Growing up, my parents fought nearly every single day, I heard my father tell my mom to “shut the fuck up” constantly. And even as a 5-year-old I remember sticking my body in between my parents so that they wouldn’t fight.  I would distract my dad by making him furious at me by kicking the walls in my room and then hiding underneath my bed, out of his reach. Yet, far worse than any physical or verbal abuse that occurred was the silence and underlying tension. My dad would often ignore my very existence. He’d come home late from work, be scary and angry when he was around and just sit at his desk and do more work at home. Or if we were all in the kitchen together, for instance, he would address me through my mom – as in – “Sheryl tell Philip to go clean his room.” Philip was my name before I unofficially changed it to Fivel. It sounds pretty harsh, but the best term I have heard for the treatment and implicit emotional deprivation / overstimulation that I grew up with is what analyst and author Leonard Shengold refers to as “soul murder.” Whereas there is a “soul-splitting” conflict between “abhorrence and love.” And like the majority of people who endure abuse, I went on to be abusive.

As a pre-teen my parents put me in therapy, which was probably where they needed to be. I was depressed, even suicidal at times. I’m still working to overcome depression. After a number of pretty bad experiences in therapy, I was eventually able to name what happened in my household as abusive.  And, in addition, understand how my own behavior with Tamara followed a similar pattern. With Tamara I was both physically and verbally abusive. We fought all the time, I called her names and shoved her. Pregnancy statistically increases the likelihood of abuse, and that was true in my case as well. It was awful. I’m utterly ashamed to even think about it now. I talk about it in the film, and in here, with the hope that other men will be able to address their actions honestly. I’m trying to be more accountable as a man, and father, and constantly learning what that means. On that note, Tamara and I have a pretty decent relationship as co-parents, living separately with different lives, but raising Noam more-or-less together.

After being pushed by other partners to deal with my abusive behavior, going through years of intensive analysis, reading and later attending pro-feminist men’s groups, I really began to change. Especially in recent years. Now I understand that abuse is a choice. Of course, our choices are affected by our culture, our surroundings. However, we, as men, too often make the choice to be abusive – because we don’t even see it as abuse, for instance, or due to power dynamics in the relationship and society. But ultimately it boils down to choice.  I made the wrong choices before, and now I’m choosing to stand up, take responsibility and hopefully connect with audiences, men primarily, to talk about these issues. Furthermore, I want to put it make sure folks know that abuse is not just physical. It can manifest in a number of ways – emotionally, sexually, financially, etc…

As a young father, who did not want to keep the pregnancy, I was angry, bitter and confused. I wasn’t supportive, and certainly not emotionally connected to Tamara. I’m not sure I knew how to be. My path to change began when Noam was born – a traumatic experience in its own right. That was a major beginning to a very long road full of more mistakes and recoveries leading to where I see myself now. I was absolutely determined to end a cycle of abuse in my family, that I believe has lasted for generations. I’ve worked hard to be a better father and partner.  And Noam really does embody a new kind of “man.”  At 13-years-old he’s loving, emotionally intelligent and a wonderful big brother. At the same time he wants to be a professional skateboarder or artist when he grows up and hates school most of the time.

I did not even intend to make a film about abuse.  I started out making a film about how my son goes back and forth between vastly different households.  As I explored his pain, I got in touch with my own. And I then decided to deal with both the beauty of being a father, raising a loving son, and the ugliness of what I have done. I know that I’m not alone with struggling with abusive behavior, fatherhood or even the complexity of parenthood. And that’s why I decided to make this film. With that in mind, I was deeply inspired by feminist consciousness-raising films and personal documentaries, like those of Barbara Hammer, for instance, which transcend either classification.

It’s been both fulfilling and exhausting to share this film.  I screened the rough cut, when it was called Internal Exposure, to members of the NYC Dads Group right after I graduated in order to get feedback.  Only the organizers of the screening knew what the film was about. Most of the other dads in the audience had no idea what they were getting into. They just came knowing that a fellow dad wanted to show a work-in-progress. I introduced the film and sat back, and listened carefully for any sign of reaction as it played. They were utterly quiet, except for some laughs as Noam, at three-years-old, says, “I hate your camera” as he refuses to eat breakfast. Afterwards they were eager to ask me questions about the film. Several men in the audience shared very touching stories about their experience as survivors, some with depression, and how they have had to worked to be better parents. It’s much easier to say that we want to parent differently than our parents did, than actually do it.

I know my prejudice was challenged when one man, who looked like a bit of a jock, came up to me afterwards and really opened up. That was incredible. He told me, “our fathers must be brothers, they acted so similarly.” We talked about changing as men and dads, and shared resources for change. This is exactly how I imagine using the film  – whether it’s with dads, college students, etc… It’s a tool for starting a crucial dialogue.