Like so many English girls, I fell in love with Australia. But when my boyfriend turned into an abusive monster I was trapped in a partner visa – and there was only one person I could turn to…

Twenty-four hours in economy is never easy, but I knew waiting for me at the airport in Australia would be the man of my dreams.

As I passed, weary-eyed, through immigration and security, all I could think of was seeing him again. What would he say? Would he sweep me off my feet? Maybe he brought flowers.

As I emerged into the arrivals hall, I scanned the crowd. He was nowhere in sight. My heart quickened as my sister ran up to me. I smiled. I was pleased to see her.

But where was he?

There was no excuse. The man I loved and thought loved me – the man I had moved all the way from England to Australia for – hadn’t bothered to meet me at the airport.

My stomach twisted in knots. It’s not a big deal, I tried to tell myself. But I knew it was. I knew it was just another example of his cruelty, his complete disregard for my feelings.

It might not seem so terrible – saying he’d meet me at the airport but not showing up – but it was just one of countless ways my ex Adam* would try to crush my spirit during our emotionally abusive three-year relationship.

For most of that time, I couldn’t leave him – I was on a partner visa which meant if we broke up, he could tell immigration and I would be deported.

Like so many young Britons, I fell in love with Australia’s beautiful beaches, warm weather and friendly people. Of course I wanted to stay for as long as I could.

But I didn’t understand how much power I was giving my Australian boyfriend by having my visa attached to him. He knew he effectively owned me, and as soon as my visa was approved, the man I thought of as my dream match became a monster.

Adam was a master manipulator. Somehow everything was always my fault. He controlled when I left the house, what I wore, who I was friends with. 

If I was out of his sight, he needed to know where I was going, who would be there. I needed to provide proof of my whereabouts by posting on my Instagram Story. 

If I didn’t follow his rules, I would experience a punishment cycle – he would get mad, tell me how I’m the worst human on the planet, ignore me for days, then pretend nothing had happened. 

He never raised a hand to me. He was too smart for that. He knew if I had any bruises or signs of physical violence I could go to the police to report him.

And he always maintained the sort of ‘nice guy’ public persona that meant no one would believe me if I told them. There were two sides to him: I got the monster.

I was on holiday in Australia when we first met. I was out with a friend at a bar when Adam bought me a drink. I wasn’t interested at first but he kept giving me attention so I relented. Looking back, I wish we had never swapped numbers. 

As I got to know him, there were so many red flags.

Like so many English girls, our author fell in love with Australia. But when her relationship turned abusive she felt trapped due to the conditions of her partner visa (this is a stock image and there is no suggestion anyone pictured is involved)

I didn’t understand how much power I was giving my Australian boyfriend by having my visa attached to him. He knew he effectively owned me (stock image posed by models)

The first was the love-bombing – a psychological tactic where you overwhelm somebody with excessive affection so you can more easily manipulate them later.

He spoke of being heartbroken before so I would sympathise with him, and kept mentioning his ‘crazy’ ex-girlfriend. 

Our first date was days later and we spent an intense three weeks glued to each other before I had to fly home to the UK when my visa expired.

Looking bad I should have paid more attention to the concerning traits I noticed during that first month of passion – he always needed to be the centre of attention and would become furious when he wasn’t, he hated when other men spoke to me and was quick to become jealous. 

While I was home in England he called and accused me of cheating on him with my housemate. It was a ridiculous accusation but we spent hours on the phone talking it through. 

This behaviour foreshadowed what was going to be the next few years of my life – our relationship wasn’t one of love and care, it was of intimidation and control. 

Adam thought I belonged to him. 

Living with a monster

When I flew back to Melbourne he told me he loved me and we became exclusive, but broke up and got back together again several times over the next couple of years.

The first time we split, he called me on a drunken night out and demanded I meet him at a bar ‘wearing something hot’.

I still hate admitting I did what he asked, and although I turned up to find him drunk and demanding a threesome, I restarted our relationship.

There were more warning signs – when I had to go to New Zealand for six months for work he never came to visit and refused to get a passport.

Then when I came back to Australia to see him for Christmas, he left me out of his plans and I had to spend it alone.

I had asked him to move to England to be with me, but he refused because his whole life was Down Under. 

Then when I finally returned, he didn’t greet me with open arms at the airport – my sister who lived in Australia did. And because I had sold everything and had nothing to go home to, I had to stay with him despite the humiliation. 

Living together only made things worse. He was either extremely lovey-dovey or he didn’t come near me. He was always hot and cold for no reason – it was like he both loved and hated me. 

I was no longer allowed to drink alcohol, he forced me to go to therapy, and would tell me I was not a ‘normal person’. If I initiated sex, he could refuse, whereas I could never refuse. It was the ultimate power play.

In time, I became his mother. I would cook and clean for him. I became a vegetarian and if we went out to dinner I had to pay for all of it. 

I guess part of the problem was is I didn’t want to leave. Even when he screamed at me, I believed it was my fault. 

If his parents visited, he would act like everything was fine, and be delightful in conversation, and then as soon as they left he’d go back to his controlling self. 

But even they were awful to me at the start, once asking me if I was just with him for the partner visa, which I had applied for in January 2020, after we’d been together for one year and two months. 

The Covid period that followed was a nightmare. I was stuck with him 24/7 without anyone else to talk to, but the partner visa was perhaps my worst mistake. I was legally trapped with him. 

Whenever I did something wrong, he would threaten to cancel the visa and get me deported, which at the time was my greatest fear. 

How I escaped

Adam forced me to go to therapy while insisting he didn’t have a problem himself, but during Melbourne’s Covid lockdowns I listened to podcasts during my 15-minute walks in the outside world and learned this wasn’t normal. 

I called Lifeline and they listened. I questioned myself and asked if I need to be a better girlfriend. He always told me I was the issue. 

I then rang Orange Door, a domestic violence hotline, and spent an hour on the phone. It didn’t take long for the woman on the other end of the line to become alarmed.

‘I don’t want to frighten you but you need to get out of this relationship as soon as possible. Coercive control is such a dangerous thing for women in relationships,’ she told me. 

I shut it down by saying it was not that bad and that I didn’t believe her, which she said was a normal reaction. 

It took a while for it to sink in.  

A few weeks after yet another punishment cycle, I rang them back and asked: ‘What do I need to do?’ 

They told me to pack my belongings when he wasn’t home, drive to the police station then call again and emergency housing will be prepared for me. 

As soon as he left for the day, I unplugged the security cameras he had installed at the front door, packed what I could into my car, turned the cameras back on and left. 

I drove to my sister’s house – the only place I felt safe – and turned my phone off. 

The next morning I checked my phone and he had sent me a text asking where my stuff was. 

I rang Orange Door who gave me a secret address and told me I couldn’t tell anyone where I was going, not even my sister. I did exactly that and was taken care of. 

Adam tried calling, texting and emailing me but I didn’t respond. 

For two days I barely left the room or ate because I was so anxious. I spent my time writing down a 40-page statement of what had happened. They then took me to the police station and there was a woman on the desk – thank God. 

Over two days I explained everything and they took it forward. But it didn’t take long for Adam to catch on that wasn’t coming home. 

He demanded I go back to the apartment and collect everything that wasn’t his while he wasn’t there. 

But when I arrived I instantly noticed he had thrown out nearly everything – pictures of us on the walls, home décor and other small objects around the apartment. 

It looked like a professional cleaner had been there, and there was nothing almost to collect.

Another way he controlled me even after I left was by not letting me off the lease, and I had to complain to VCAT (Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal) to be released. 

After staying in emergency housing I moved nine times in ten months. I didn’t know where to go. Friends would help host me or I would stay in hotels to get by. It was a really rough time in my life. 

The Salvation Army then gave me a six-month membership with an expert to help me through my next steps. 

Now I support other domestic violence victims and hope sharing my story will raise awareness about how domestic violence isn’t always physical.

People always look for a black eye, bruises or scratches. I didn’t experience any of that. 

I had an eating disorder but didn’t know it at the time. I changed my clothes, would post on Instagram every time I was out and would avoid socialising. 

Look for changes – fluctuations in weight, clothing, things they say or if they’re always on their phone. Take note of the little things, because there aren’t always physical signs.

And if you know someone who has been abused, don’t abandon them. Their bubble needs to burst but you can’t be the one to do it for them. 

*Name has been changed 

• As told to Carina Stathis