guilt trips (“After all I do for you, you still complain”) and pity plays (“Nobody loves me like you do”), and confusion blooms. You end up hustling to prove your love instead of questioning his contempt.
4. Threat Theater
Weapons flashed, walls punched, pets kicked, suicide threats—each act trains your nervous system to obey. Sometimes threats are sly: “I’ll ruin your reputation” or “The judge will give me full custody.” Stack isolation, money control, and menace together, and you’ve built a cage without visible bars.
Remember: all of these tactics ARE abuse. Bruises are not the only measure of danger. Psychological warfare scars deeply and often precedes physical violence.
How Control Chips Away at Self-Worth
Long before bruises fade, gaslighting and verbal cruelty erode confidence. He denies your memories, mocks your feelings, recasts himself as the real victim (DARVO: Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender). You start apologizing for everything, doubting your sanity, asking friends, “Am I crazy?” That fog is intentional: a woman who mistrusts her own mind is easier to rule.
Meanwhile, intermittent kindness cements a trauma bond. Your brain gets a dopamine rush each time tension breaks and tenderness returns. That biochemical high feels like love—and like withdrawal when it vanishes. Add years of insults (“No one else would want you”), and dependence sets in. Dr. Lenore Walker called the result learned helplessness: after repeated failures to stop the pain, you stop trying. Outsiders misread that freeze as passivity; in truth, it’s survival wiring.
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