For ten years I co-led groups for violent men. I sat in a circle with a 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.

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

This was 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 curriculum (this was not counseling)—in this case, the Duluth Model. The men were in the program for over 40 weeks. They ‘checked in’ with their behavior, they did homework, they did role-playing (where guess who acted the woman,) and they studied a series of topics in the quest to learn control.

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

Him: She pushed my buttons! Me: Oh, really—where are they? I don’t want to accidentally push one.

We tried to teach them that they actually had plenty of control.

Me: So, how often do you hit your boss? Him: Whaddya crazy? I wouldn’t hit my boss. Me: Why? Doesn’t he make you mad? Him: Of course. But he’d fire me.

Their women couldn’t fire them. They could leave, but facing that, 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 that you’re a drug addict.

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

Other than the men we weeded out—the mentally ill and the truly unstable—the men were able to control themselves. Some didn’t believe it or they chose not to. Only they could choose a different way.

They fought this idea. Thinking themselves victims of invisible buttons was more comfortable than thinking themselves men who chose violence as a way 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 it was 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 didn’t have the goal of breaking a bone. They had the goal of a hot supper or a quiet minute or making love or . . . any of a hundred things. They reached for these things the quickest way they knew: with their fists or a raised voice.

It’s too much for me to pack this all into one post, so I’ll try to sum up with this:

What was it like to work with these men?

It was sad.

It was enraging.

At times, it was toxic to see the sheer hatred of women raw and out there.

It was never just about being drunk or high, but being drunk and high never helped.

It was about power, control, and a violence that seemed all-too-accessible.

It was about denial, and about how the shame these men felt could block 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. It was her husband. He’d started the program belligerent and angry. In denial.

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) almost cried as he spoke of how he’d done the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do.

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 it worked, this is what I say:

It worked for that family.