For me, football is not a beautiful game – it’s a terrifying one

As a survivor of domestic violence, I am dreading tonight’s game. I remember bracing myself every time my abuser would drink, wondering what would provoke the next volley of threats

I am pretty sure the prospect of England’s match might terrify other women too (Getty Images)

They call it the beautiful game, but to me there’s an ugly side of football – one we sometimes ignore. As a survivor of domestic violence, I am dreading tonight’s game. I am pretty sure the prospect of England’s match might terrify other women too.

Here’s why: incidents of domestic abuseincrease when our national side plays. According to a 2013 study by Lancaster University, abuse rose by 26 percent when England won or drew a match and by 38 per cent when they lost. So, while football matches might not cause domestic abuse, there is a clear link between the sport and the behaviour of abusers.

I remember bracing myself every time my abuser would drink, wondering what would provoke the next volley of threats, what own goal I might score in an attempt to shore up his ego.

For me, the abuse began almost without me realising. I was like one of those frogs that ends up being boiled alive because they jump into a pan and don’t notice the incremental increases in the water temperature. There were red flags I didn’t notice, behaviours I know now follow similar patterns to most who engage in coercive control.

There was the love bombing at first, when for a time I felt like I was the most special girl in the world. Then came the comparisons with his ex-girlfriends: my breasts were too small, my hair the wrong colour, my legs not quite right. He called me frigid because I had never watched porn. He coerced me into engaging in sexual behaviour that made me feel dirty. He introduced me quickly to his friends, but warned me to not boast of my achievements, though he was quite content to talk endlessly about his limited success, quick to make excuses for why he had been shown the yellow and red cards by previous employers. We would fight like animals, then make up and have passionate sex. We drank a lot.

Over time, he isolated me from my friends and family and began to gaslight more, making me question who I was to the point I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. He would tell me what to wear and what not to wear, who I could be friends with, where I could go and couldn’t. He wasn’t jealous of other men in the way some abusers are. Instead, he was content to share me with his friends, and I remember vividly one night when he coerced me into having a threesome with one of his best mates.

All the time, I was treading on eggshells, scared of staying, even more scared of leaving. The final whistle on our relationship came when my baby was not yet one. There had been months of abuse, days when I could see no future for me and my child, days when he told me I was mad, a bad mother, that I’d never survive without him, that nobody would believe me. I believed him.

On one occasion when he physically assaulted me, I ran to his friends only to be told to go home and to not make a fuss. Another assault was witnessed by someone outside his work. He yelled at them to mind their own business and blamed me for provoking him and warned me it would be my fault if he lost his job.

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I remember clearly the night I realised I might not survive if I stayed with him. After another blazing row, he stormed out to the pub. I hid all I could manage to shove into a car beneath the bed, and waited terrified for him to come in. He fell asleep in front of the television, leaving for work the next morning. My baby and I escaped. My abuser cleared out our joint bank account and took almost all the furniture I had bought.

For years he made my life hell, continuing to abuse me, to gaslight me, to try to take away my child with countless court cases, where I was portrayed as the one who was abusive, the unsuitable mother.

I carry with me the scars of his abuse. I get triggered when I see those who look like him and when my child talks about him, though they see very little of him now. Even now, years after escaping, I have trouble with my memory – a result of the post-traumatic stress disorder I developed from his abuse.

In the years since leaving, I’ve been able to get help. I dearly wish I had known then that it existed, and that I had a right to it. I want anyone experiencing domestic abuse to know there is help, there are people you can trust.

To anyone scared of what might happen at home during or after tonight’s game, please know you do not deserve to have to deal with this abusive behaviour.

Anyone who requires help or support can contact the National Domestic Abuse Helpline which is open 24/7 365 days per year on 0808 2000 247 or via their website https://www.nationaldahelpline.org.uk/