For ten years, I co-led groups for violent men.* I sat in a circle with a (usually) male co-leader and anywhere from 8 to 18 men who’d been violent with their wives, girlfriends, dates, sisters, or another woman in their lives—sometimes a mother.

Their violence ran from emotional abuse to the most devastating physical viciousness—from smacking, slapping, punching, pushing, prodding, breaking bones, to murder (thankfully not many.)

I worked at a Certified Boston Batterer Intervention Program. Most men were ordered into the program by the Massachusetts courts, some by the Department of Social Services, and a few were volunteers—or as we called them, wife and girlfriend-ordered.

We followed one of the state-approved educational curricula (this was not counseling)—in this case, the Duluth Model. The men were in the program for over 40 weeks. The men ‘checked in’ with their behavior, did homework, role-playing (where I usually acted the woman,) and studied a series of topics in the quest for them to learn control.

We taught them they didn’t have ‘buttons’ on their chest.

Him: She pushed my buttons!

 Me: Oh, really—where are they? I don’t want to push one accidentally.

We taught them they had plenty of control—whether they chose to use it was up to them.

Me: So, how often do you hit your boss?

 Him: Whaddya crazy? I wouldn’t hit my boss.

 Me: Why? Do you love him more than your wife? Doesn’t he make you mad?

 Him: Don’t be stupid. But he’d fire me.

Their women couldn’t ‘fire’ them—though they could leave, but when that arose, the men fell into Plan B:

I’ll kill myself if you leave!

You’ll never see the kids again—I’ll tell the court you’re a drug addict.

I love you! Please give me another chance. You’re the only person in the world who understands me.

If you’ve ever heard the above words from a romantic partner, know these lines are not the sole province of him/her. I heard them from almost every client. 

Other than the men we weeded out—the mentally ill and the truly unstable—the men could control themselves, though many chose not to believe it. Or they preferred not to control themselves. 

They had the power to be nonviolent—but only they could choose that path. Like smoking, drinking, and any addictive behavior, they had to walk the path. 

They fought against this idea. Thinking of themselves as victims of invisible buttons was more comfortable than thinking of themselves as men who chose violence to get what they wanted. 

And what did they want? Why did cheeks get shattered and tender skin become black and blue?

Money, sex, jealousy, children, television shows, cold food, in-laws: getting what they wanted.

The most oft-said reason when I asked what they wanted so very much?

Him: For her to shut the eff up.

Me: Did you get what you wanted?

Him: Naw. I got the cops.

It’s about intent. Most men usually didn’t have the goal of breaking a bone. They wanted a hot supper, a quiet minute, lovemaking, or any of a hundred things. They reached for these things the quickest way they knew—with their fists or a raised voice.

And why that method? According to most: “Because it worked and it worked fast.”

The experiences of those years are too much for me to pack into one post, so I’ll sum up with this:

What was it like to work with these men?

Sad. Enraging.

At times, seeing the sheer hatred of women raw and out there was toxic.

The violence was never just about being drunk or high but being drunk and high never helped.

The abuse was about power, control, and violence that seemed all too accessible.

The work was about their denial and how these men’s shame blocked their change. Because to change, they had to admit they’d done a hateful thing to people they loved.

People often ask if our program made a difference. For some, it did. For others, it didn’t. On the other hand, not being in the program meant there was almost no chance they’d examine their behavior.

On the best day of my almost-ten years, a woman walked in with a former client of mine—her husband. He’d started the program belligerent, angry, and in more denial than most.

When he began, his eyes told me how deeply he hated me.

Halfway through the program, this man (who’d grown up seeing his father abuse his mother) cried as he spoke of how he’d done the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do. His eyes told me how deeply he hated his actions.

He left the program wanting to work with young men in an anti-violence program.

That day, his wife came in carrying a home-baked cake and offering me and for the man with whom I co-led groups these words: Thank you for giving me back my husband.

That sums it up for me.

When people ask me if the program worked, this is what I say:

It worked for that family.

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*I write about violent men because those were my clients—women were not in the program where I worked.