'I earn $200k a year in a top job. I'm also living in a domestic violence shelter.'

Content warning: This story includes descriptions of domestic violence that may be distressing to some readers.

I finally left when he told me he was going to set himself on fire.

Threats and violence were standard daily behaviour, but because he blew hot and cold – like typical narcissists – I hung in there thinking things would get better.

One minute he’d be offering to buy me dinner, then another, hurling abuse and screaming in my face, punching walls, scaring the kids by revving the car with them in it, and stamping on their toys.

Watch: The domestic violence red flags you should look out for. Story continues after video.

It was horrible. I thought, 'what will the neighbours think?'. But my husband was lovely to the neighbours. He was taking them chocolates and asking them if they needed anything.

Even though he wasn't working, he wasn't equally sharing the responsibility of helping look after the children. I would have to care for them, including a newborn, and work well into the night.

I was literally holding everything together – childcare, housework and working as a senior consultant in one of Australia's largest financial firms earning more than $200k a year.

I’d always be impeccably dressed when at work or on Zoom calls, but inside I was dying.

I remember one day running to the car from work to pick the kids up from daycare before it closed, carrying all my work papers and laptop.

My head was in such a spin I slipped and a lady helped pick me up. I was cut and had blood pouring down my knees and hands where I’d tried to save myself from hitting face first onto the concrete pavement.

When I got home all my husband said was, “Well that was stupid” and started laughing at me.

Things got even worse during COVID lockdowns.

I was struggling so much to hold it together as I was responsible for everything – childcare, bills; the debts mounting up (and that’s not including the ones he was running up, unbeknown to me), work, keeping the house afloat, cleaning, cooking…

During lockdown, he’d scream in my face minutes and seconds before Zoom calls. I’d have to put on a brave face and greet everyone warmly on video in the corner of a room – as that’s the only space he’d allow me to work – and he’d be standing behind my computer screen, drawing his finger across his throat, implying that he was going to kill me and the children.

One in four Australian women have experienced domestic or family violence, and on average one woman every week is murdered by her current or former partner.

Most women (62 per cent) who have experienced or are currently experiencing domestic and family violence like myself are in the paid workforce.

I read a new survey from My Business in conjunction with Domestic Violence NSW showing one in three SME owners feel ill-equipped to help victims. It shows more than half of small business owners suspect one of their colleagues was or is experiencing domestic or family violence, with controlling behaviour and emotional abuse topping the list, followed by verbal threats and physical violence.

This is terrible, and it needs to change.

I now know some of my colleagues suspected I was experiencing abuse, but no one ever asked – and I never dared confide in anyone due to the fear of losing my job.

As well as doing nothing to help with the children or around the house, my husband spent and spent and didn’t pay bills so it left me not having enough money for bus fares to work or for work lunches.

One of my managers noticed I couldn’t go out and get lunch and one day handed me an envelope. It had $70 in it and a note saying, “You are beautiful and loved and want you to go and buy and nice dinner for yourself tonight”. I almost cried.

A lot of women in top jobs are experiencing this, but they don't speak up about it. Even in the women’s shelter, there are so many professional women who haven’t discussed it with colleagues as they fear stigma and shame. When I first arrived at the shelter, several would be working on their laptops from the balconies as it’s the only place they could get Wi-Fi.

More needs to be done in the workplace, especially with management, like mine, who know it’s going on – but pass the buck as they don’t want to be the one who puts their head above the pulpit.

The My Business survey has investigated the impact domestic violence has on workplaces.

It found that one in three small business owners did not consider themselves to be well equipped as leaders to help a worker facing domestic abuse, or to manage the potential negative impact on the organisation.

Almost 40 per cent had not allocated someone in the organisation to be responsible for helping staff members facing domestic violence.

Last year, I finally found the strength to leave.

He had threatened to kill himself many times if I left. The night he told me he was going to set fire to himself, he left me with no other option.

He went out for an hour and I grabbed my chance, packing my work documents, laptop, a spare pair of underwear for us all and a favourite toy each for the kids.

I’m still living in the shelter and only now getting back on my feet.

My advice to employers, especially small businesses who may struggle with how to handle domestic violence situations, is to give women support to have the courage to leave, don’t be afraid to ask them if they’re okay, and don’t judge them.

Don't think that there's something wrong with the woman for [staying] in this situation of domestic abuse. If you're not getting emotional support at home and at work, it’s hard.

If someone in the workplace had spoken to me about it at the time, things would be so different.

There’s so much stigma around domestic violence – people think it only happens in low socio-economic groups, but it’s also rife in workplaces and happens to thousands of high-earning and high-performing women.

High-achieving, intelligent women who are friendly and empathetic and beautiful are typical victim material for narcissists. That’s who they pick, and then bring them down.

Like me.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons.

If this has raised any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, please call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service.

Feature Image: Getty.