By Fatimah Bintu Dikko

In homes that should offer safety, warmth, and love, too many women endure pain in silence. Domestic abuse is a quiet plague. It hides behind the smiles of women in church pews, the confident steps of market traders, and the calm voices of school teachers. It wears many faces—physical violence, emotional torment, financial manipulation, sexual coercion—and its victims often live among us, unnoticed and unheard. The shame, fear, and societal expectations that surround this subject make it one of the most difficult conversations to have, and yet, one of the most necessary.

The silence that surrounds abuse is often louder than the violence itself. Many women grow up being taught to endure, to protect the family name, and to preserve marriage at all costs. “You must be patient,” they are told. “All men are like that.” “Don’t speak out, or you’ll shame your family.” In such communities, a woman’s worth is sometimes tied so tightly to her ability to ‘keep her home’ that she may continue to suffer, bruised and broken, just to maintain the illusion of peace. But this illusion comes at a high cost—not just to her body, but to her soul, her children, and the very fabric of society.

Domestic abuse is not limited to fists and slaps. Many victims never see a raised hand but suffer deeply all the same. Emotional abuse—insults, threats, isolation, humiliation—can strip a woman of her self-worth so thoroughly that she no longer recognizes herself. A husband who constantly criticizes his wife, monitors her movements, and controls her access to money or communication is no less abusive than one who strikes. In fact, the invisible nature of emotional abuse makes it even harder to identify, and therefore, more dangerous in the long run. The scars it leaves may not show on the skin, but they linger in the mind for years, if not a lifetime.

There is also the religious and cultural weight many women carry. Teachings about submission, respect, and the sanctity of marriage are often taken out of context to justify staying in abusive homes. Women are told to pray harder, to fast more, to be ‘better wives’—as if their bruises were proof of a lack of faith. Rather than offering refuge, some faith communities indirectly uphold abuse by urging silence in the name of spiritual endurance. When abuse is cloaked in spiritual language, victims not only suffer physical and emotional harm but also spiritual confusion and guilt.

Children who grow up in abusive homes do not emerge unscathed. They absorb everything—the fear in their mother’s eyes, the unpredictability of the father’s temper, the tension that clings to the air like dust. Boys raised in such homes may come to believe that domination is strength, while girls may equate love with suffering. The cycle continues. Generational trauma sets in. And so a society is built on broken homes and broken hearts, generation after generation.

The shame around domestic abuse is a powerful silencer. Many victims do not speak out because they fear being judged, disbelieved, or abandoned. In some communities, a woman who leaves her marriage—even for her safety—is seen as a failure. Her in-laws may curse her; her own family may turn their backs. Without financial independence or legal protection, many women find themselves with no safe exit. And when women do manage to escape, they are often forced into new struggles—homelessness, poverty, social isolation.

The legal system, though improving, still often fails victims. Many cases of domestic violence go unreported, and even when they are, the process can be long, confusing, and intimidating. Some police officers trivialize domestic issues, urging women to “go back home and settle.” Shelters and support services, where they exist, are limited and underfunded. For many women, especially those in rural areas or smaller towns, the system is simply not built to protect them. It is built to protect the family unit, even when the family unit is harmful.

But things do not have to stay this way. Education is one of the most powerful tools we have. When girls are taught that they are valuable, deserving of respect and safety, they grow into women who know their worth. When boys are taught that strength does not lie in control, but in kindness, they grow into men who respect boundaries and build healthy homes. Schools, religious institutions, and community leaders must come together to reshape the narrative. We must make it clear that abuse is never acceptable, never justified, and never the victim’s fault.

Women must be encouraged to speak, and when they do, they must be believed. Safe spaces—online and offline—must be created for them to share their stories without fear of shame or judgment. Survivors should not be hidden away like stains on a family’s reputation; they should be held up as examples of courage and strength. Their voices can save others. Their stories can change minds.

Economic empowerment is also crucial. A woman with financial independence is more likely to leave an abusive situation. Skill acquisition programs, small grants, and community savings schemes can give women the confidence and resources they need to choose safety over suffering. Abuse thrives where dependence lives. But when women are empowered, they have the freedom to walk away from what harms them.

It is also important for men to be part of the solution. Not all men are abusers, but all men must be aware. Fathers, brothers, pastors, teachers—everyone has a role to play. Conversations about abuse should not be reserved for women’s gatherings. They should be happening in mosques, churches, barbershops, and boardrooms. It is not a woman’s burden to fix. It is a collective responsibility.

Domestic abuse is not just a personal issue. It is a public one. Its effects ripple into schools, workplaces, hospitals, and the streets. When one woman is abused, the entire community feels it—even if they pretend not to. We must stop pretending. The cost of silence is far too high.

We need to stop teaching women how to endure pain and start teaching everyone how to prevent it. If we want stronger families, healthier children, and a better society, then we must confront the hard truths behind closed doors. The walls of our homes should not echo with fear. They should echo with laughter, love, and safety.

Ending domestic abuse begins with one brave voice, one listening ear, one act of support. And if enough of us speak, listen, and act—then maybe, just maybe, the silence will break.