As a social worker, I rely on narrative, imagery and metaphor in my psycho-education and counselling work. I developed this story to help women understand the insidious way in which perpetrators use boundaries to destroy their victims.
Once upon a time, there were two farms side by side. They were both the same size and the same shape and a fence divided the land into two equal farms. For many generations, neighbouring farmers had yakked over that fence.
Abby bought her farm first and lived there for some time planting her crops. There were wheat and corn crops and she also planted vegetables. These things she needed to sustain herself physically.
But, after a few years of farming just to survive, she found that her farm became an extension of herself and she began to plant crops just because she liked the look, taste, smell and feel of them. For instance, the crop named 'art' absorbed her. Tending it, devoting time to it made her feel alive. Dipping her hands into the soil at its roots was, at times, spiritual. Interestingly, the crop named 'self-esteem' always seemed to flourish the same years that the art crop did.
She loved the look and the feel of sexuality. A hardy plant, its smells filled her house sometimes and she savoured them.
Other crops were smaller, but she tended them also. The crop of 'friendship' and 'family' often diverted her attentions from the 'art' crop, but these crops helped keep her farm looking balanced.
It was many years before Abby had a neighbour. For a long time, the farm next door lay fallow.
When Zachary moved into the farm next door, she found his choice of crops, unsettling at first. He planted barley and brewed his own beer, but seemed to have no other crops for food.
He planted a thick, spreading plant with thorns that was, at first glance, hideous. At the fence, she asked him its name. He called it 'hate' and told her only a select few could see its beauty. It came from a family of plants called 'adversity'; or so he claimed.
After a while, she came to see the beauty in the 'hate'; a frightening, ferocious beauty that she sometimes could not look away from. The plant spread quickly consuming much of Zachary's farm, but other crops flourished too, in more subtle patches on his farm. There was 'cruelty', 'the need to dominate' and he used a strange-smelling manure called patriarchy to help his crops grow.
One day at the fence, he told her he liked her sexuality. And, before the beaming feeling had even faded, he added, 'But it's a bit over-the-top don't you think?' And, for the first time, she found herself doubting the crop's beauty- its smells and feels.
At the fence, on another occasion, he asked to take a cutting of her 'sexuality' and planted it. It withered beside the thorny 'hate' plant that seemed to spread further and further.
Then, when the 'hate' started creeping over her fence, she asked him nicely to trim it back. He assured her he would, but the plant kept on creeping until one morning she found its limbs tangling with the edges of her 'sexuality'. She was furious, stormed to the fence, demanding he do something about it. 'No worries, babe,' he said. He always had the most endearing smile. That smile always seemed so incongruent. How could a man, who smiled like that, plant 'hate'?
He moved the fence. Took a good chunk of her acreage. She tried to protest. 'Hate' was endangered flora, apparently. It would take months for experts to analyse the data. Her farm diminishing- his fence proceeding ever closer to her vegetable patch, the 'hate' creeping closer and closer to her 'art' crop, overwhelming the 'self-esteem', she watched as the experts came, sipping beer with Zachary, leaning over the fence and sniggering at the silly farmer, who thought 'art' was a worthwhile crop.
When they declared the crop was not endangered and ordered Zachary to re-situate his fence along the original boundary line, she felt vindicated.
A suspicious fire broke out. His face was so filled with sorrow the next morning, 'I'm so sorry. I'll help you plant it all again. What a horrible accident!' The part of her that suspected him was instantly, shamefully placated. How could a face filled with that much regret be responsible for this?
She snuffed away that part that knew it was him. 'It was just an accident!' Staring at the remnants of the fire; her corn, wheat and vegetables- barely surviving the holocaust, she looked at his eyes- filled with sorrow, 'I'm so sorry, babe. But they probably weren't the most practical crops to grow, you know.'
And a part of her could see that he was right. Because 'art' was beautiful and lifted her spirits, but you couldn't eat it and what could you do with 'self esteem' or 'sexuality', but smell and feel them and savour the look and feel of them?
Zachary's 'hate' was a hardy plant. He offered her some cuttings. It filled the void and the plant grew quickly.
One day, looking at her farm- no colours, just crops that sustained her physically and plants that had been grown from his cuttings, Abby realised she could not see where his farm ended and hers' began.
Only the fence that he'd never bothered to move back to the original boundary-line, even after the court order had come through, indicated that there were two distinct farms.
When he made her an offer- a fraction of what the farm was worth- she tried to remember a time when the farm was an extension of herself and realised that she couldn't.
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