The internet loves a messy relationship scandal — but when it comes to women knowingly choosing abusive men who eventually endanger their lives, the conversation often spirals into a heated debate: should we hold these women accountable for knowingly dating violent or problematic men, or is it victim blaming to even bring it up?
Recently, Disney Little Mermaid star and new mother, Halle Bailey, filed for a restraining order against her ex and the father of her child, DDG. Halle began dating DDG despite past domestic violence allegations from his ex-girlfriend, Rubi Rose.
Cue the divided comments: “She knew what she was getting into!” versus “Stop victim-blaming!“
This isn’t an isolated case. There is a troubling pattern where some women knowingly align themselves with men carrying dangerous baggage. Consider Bri Stern, who dated the infamous Andrew Tate despite his widely publicized red pill ideology and human trafficking allegations. In the aftermath of their relationship, she has courageously spoken out about the alleged abuse and coercive control she experienced. And who could forget Karrueche Tran, who began a relationship with Chris Brown after his notorious and highly publicised assault on Rihanna, only to later seek a restraining order against him, alleging he had physically abused her too.
It begs a crucial yet uncomfortable question: When women make choices that seem to fly in the face of glaring red flags, can we discuss those decisions without inherently blaming them if things go wrong? Or is any critique of their choices simply a fast track to victim-blaming?
Let’s be clear from the outset: No one, under any circumstances, deserves abuse. The perpetrator of abuse is always 100% responsible for their actions. That is non-negotiable.
However, the conversation online suggests a growing frustration. When public figures, or even people in our own lives, enter relationships with individuals who have documented histories of violence or alarming behaviour, there’s a collective cringe. We see the red flags waving like giant, unmissable banners. When the seemingly inevitable happens and harm occurs, the “I told you so” sentiment, while unhelpful, is undeniably present.
Is this just schadenfreude? Or is it a raw, unfiltered reaction rooted in a desire for people, especially young women looking up to these figures, to make safer choices? The argument for acknowledging questionable decisions of these ladies often goes like this: If someone repeatedly ignores clear warnings – a history of violence, public accusations, ongoing investigations – are they not, on some level, accountable for placing themselves in a high-risk situation? This isn’t about saying they caused the abuse, but rather that their choices made them more vulnerable to it. The thinking is that acknowledging these patterns can be a learning experience, not just for the individual, but for everyone watching.
On the flip side, the victim-blaming argument is powerful and valid. Pointing fingers at a victim’s past decisions can easily shift focus from the abuser. It can imply that if she had just been “smarter” or “chosen better,” she wouldn’t have been harmed. This is dangerous. Abusers are often master manipulators. They can be charming, persuasive, and skilled at love-bombing or gaslighting. Hope is a powerful emotion; many women enter these relationships believing they can change their partner. While some women are convinced that they are special when compared to their previous exes and that “it will be different with me.”
So, where does that leave us? Can these two perspectives coexist?
The truth is, two things can be right at the same time.
We can unequivocally denounce abuse and hold abusers entirely responsible. The act of abuse is solely on the person committing it. Their choices, their actions, their violence. Full stop.
We can also have honest, albeit difficult, conversations about choices and patterns that increase risk. This isn’t about blaming the victim for the abuse they endured. It’s about recognising that certain decisions carry a higher risk of inherent dangers. Because when public conversations only offer blanket sympathy without addressing the decision-making, we willfully blind ourselves to patterns others can learn from.
Balance is key.
While encouraging women to take accountability can be helpful in some contexts, there’s a real risk in making that the only focus. When we reduce serious conversations about abuse to “you should’ve known better,” we not only ignore the complexity of these situations, but we also risk silencing other women who might be in danger. They may choose to stay with harmful partners just to avoid judgment or appear “strong.” And when we treat accountability as a one-time deal—where the abuser is blamed the first time and every woman after is at fault—we create a culture that quietly excuses repeated harm.
What our culture needs for sensitive situations like this is a space for honest and empathetic conversations:
- You shouldn’t have dated him.
- He had no right to hurt you.
- You deserve safety and healing.
- And next time, with the full knowledge you have about this person, choose smarter, not because it excuses abuse, but because, as a woman, your sense of self-preservation should be higher than any love you have for a man.
We need conversations about discernment, not judgment. Conversations where there’s learning, not shaming. More importanly, conversations at the right time, not when the survivors’ pain is still fresh and the abuser still roams scot free. By acknowledging that we can see red flags and make choices to avoid them, we empower ourselves and each other. By supporting victims unconditionally when harm occurs, we affirm their worth and their right to safety, no matter what.
Let me wrap this up with a cheeky but painfully true story. A woman once bragged about loving a man who was mean to everyone but her. A feminist gave the perfect response:
‘An asshole will always shit, my dear. Your turn as toilet is coming.’”
Dr.Uju Anya
