The economics of escaping domestic violence: Why no one stopped Sean Combs

The most shocking part of Sean Combs’ trial has been how many people were unmoved by the sight of domestic violence. Over and over again, we hear testimonies of people who watched Combs beat up Cassie Ventura and said nothing. Here’s the problem: what could they say? Given a horrific video of Combs beating her up and his lawyers not even denying he’s a violent abuser, how can anyone take action in the face of domestic violence? What is a person really able to do?

For ten years, I documented my abuse on my blog. A smashed table thrown through the air. Being run over by a tractor. Pushed down in front of my son. Photographed bruises. Each incident meticulously recorded. But I didn’t leave. He dismissed my writing and called me stupid for labeling it domestic violence. Often, I agreed with him.

Why is this common? Because parents abuse kids and tell them it’s not a big deal. That’s grooming for domestic violence—creating children desperate for love and dismissive of violence.

When abuse evolves from physical to financial, the system’s failures become even more apparent. After I moved to Pennsylvania, he reported me for stealing his credit cards—cards I had permission to use and had paid off myself. The credit card company clawed back tens of thousands of dollars from dozens of people I’d paid. I lost weeks in disbelief before taking action, not because I was protecting myself, but because others had lost money through me.

The Legal Runaround

My search for legal help revealed a systemic problem. The criminal attorney said it was a domestic abuse case and referred me to a family law attorney. The family law guy said it was criminal. Criminal lawyers defend abusers but won’t prosecute them—”too messy, no way to collect damages,” they repeated. Personal injury lawyers won’t touch domestic abuse. Contract lawyers, defamation lawyers, matrimonial lawyers—none would take a case fundamentally about abuse.

Even with clear documentation and potential insurance coverage for damages exceeding $1 million, no private lawyer would take my case. The message was clear: domestic violence cases are unappealing unless there’s easy money involved.

The Public Service Trap

Here’s what I learned: The state prosecutes domestic violence as a public service, but victims get nothing. We’re expected to endure court battles for society’s sake while holding our lives together. There’s no upside to reporting. I gained nothing from the world knowing about my abuse, nothing from police visits, and would gain nothing from criminal prosecution. The system that makes prosecution a public service while offering victims nothing isn’t designed for justice—it’s designed to make society feel like something is being done.

When I couldn’t afford a retainer for divorce proceedings, lawyers pushed me to claim my entitled third of the farm—a business built partly with my money. I felt like a Crystal Morey figurine: roaring like a bear but also fragile and vulnerable. I wanted money but standind up for myself felt impossible. I didn’t understand my inaction at the time, but now I see I was like so many other women, who can’t take what they’re entitled to. I still wanted him to like me.

The Impossible Choice

At some point, I just wanted someone to help me. Someone on my side. I saw Gloria Allred fighting for so many women and wanted her to sit next to me. When I called her office, I told them about the $2 million farm I was probably entitled to and the $1 million insurance policy for damages incurred on the farm. They called back—Gloria Allred was in Pennsylvania representing women suing Bill Cosby, so suing in Pennsylvania was convenient for her.

But I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. I had no money and didn’t know if suing would destroy my ability to ever earn again. When I called for help while being beaten, people had directed me to shelters—as if putting myself into the system’s hands would protect me. But going to a shelter means losing your job, your children’s schools, and any chance of affording a lawyer. The system that won’t provide lawyers for documented abuse isn’t equipped to rebuild lives.

I remembered writing about how I couldn’t leave and receiving 600 comments calling me a terrible person and mother. I was scared to be a poster girl for not having left. I stopped talking to Gloria Allred’s office, telling myself she’d never have taken the case anyway so I didn’t have to feel like I gave up.

Virginia Giuffre and Cassie Ventura secured civil settlements before criminal proceedings for a reason: surviving court battles against abusers requires financial cushioning. Yet victims face judgment at every turn:

• Looked down on for being abused
• Looked down on for seeking money in civil suits
• Looked down on for not leaving sooner

“She’s just looking for a payout.” “Why didn’t she leave?” “She was crazy too.” These refrains ignore that taking an abuser to court is literally a public service with no personal benefit except the hope that maybe one other woman might escape.

Why No One Reports

He still has a house full of my belongings. This is why victims don’t report: the system protects abusers’ rights while treating victims as messy inconveniences.

People think of domestic violence victims as weak, impoverished, mentally ill, stupid, possibly lying, probably too needy, not worth the trouble. I understand—I’ve thought this way about victims, too. I hate being one of them.

But here’s the truth: Women have rights only when someone can profit from defending them. Without money for lawyers, without damages to claim, without the energy for battles we’re told to fight for society’s sake, we’re left documenting our abuse online, hoping someone might listen, while our lives burn down around us.

The Aftermath

You can never hide anything from kids. My children know I lost everything. They know I have trouble standing up for myself, and now that they’re older, they always look over my shoulder to see if someone else is taking advantage. I hate that.

It’s impossible to feel strong when you’re fighting back against domestic abuse, because no one forgets how you got there. The visuals of being beaten up and financially ruined are so much more visceral than the visuals of standing up for oneself.

I’m back on my feet now. My brothers tried to take my kids away—which is, of course, every worst nightmare of someone trying to recover from domestic violence. But it’s also an example of the conundrum everyone has with what to do about domestic violence: even family members see the victim as a problem to be solved rather than a person to be supported.

Now my children watch over my shoulder, protecting me from being taken advantage of again. They learned what I learned: that the system won’t help, that lawyers won’t come, that even family sees victims as problems to solve. They know the price of standing up for yourself when you have nothing. They know because they watched me pay it.

People who watched Sean Combs beat Cassie Ventura did nothing because there’s nothing to do. The system isn’t broken—it works exactly as designed. It protects property rights and reputations while leaving victims to document their abuse online, hoping someone might listen.