When you are in an abusive relationship, you can have blinders on. It has taken years to get out of that mindset.”

Emma Lineberger

Emma Lineberger has both disappeared and gone public, simultaneously, in her journey to heal herself and inspire others whose lives are upended by a violent, abusive partner.

Her memoir, “The Things He Didn’t Break,” is the public step in Lineberger’s effort to shed the dark label of “domestic violence victim” — and all the baggage it carries. By going public to chronicle her journey, she has found inspiration in her own resilience, resourcefulness, and willingness to set things right for herself. She has also met others with stories like hers.

But the cost of a violent past has been high — professionally, financially, emotionally, and logistically. Her former partner’s relentless abuse and violence, coupled with his substantial financial resources, led her in recent years to a protection program for survivors that masks her address, Lineberger said.

“The hardest thing has been admitting all of this,” she said. “I held so much shame and embarrassment and guilt for staying in that position. But when you are in an abusive relationship, you can have blinders on. It has taken years to get out of that mindset, and I was so prideful. I didn’t want to admit to anyone that I needed help.”

Writing her book, she said, was a way to speak up and shed the shame.

Although she has kept her name and published a revealing book — in which other names are changed — the Portsmouth native now lives in an undisclosed location outside the area, under the auspices of a formal, state-led program providing “address confidentiality” to domestic violence survivors (she won’t disclose which state). While not on par with a witness protection program, the program affords her tools to prevent disclosure of her whereabouts — no easy feat in today’s world of digital footprints.

Her address and contact information can’t be found online or on voter registration rolls. She can’t have Amazon packages delivered to her home and must use a P.O. box instead. She steps aside when photos are taken — images that might end up on social media feeds her ex or his family could see. She has changed cars, jobs, and hairstyles to avoid easy recognition. Yet today, she presents confidence and calm as she tells her story.

Her former partner is now incarcerated for holding her against her will and assaulting her during a violent weekend — the last of many such encounters. 

Like countless survivors of domestic violence, Lineberger doubted herself for years. Her partner — initially charming, loving, and kind — gradually became controlling, abusive, and violent, his behavior fueled by alcohol and drugs. Early on, she did not know about his prior criminal history.

She was just 19 when they met; he was 26. Bright and accomplished, Lineberger had earned a Ph.D. in business by age 22. Her intelligence and early success only deepened her embarrassment and confusion. She believed what many victims believe: she had done something to make him angry; he was a good person at the beginning; he was going through a hard time; she just needed to help him.

“I fell into intertwined finances. He had no job options. I paid off his credit card debt and helped him start a business,” she said. “And I was really embarrassed at how bad things were. I was mortified that I had chosen like that. I kept everything hidden from my family.”

Even in this day and age, when the dynamics of domestic violence are better understood, Lineberger was lost. At an unusually young age, she had purchased her own home — but against her better judgment, she agreed to his family’s request to add him to the deed and mortgage, with dire financial consequences later.

Although her story chronicles a frightening litany of abuse, reconciliations, and couples counseling, she didn’t fully grasp the danger until he was arrested after a nightmarish weekend during which he imprisoned her in her home and repeatedly assaulted her. As he came after her, she threw clothes and her phone into a bag and managed to call her mother, who tried to de-escalate the situation. Eventually, Lineberger escaped and made it to a local police station, and he followed her.

Historically, victims have often struggled to be believed or have been blamed for their abuse. In this case, police saw the situation clearly. After speaking with her partner — who followed her to the station in an attempt to intimidate her — officers issued a stark warning.

“The cop told me, ‘If you go back [to him], you are leaving in a body bag,’” Lineberger said. Finally, there was affirmation that she was not crazy or to blame —  that yes, he might kill her. A woman on Reddit recounted a similar situation, and commenters urged her to leave. A couples therapist had also discreetly given Lineberger the number of a domestic violence hotline.

Over time, Lineberger said, her partner had hit her with a belt, taped her mouth shut, taken away her phone, deprived her of sleep for weeks, pinned her down, and assaulted her. He turned off utilities, causing pipes to freeze, and shut down the Wi-Fi so she couldn’t work. He stalked and tracked her. The abuse was constant — yet it was she who felt ashamed, while he appeared to thrive on chaos.

Research shows that the most dangerous moment for a survivor is often when they leave. According to the National Domestic Violence Hotline, 1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men in the U.S. aged 18 and older have experienced severe physical violence by an intimate partner. Nearly half of all men and women have endured psychological aggression, with younger women facing the highest rates of abuse.

After the arrest, her partner was released on bail and continued to violate restraining orders; during this time Lineberger connected with support to get away. He was eventually sentenced to two years; but last December, he sought early release. Lineberger delivered a victim-impact statement warning authorities that “they would be responsible for what happens next.”

At one court appearance, she was found herself surrounded by scary-looking members of Bikers Against Child Abuse, a group that provides courtroom advocacy and a protective presence for survivors.

“They build a wall around you,” she said. “And I thought they were there for their own cases!”

It has been three years since Lineberger entered the state protection program. She regularly Googles herself to ensure she remains invisible online.

As for her book, she said, “I had an unbelievable outpouring of support from people reaching out.”

The epilogue of her book, she said, “is a letter to his next girlfriend.”