Mothering in the Context of Violence: Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Mothers’ Experiences in Regional Settings in Australia

The Impact of Domestic and Family Violence on Children

Social norms demand mothers bear the burden of parenting while at the same time holding mothers responsible for protecting children from men’s use of violence (Meyer, 2018; Vu et al., 2016). Children can experience DFV in diverse ways. They may be physically hurt in utero, being weaponized as a form of coercive control, being accidentally hurt, and strategically harmed (Campo, 2015). Research has highlighted various short- and long-term effects of DFV on children’s development and wellbeing. These effects range from emotional and behavioral problems (Gartland et al., 2014), lower academic achievement (Campo, 2015), difficulty adjusting over the lifespan (Vu et al., 2016), changes in neurobiological development (McTavish et al., 2016), lower emotional wellbeing from experiencing trauma (Gartland et al., 2014) and increased risk of perpetration or experiences of DFV in adulthood (Evans et al., 2008; Gartland et al., 2019). Accordingly, many researchers now move beyond situating children as “witnesses” and position them as “victims” of violence who possess agency (Katz, 2015).

The Impact of Domestic and Family Violence on Mothers

Research has also considered the mother–child relationship, exploring how mothering behaviors contribute to a child’s experiences of violence. Victims of DFV may suffer symptoms of PTSD, anxiety, or go into “survival mode” where they may emotionally withdraw, including from their children (Dutton et al., 2006; Levendosky et al., 2000). On the other hand, there is evidence that mothers can compensate for the effects of violence by supporting their children emotionally and applying diverse protective strategies to minimize the impact of violence (Meyer, 2011; Nixon et al., 2016). A mother’s mental health has been identified as a significant predictor of resilience in children exposed to DFV (Fogarty et al., 2019).

Nevertheless, a mother’s capacity to be present and engage in protective behaviors for her children is dependent on access to support networks, previous mental health concerns, and the perpetrator’s efforts to strategically undermine the mother–child relationship (Humphreys, 2007; Meyer, 2018). Recent research has further identified a link between financial (in)security, a mother’s depressive effect, and children’s behavioral outcomes, with greater adverse effects on children observed in disadvantaged families (Skinner et al., 2019). Understanding the mothering of victim survivors during and post an abusive relationship, in a spatial, cultural, and situation-specific context, is therefore critical in supporting both mothers and children’s recovery from DFV.

Domestic and Family Violence Affecting Indigenous Women

The experiences of diverse groups of mothers affected by DFV is under-researched. Like non-Indigenous mothers, Indigenous mothers disproportionately carry the burden of DFV in their communities (Atkinson, 1990b; Lucashenko, 1996; Meyer, 2018), with the majority of women affected by DFV reporting children in their care (Campo, 2015, p. 4). In an Australian context, the experiences of Indigenous mothers are subject to added layers of complexity that compound experiences of DFV. Indigenous mothers are 17 times more likely to be the victims of homicide than non-Indigenous mothers after adjusting for financial disadvantage and remoteness (Fairthorne et al., 2016). Additionally, Indigenous mothers affected by DFV are five times more likely to suffer anxiety and depressive disorders than their non-Indigenous counterparts (Ayre et al., 2016). Statistics on the prevalence of violence in Indigenous families and communities indicate that DFV is a significant problem, with prevalence rates higher in regional and remote than urban settings. Yet little research examines the prevalence and experiences in the context of mothering (Hooker et al., 2016).

Many Indigenous women face socio-structural barriers when deciding to disclose experiences of DFV or seek help from available services that are collectively treated with distrust (Cripps, 2008). Lack of trust in mainstream DFV policy, DFV and child protection service sectors, arising from the transgenerational trauma of the Stolen Generation and the lasting impact of colonization, creates additional barriers to help-seeking for mothers who fear the removal of their children when disclosing DFV (Cripps, 2007). These fears are validated by the ever-growing overrepresentation of Indigenous children in out-of-home care (AIHW, 2019b). And while many victim survivors in general fear they may not be taken seriously or supported by the criminal justice system, Indigenous women are further faced with the dilemma of wanting safety from DFV while not wanting to contribute further to the overrepresentation of Indigenous men in the criminal justice system (Lucashenko, 1996; Nancarrow, 2019). These substantial barriers to help-seeking created by shame, stigma, and fear are further augmented by a general lack of culturally appropriate services (Cripps, 2007; Prentice et al., 2017) and wider experiences of racial discrimination (Fiolet et al., 2019).

There are few Australian studies that examine motherhood in the context of DFV from the viewpoint of the mother. Even fewer incorporate the experiences specific to Indigenous mothers (Ayre et al., 2016) to examine factors that may affect mothers universally and those that may create culturally specific nuances. Moreover, there are few studies that examine how geographic settings may generate additional challenges and complexities for victim survivors who navigate mothering in the context of DFV. In this article, we examine mothers’ experiences of DFV as a gendered experience at the intersection of cultural and socio-spatial contexts. We explore similarities and differences between Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers’ experiences of DFV, its impact on parenting expectations and capacity, and the implications for children during and post exposure to DFV. By taking an intersectional lens to studying violence and mothering we look at how living in regional settings and identifying as an Indigenous or non-Indigenous woman nuance experiences of being a mother in a violent relationship.

Data Collection

The data presented in this article are based on a wider study on women’s experiences of DFV and related homelessness conducted between 2014 and 2016. Data for the wider study were collected by the first author through qualitative in-depth interviews with women affected by DFV, stakeholders representing DFV specialist, culturally specific, and (crisis) accommodation services in one metropolitan and two regional settings. Only interview data from women who identified as mothers and resided in one of the two regional locations at the time of data collection were included in the analysis presented here. Findings based on the wider study population of women as they relate to women’s experiences of DFV and housing instabilities have been published elsewhere (refer to Meyer, 2016). The research was approved by The University of Queensland’s Human Research Ethics Committee (clearance number: 2012000134). Ethical clearance covered field observations and interviews, written and verbal informed consent, and data collection through fieldnotes and audio recording.

All women interviewed for this study were identified by a stakeholder or service provider they were currently or had previously been in contact with. After providing preliminary consent to meet with the researcher, full informed consent was sought from all interviewees who participated in a one on one interview. All interviews were guided by semi-structured, open-ended questions, enquiring about women’s experiences of DFV, help-seeking, past and current housing stability, access to informal and formal support, future outlook, and feedback to service providers (housing related). These overarching themes were explored through women’s individual narratives and topic-specific prompts, where necessary, to ensure the consistent coverage of themes across interviews. Interviews lasted on average 46 minutes, ranging from 21 to 99 minutes. The majority of interviews (n = 14) was audio-recorded. Three mothers preferred not to be audio-recorded and their interviews were captured in form of written fieldnotes taken during each interview and expanded immediately afterwards to ensure accuracy of information captured. Most interviews (n = 12) were conducted on the premises of a service provider women were or had recently been in contact with. The remaining five interviews were conducted in the women’s homes. These women had all separated from the abusive partner and attending the woman’s home for research purposes was deemed safe by the research participant and researcher. All women who participated in the wider project on DFV and housing experiences received a $25 shopping voucher as a recognition for their time and input into the research. Further, all research participants received a list of local support resources (DFV and housing support services) along with the participant information sheet.

In addition to individual interviews, a community women’s group facilitated by two female community Elders in one of the research locations participated in the data collection. Both Elders were recognized leaders within their regional community. In the case of the community women’s group, preliminary consent was sought by one of the Elders for a researcher to attend and take field notes for research purposes. On the day of data collection, all attendees (two Elders and four female community members) were again informed about the nature of the research and the use of their de-identified data for research purposes and provided verbal consent to participate. Data was recorded in form of written fieldnotes during and immediately after the group discussion. While contribution of both Elders was recorded in fieldnotes, their data are not presented here as they related to their role as group facilitators and community leaders rather than mothering during current or recent experiences of DFV.

Reflexivity

In analyzing the research data for this article, the authors were aware of their positionality as White, female academic researchers. As explained by McLaren (2012), individuals have a subject position constituted by social and historical forces that curtail individual actions beyond individual intention. We are mindful that knowledge is situated and partial. Our aim here is to give women who participated in this study a voice and recognize their experiences. The women in this study, however, remain the experts in their lived experiences.

Analysis

Recorded interviews were transcribed verbatim and transcripts were checked against recording for accuracy as part of the larger study. Non-recorded interviews were documented in the form of fieldnotes and typed up into comprehensive interview data on each day of data collection. For the purpose of this article, the authors revisited the data with a specific focus on the experiences of DFV among study participants residing in the regional study locations and identifying as mothers. All data were interpreted inductively using phases of thematic analysis (Braun & Clarke, 2006). Analysis involved familiarization with the data by first and second authors and the generation of initial codes. In the next step, initial codes were grouped together to avoid redundancy. All codes were then grouped under generated themes and reviewed by first and second authors by returning to the original data and codes. An electronic database of codes and data abstracts were compiled using Microsoft Word and Excel© and themes were revised during the iterative process. While data were initially analyzed by cultural background and research locations, findings showed no differences in mothers experiences between the two regional research sites. Findings are therefore identified by mothers’ cultural backgrounds without further breakdown of research location.

Sample Size and Characteristic

A total of 17 women who participated in the regional data collection identified as mothers. Of these, nine identified as Indigenous (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander = 1; Aboriginal = 8) with the remaining eight identifying as non-Indigenous (including 5 non-Indigenous Australian born mothers, 2 PNG born mothers who moved to Australia 9 and 24 years earlier, and 1 mother who migrated from Thailand 6 and a half years prior to the interview).

Women’s ages ranged from 18 to 42 years, with a mean age of 34 years. Of the 17 mothers, 14 currently had their children in their care (including shared care arrangements with an ex-partner). Two Indigenous and one non-Indigenous mothers had previously experienced the removal of their dependent children by child protection services and described their children as living with maternal grandparents in two cases and in foster care in the third case. The number of children in women’s care ranged from one to six, with an average number of 3.5 children across mothers. Indigenous women reported a higher average number of children to care for than non-Indigenous women (3.9 compared to 3.1).

Three of the mothers interviewed for this study were still in a relationship with the abusive partner. The remaining 14 mothers had separated prior to data collection, with time since separation ranging from four weeks to two years. Nearly all women (n = 16) had either completed year 10 or 11, with two having further obtained TAFE qualifications. One woman described leaving school after year 7. With regards to employment status, nine mothers identified as currently unemployed and looking for work, five described carer and home duties as their current employment status, two identified as students, and one was in part-time employment at the time of data collection. While current unemployment equally affected the small sample of Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers, Indigenous mothers reported lower educational qualifications and longer periods of ongoing unemployment (8.6 compared to 3 years on average since last employment/schooling).

(Undermined) Mothering in the Context of Violence

Many of the participants shared stories of the difficulties they experienced when mothering in the context of DFV and some of the issues discussed by women in this study are universal to the experiences of mothers more broadly. Participants carried the burden of parental responsibility to care for their children and ensure their safety and wellbeing. Some mothers further described a responsibility to take charge of all parenting throughout and after the abusive relationships, which included being the main—and at times sole—financial provider and emotional caregiver of their children. As one mother summarized, “I’m their everything” (Indigenous mother of 5 children). This was shared by many mothers in the study as women felt that throughout the abusive relationship, they were the only person the children could rely on for protection and nurturing. Post separation, several mothers described limited efforts by fathers to repair the relationship with their children, as highlighted by this mother:

After we moved out, I moved into a place by myself and he would come and go. There was a lot of resentment there because when he didn’t feel like being a parent he could just pack it up and go. (Non-Indigenous mother of 3 children)

For mothers in this study, this experience of having to be everything during times of vulnerability was exacerbated by how their own and their children’s lives were entangled with the perpetrator’s life. Mothers described the challenges associated with trying to meet their children’s emotional needs in response to the violence while trying to cope with their own experiences of victimization. Some mothers described how their children had witnessed both parents acting violently but were unable to understand that mothers’ use of force was predominantly in order to defend themselves or deflect violence targeted at children. As described by one non-Indigenous mother, children were at times unable to reconcile why parents had separated:

They’ll say, “Oh, why don’t you and dad get back together?” and I’ll say, “Well, you know how your dad hit me that’s unacceptable and I’m not going to be with someone who’s going to hurt me and I don’t feel safe with your dad anymore.” So I explain to them but, […] I think they’ve seen me be violent as well. So I think they don’t just see dad as the bad one and me as completely innocent. Even though I think they know it’s more me copping it.… (Non-Indigenous mother of 3 children)

Some mothers further described perpetrators who strategically minimized the use of violence in front of older children to manage their image as a father and undermine the children’s support for their mother, as illustrated by this mother:

This is when the big kids were at school. The two [younger] girls or the baby see everything because he tries to do not as much violent things in front of my big girls because they’re a bit older and he doesn’t want them to see him as a bad person. He wants me to be the bad person. (Indigenous mother of 5 children)

Mothers further experienced how some perpetrators strategically used mothers’ health needs as a weapon and tool of entrapment. Women in this study described how choosing to take care of their own needs (e.g., mental health needs associated with the impact of ongoing trauma), was associated with being framed as a “bad mother” by the perpetrator and at times in the community. As described by a young Indigenous mother of an eight-month-old baby, her mental health had been affected by the abusive relationship and more recently deteriorated due to postnatal depression. Her partner at the time would frequently use this as a mechanism of entrapment by reminding her that she would be seen as an unfit mother if she left the baby with him to seek treatment. While this mother felt she needed respite to support her recovery and parenting capacity, she was initially reluctant to seek help out of fear of having her son removed from her care. She eventually decided to seek refuge in order to focus on her role as a mother:

I finally made my mind up […] I think I told them I need a women’s shelter. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t handle it. My family, my mum wasn’t around. I couldn’t. That’s why I came in here. I find it comfortable, quiet, just me and him, me and [my son] building a relationship, bond up again. (Indigenous mother of 1 child)

Similarly, some mothers reported how the abuse directed at them affected their ability to be the kind of mother they used to and wanted to be. The below account of an Indigenous mother of five children highlights how mothers at times have to put their own recovery needs aside to ensure the safety of their children:

I never became a careless mother. That’s what he did. He changed and molded me into this person who I wasn’t and I had to come out of that. The hardest thing was dealing with, I sort of put my things aside, and just focused on the kids a lot, trying to get them feeling safe and happy. (Indigenous mother of 5 children)

While Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers in this study shared a number of experiences also observed in wider research on mothering in the context of DFV (cf. Fogarty et al., 2019), Indigenous women’s accounts reflected added layers of complexities associated with the strategic undermining of their identity as a “good mother” and related fears of child protection interventions. As illustrated in the above example of the Indigenous mother who suffered from postnatal depression after the birth of her first child, Indigenous mothers’ experiences often intersected with a number of socio-structural risk factors. This mother was exposed to DFV perpetrated by her partner along with his mother while experiencing financial and housing insecurity and adjusting to life as a new mother. This experience is not unique to Indigenous mothers. However, Indigenous mothers in this study were disproportionately affected by overcrowded housing arrangements, experiences of family violence more broadly, and the strategic undermining of their identity as a “good mother.” Here, perpetrators used the lasting effects of colonizing “family welfare” policies disproportionately affecting Indigenous mothers and children as a further means of entrapment.

Motherhood, Violence, Vulnerability, and Women’s Entrapment

Both, Indigenous and non-Indigenous women described experiences of increased vulnerability after having children. Being a mother added a different dimension to their intimate relationship and another mode of abuse and control in the “perpetrator tool box.” While both Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers shared experiences of increased vulnerability and entrapment arising from motherhood, non-Indigenous mothers discussed threats of (lethal) harm towards them, their children, and at times other family members, as part of the entrapment. This is illustrated in the experiences of these two non-Indigenous mothers:

It was how he threatened my family. He threatened to harm [my parents]. He’d threaten my kids too. So I just literally stayed with him to solve all of it. For everyone’s sake. (Non-Indigenous mother of 5 children)

While speculative, the absence of discussed death threats in the narratives of Indigenous mothers may suggest that the socio-structural barriers experienced by Indigenous women in this study were “enough” to entrap them in the abusive relationship. Perpetrators offending against non-Indigenous mothers in this study may have felt that their partners had access to support and resources that may have allowed them to leave sooner; had it not been for the additional level of intimidation and threats strategically employed by the perpetrator.

In addition to threats directed at the wellbeing of mothers and children to reinforce and maintain their level of entrapment, perpetrators further strategically created wedges between mothers and their children. Such behavior has been identified as commonly used tactic to undermine the mother–child relationship and maintain a position of power and control within the family household (Humphreys, 2007; Radford & Hester, 2006):

Your rights as a mother to protect your children were taken away from you, to love your children. You’re not allowed to cuddle them whenever you want because then you’re going against him, like you’re ganging up on him. (Indigenous mother of 5 children)

Some perpetrators reportedly undermined the mother–child relationship successfully. Other mothers shared stories of children physically fighting the abusive parent in order to show solidarity with their mother and to protect her from various forms of abusive behaviors, as illustrated by this mother:

He [partner] went to push me. My youngest, […], he was, just turning 12, I guess. He stood in front of me to stop him. He went to hit [my youngest] and then my oldest son was there as well and he came across and got stuck into [his father]. That was it for me. I decided then and there, “No, I’m out. I’m going.” (Non-Indigenous mother of 4 children)

Children were front and center in women’s stories of violence in this study, demonstrating that motherhood can drive both, decisions to stay—at least temporarily—and to leave in an attempt to maximize children’s safety. Mothers were well aware of the extensively documented risks (cf. Bruton & Tyson, 2018; State of Victoria, 2016) associated with leaving an abusive partner, including the risk of retaliatory violence, the risk of homelessness, the loss of family and community support, and for many the risk of living in poverty. These factors had compounding effects on mothers’ help-seeking and women and children’s recovery in this study.

Mothering and Post-separation Violence

As most of the mothers were separated at the time of data collection, the majority shared experiences of mothering in the aftermath of violence. Many mothers were forced to have ongoing contact with the perpetrator due to the presence of mutual children. As a result, many mothers and children were subject to ongoing coercive control and other forms of post-separation abuse. Shared custody arrangements post-separation disrupted the healing process for some women and children due to ongoing contact, control, abuse, and manipulation by the perpetrator. An Indigenous mother described how the ongoing contact between her ex-partner and the children brings up trauma and anger for her eldest daughter on a regular basis:

My eldest daughter, I think she has a lot of anger towards him. She said she’ll never forgive him for what he done like make us run in the middle of the night. When we’d take off from the house in the middle of the night I carried two and she carries two and the other one runs or something if they’re still asleep. She still remembers all of that but I talk to her and all of that but she tell me she really wants to do something to the dad. Just hit him or something she said so he feels like how we felt […] Every time when he comes over she puts a smile on but she’s hiding all of that anger […]. (Indigenous mother of 6 children)

The above scenario illustrates how mothers understood the immediate as well as long-term effects of exposure to DFV on their children. Mothers who had shared care arrangements with the abusive ex-partner described that beyond the lasting effects of initial exposure to DFV, their children continued to be exposed to fathers’ strategic post-separation abuse. Mothers felt this further compounded the impact of violence on children and interfered with mothers’ and children’s recovery processes. An Indigenous mother of four dependent children aged between 4 and 10 years old, for example, described having fled the regional town she lived in with her ex-partner and their mutual children until a family law court decision eventually ordered her back into town to facilitate shared care arrangements. As a result, she repeatedly found herself at the receiving end of post-separation abuse from her ex-partner and to some extent his extended family in a town with nowhere to hide. Despite her increased vulnerability to post-separation abuse, this particular mother tried to see the positive side of being forced to live in close proximity to her abusive ex-partner and his family. Living in a close-knit community gave her a level of confidence that “other family would keep an eye on them [the children] when they go see dad” (Indigenous mother 2 of four children). The level of community awareness of everyone’s business described by women in this study was therefore at times seen as adding a level of accountability towards children where mothers had to facilitate ongoing contact. Women in this study facilitated what was necessary to comply with shared parenting orders or informal arrangements, also illustrated by this Indigenous mother of six children under the age of 14 years:

When he comes down, I drop them off at the shopping center for him. They do shopping. I think he only came down twice last year and that’s it. [He lives] in [remote community] where we lived with him. I grew up in [that community] […] but I’d rather stay really far from him. (Indigenous mother of 6 children)

For most women in this study leaving the abusive relationship meant maintaining ongoing contact with the abusive ex-partner and facilitate expected parenting arrangements. For Indigenous mothers who were able to relocate, it also meant leaving their kinship ties behind at the time of separation. The compromises many mothers in this study had to make post separation often had lasting effects on their own and their children’s recovery and wellbeing.

Mothers as Recovery Agents in Their Children’s Lives

Both Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers experienced challenges associated with protecting and supporting their children during and after exposure to DFV, particularly with regards to recovery from the trauma inflicted on them by their father or father figure. Interviews reflected the diverse ways in which children were caught up in the violence, often long after parents had separated, and the implications this had for children’s overall short- and long-term wellbeing. As a result of children’s complex involvement in and exposure to DFV, mothers identified substantial and ongoing recovery needs in their children as summarized by this mother:

Yeah, because the third one, he got affected from the domestic violence. He is going to have behavior problem. Yeah, because I was the one, I went to counseling parenting at [community] Help Centre, I went and asked the doctors to check the children. (Indigenous mother 1 of 4 children)

Children relied on mothers for support with healing post violence because fathers, including those with ongoing contact, took little responsibility in assisting children in their long-term recovery. Mothers tried to assist children in understanding and finding healthy ways of responding to their emotions, as illustrated by a mother, whose eldest daughter in particular struggled with the traumatic childhood experience of DFV perpetrated by her father:

[She] tell me she really wants to do something to the dad. Just hit him or something she said so he feels like how we felt but I told her that’s not the way you can do that. Just forgive him. Just be happy where we are now. […] I’m doing everything I can just to help them get out of that worry. (Indigenous mother of 6 children)

The trauma associated with children’s exposure to DFV often had far-reaching consequences that affected different aspects of mothers and children’s everyday lives. As a result, mothers often had to act as children’s “recovery agents” to ensure children’s daily environments were understanding of their needs and did not unintentionally create further trauma for children, as illustrated by this mother’s account:

I really, really truly lost myself. Now I’m just finding myself again and dealing with the children. Their effects of the abuse, it’s a big triumph in our house when they first learned how to close the door without being afraid. That’s a big thing. We have celebrations for that stuff. They get rewarded. My daughter learned to close the door at school, the toilet door. I had to pull her teacher up about it “Why aren’t the lights on in the preppies’ toilets? My daughter is afraid. We come from a bad.…” You know? You have to tell them and keep onto it just to make [your children] feel as safe and happy wherever they go. You want them feeling safe enough to shut the door at school. (Indigenous mother of 5 children)

While many mothers identified lasting effects of DFV on their children, few had access to counseling for their children. A lack of financial resources to afford private counseling along with limited if any availability of free child counseling services in regional and remote locations meant children had to rely on their mothers as primary carers and protective parents to assist children’s recovery from trauma to the best of their abilities.

Surviving as a Female-headed Single Parent Household in a Small Town

As the majority of women had escaped the abusive relationship at the time of the data collection, most had experienced survival as a single-parent household in regional settings. Women shared experiences of trying to support their family on a meager single parent income (whether through low paid employment or welfare payments). Experiences of financial disadvantage were worsened by the limited opportunities available in regional settings. Regional life substantially affected women’s employment opportunities and access to affordable housing, thus limiting the choices mothers could make around supporting their children. While crisis accommodation was available in the study locations, community awareness about the location of women’s refuges in regional towns further created safety concerns for some women:

Everyone knows where all the shelters are so there’s nowhere to hide in [regional town]. (Indigenous mother of 4 children)

The illustrated concerns around known shelter locations and who may be accessing shelters at any given time were particularly prominent for the Indigenous mothers who articulated that in close-knit communities, everybody knows everybody’s business, and there are family connections between the community and staff working at the local shelter. In these examples, Indigenous mothers not only had to manage their escape in the first place but further manage visibility within close-knit communities. This included the potential disclosure of women’s location across social networks, and at times the risk of retaliatory violence by the perpetrator’s family in addition to the general risk of retaliation by the perpetrator that was present for all women in this study:

There’s nowhere to hide in [regional town] so if you leave you have to leave and go God knows how far away. If your family is here or if you have mutual children, it’s not always an option. (Non-Indigenous mother of 2 children)

Moreover, moving into independent housing post-crisis accommodation proved difficult for mothers in regional settings. Here, intersecting factors, including family income, single motherhood, and cultural background further complicated women’s experiences. Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers both described facing discrimination from realtors and landlords as a single mother of multiple children:

Real estate agents discriminate because you are a single woman with kids. You can only afford small accommodation and real estate agents don’t want many children in a small place. (Indigenous mother of 6 children)

The circumstances of Indigenous women in this study suggest that Indigenous mothers may have even fewer chances to secure accommodation compared to non-Indigenous mothers in both study locations. Indigenous mothers in this study on average had a larger number of children to care for and shared greater levels of socio-economic disadvantage. This amplified their challenges when trying to find affordable accommodation in regional centers with limited public housing options.

Indigenous mothers in this study further discussed experiences of being forced to consider substandard housing in the absence of available public housing and an inability to compete in a limited, regional housing market as described by this mother:

I’m not saying that we come from deadly houses. They’re just normal standard homes. They shouldn’t be offering that to anyone actually. It’s disgusting. I just had to say no. My kids are not even exposed to houses like this. They haven’t walked into a house like this and you want us to live in here? (Indigenous mother of 5 children)

While both Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers in this study reported challenges associated with surviving as a single mother in regional settings post DFV, the experiences of Indigenous women seemed disproportionately exacerbated by their level of experienced social disadvantage.

Commonalities Identified in Women’s Experiences

While most mothers in this study had separated from the abusive partner at the time of data collection, the majority had some form of ongoing contact with their abuser due to shared parenting arrangements. This observation equally affected Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers and supports other research which has highlighted that for victim survivors who are mothers, severing all ties with the abusive ex-partner is complicated when mutual children are involved (Elizabeth et al., 2010; Holt, 2017). As a result, experiences of abuse did not necessarily end with separation and the recovery phase of mothers and children regardless of cultural background was often hindered or delayed where ongoing contact was necessary to fulfill shared parenting rights and obligations (Holt, 2017; Thiara & Humphreys, 2017).

Like many mothers in other studies (refer to Humphreys, 2007; Meyer, 2011), both Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers were aware of the detrimental impact the violence could or was having on their children. Mothers tried to assist children’s emotional recovery to the best of their abilities, especially in the absence of access to professional recovery support. Both groups of mothers further provided strong emotional support for their children around contact with the abusive parent to minimize its adverse effects on children’s short- and long-term emotional wellbeing.

Differences Identified in Women’s Experiences

While the small sample size limits the generalizability of comparative observations, indicative findings suggest nuanced differences in some of experiences shared by the two groups of women in this study. First, differences emerged for the entrapment strategies employed by abusive partners. Non-Indigenous mothers discussed death threats against themselves, their children, and/or other maternal family members as a common tactic that prevented them from seeking help and leaving the abusive relationship; at least initially. Indigenous mothers’ narratives around entrapment reveal perpetrators’ threats of reporting mothers to child protection services for alleged inadequate mothering as a primary strategy to silence mothers and keep them entrapped in the abusive relationship. While the emphasis on child protection concerns in the narratives of Indigenous women in this study along with the emphasis of death threats in the narratives of non-Indigenous mothers does not rule out the presence of such experiences by both groups of women, it is noteworthy that Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers placed emphasis on different entrapment strategies employed by their (ex)partners during their discussion of victimization and help-seeking experiences.

These nuanced observations further support existing research, which strongly suggests that the ongoing impact of colonization and its historical “family welfare” policies act as a form of entrapment for many Indigenous mothers who experience DFV and fear the removal of their children in relation to such experiences (Cripps, 2008; Nixon & Cripps, 2013). And while Indigenous women are significantly more likely to be killed by an intimate (ex)partner than non-Indigenous women in the Australian context (Fairthorne et al., 2016), threats of harm to women and children as a barrier to help-seeking have primarily been established in research involving non-Indigenous samples (refer to, for example, Bruton & Tyson, 2018; Meyer, 2011). More culturally sensitive research is therefore needed to establish a nuanced evidence base around the experiences of DFV and the barriers around help-seeking specific to Indigenous women in Australia and beyond.

Both groups of mothers equally discussed the impact of DFV on their children along with children’s recovery needs and how these were at times complicated by ongoing contact with the abusive parent under existing parenting agreements post family separation. However, Indigenous women and children’s recovery from DFV seemed further complicated by their level of experienced social disadvantage. Indigenous and non-Indigenous mothers shared struggles of survival as a single parent living in regional locations, also observed in other research on the experiences of victim survivors in non-metropolitan settings (Owen & Carrington, 2014; Wendt et al., 2015). However, socio-structural barriers, including unemployment, financial stress, and larger number of children to care for seemed to exacerbate the entrapment of Indigenous mothers in abusive relationships disproportionately. For Indigenous women in this study, the prospect of material poverty was acute. Many had experienced long-term unemployment and already described living in unsafe or substandard housing arrangements with their abusive partner. Leaving the abusive relationship and transitioning to support their children as a single mother, often without an independent income, therefore brought an immediate risk of homelessness and bringing children up in poverty to the fore.

Similarly, regionality seemed to present a greater barrier to leaving for Indigenous than non-Indigenous mothers. While Indigenous mothers were equally determined to establish a life free from violence for their children, “moving on” was often complicated by wanting to remain in close proximity to extended family and by wanting to maintain children’s ties to country and community. In regional towns that offer little privacy and nowhere to hide, Indigenous mothers seemed to be disproportionately affected by limited opportunities to remove themselves from their experiences of DFV without giving up their protective ties to culture, country, and community.