In Memory of Miss Vee©

The Verdict That Sparked Reflection

This morning, Sean “P. Diddy” Combs, by a jury of eight men and four women, was convicted on two of the five charges he was accused of. The charges he was acquitted of — which I find most disturbing — were counts two and four: sex trafficking by force, fraud, or coercion. It is here that I’ll begin.

The Hidden Crisis of Human Trafficking

First and foremost, human trafficking is a hidden crisis in America. Its victims are often lured through false promises of work, love, or safety — and then controlled through violence, manipulation, or threats. It often looks like a relationship, job offers, or a way out of poverty — until it’s too late. What we’ve seen in the Diddy case isn’t just about one man — it’s a reflection of a broader culture that normalizes abuse and silences survivors.

Cognitive Distortions and Abuse

With regard to the outcome of this specific case, it’s obvious that the State of New York simply failed to prove its argument beyond a reasonable doubt. However, if that’s not the case, the more unsettling conclusion is that we live in a world where cognitive distortion runs rampant. In this world of dichotomous thinking, two things cannot be true at once. As it pertains to the domestic violence and sexual abuse exposed in the celebrity case, a woman cannot both fear a man and stay with him — or so they say.

A Counselor’s Story: The Weight of Trauma

As a Mental Health Counselor, I once worked with a young woman coping with PTSD after being in a physically and emotionally abusive relationship. During her time with this individual, she developed an eating disorder, was violently raped, and endured daily verbal abuse. Her eating disorder stemmed from her boyfriend’s constant insults about her weight. At the time, she wore a size 10. By the end of the relationship, she was down to a size 6. One of our initial goals in therapy was to wean her off diet pills. When we met, she had already moved two states away, yet she still walked through her new city with paranoia and constant fear that he might find her.

Miss Vee’s Story: Silence Behind the Blue Wall

When I was a very young girl, my mother had a best friend that I lovingly called “Miss Vee.” Miss Vee dated a man who was a police officer in her neighborhood precinct — a man who was abusive. One Saturday morning, she called our house, whispering. My mother was next door having her Saturday morning coffee session with our neighbor. I ran to get her. Shortly after, we were on our way to Miss Vee’s home. She had spent the night hiding in a closet while her boyfriend attempted to break in through an upstairs window.

Let us now consider power and privilege. Miss Vee couldn’t call the police. Why? Because it would’ve been her boyfriend’s colleagues — other officers — who showed up. How exactly would that have gone? Who would have been believed? Would he have been arrested? The answer is no.

There was the Blue Wall of Silence — impenetrable and unshakable. Cops won’t snitch on other cops. Nonetheless, what typically followed these incidents was the love bombing: the countless pleas for forgiveness, the gifts, the declarations of love, and the promises that it would never happen again. Of course, until the next time. Wash, rinse, spin, and repeat. The black eyes, bruises, and emotional scars persisted because she truly believed she was trapped — that there was no escaping him.

Public Judgment and Cassie Ventura

By now, most of us have seen the viral video of Cassie Ventura being kicked and dragged by her hair by Sean Combs. Yet the criminalization continues to fall upon the woman — and the judgment begins, often with: “She should have left.” “She stayed for the money and fame.” “She was a willing partner.” “This could never happen to me.” Cassie’s attempt to escape was clear — we all saw it. And just as clearly, we witnessed her being chased down and violently dragged back into that hotel room.

Misogyny and False Narratives

Misogyny fuels these false narratives and keeps survivors trapped in cycles of shame. It tells us that if a woman is hurt, she must have provoked it; if she stays, she must have wanted it; if she leaves, she’s vindictive or disloyal. These narratives don’t just distort the truth — they protect abusers. By framing women as unreliable, gold-digging, or complicit, misogyny shifts blame away from the person who chose violence and onto the woman who endured it. The harm is twofold: survivors are silenced, and society learns to doubt them before they even speak.

Internalized Misogyny: When Women Join In

And if we’re being completely honest, it’s not just men who perpetuate these narratives — there are women who do it, too. Judgmental women who weaponize respectability, who say, “I would never let that happen to me,” or, “She must have stayed for the money.” This is internalized misogyny at work — when women absorb the same toxic narratives and project them onto each other. It doesn’t make them safer; it just deepens the shame for survivors. When women echo the very scripts designed to silence us, they reinforce the systems we should be dismantling together.

The Psychology of Control

Too many people with no background in psychology make loud, harmful judgments about survivors. If you don’t understand the impact of power, control, coercion, fear conditioning, or trauma bonding — if you don’t understand emotional abuse, isolation, psychological manipulation, or financial control, and how they tear a person apart from the inside out — maybe you shouldn’t be the loudest voice in the room.

Also seemingly overlooked was the fact that Cassie was just 20 years old — a time when the frontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for impulse control, judgment, and emotional regulation, is still not fully developed. This isn’t a minor detail — it’s a crucial reminder that she was still neurologically and emotionally vulnerable, making her even more susceptible to grooming, control, and coercion.

Stockholm Syndrome and Survival

As it pertains to psychological manipulation and a specific mental health diagnosis, perhaps Cassie and Miss Vee were experiencing Stockholm syndrome. Stockholm syndrome is when someone who’s been abused, kidnapped, or held captive begins to feel emotionally attached to the person hurting them — even defending or protecting them. It’s not love. It’s a survival response. The brain tries to create a sense of safety or connection with the abuser to avoid further harm. Over time, the victim may feel sympathy, loyalty, or even gratitude toward the abuser — especially when they show small acts of kindness after causing pain. It’s not a weakness. It’s a trauma response. And it’s far more common in situations of domestic violence than most people realize.

Why Survivors Don’t Leave

Maybe instead of speculating, we should be quiet and learn. Survivors don’t need your skepticism. They need safety. And the last thing they need is someone mistaking their ignorance for insight. Abuse is always a choice — the abuser’s choice. Her clothes, her tone, her professional goals, her boundaries, or the fact that his dinner wasn’t hot on the table didn’t provoke it.

Watching this trial made it painfully clear that we live in a culture where survivors are interrogated like criminals, while abusers are handed a second chance. We dismiss the abuse and reduce all women to “gold diggers.” We ask survivors why they stayed, why they didn’t scream louder, why they didn’t leave sooner. But we rarely ask abusers why they chose to harm someone who loved them. Instead, we hand them a slap on the wrist and a redemption arc. And then we have the audacity to wonder why women don’t go to the police.

Maybe they don’t leave because they already know what happens. They know that a restraining order doesn’t stop a bullet. That those pieces of paper don’t guarantee safety. That far too many women are killed with those orders still in hand. As a therapist, I’ve seen just how long it takes for survivors to process and free themselves from the guilt they were never meant to carry.

Our elders teach us to "never say never." We often forget. See, “never” is a word you use when you think you’re in control. When you have safe options. When you haven’t been brought to your knees.

What we should be doing instead is offering survivors compassion and a safe space. Not judgment. Not distance. Not arrogance disguised as wisdom. The most honest response isn’t “That could never be me.” It’s “God, I hope I’m never in that situation.” Because the truth is, none of us can know how we’d respond until fear has its hand at our throat.

That’s the line that should make you put the paper — or the phone — down for a second and sit with it.

Because the truth is, some people would rather whisper about a woman they know is in a DV situation — dissecting her choices, debating her worth — than look her in the eye and ask the only question that matters: “Are you scared?”

Desperation and Incarceration

Hopelessness and desperation. Across the U.S., about one in three women serving time for homicide were convicted of killing a current or former intimate partner (source: Prison Policy Initiative). According to the ACLU, up to 90% of incarcerated women who killed men had previously been abused by them. Their incarceration doesn’t tell us about their danger — it tells us about their desperation. It tells us that society still can’t accept that two things can be true: someone can be abused and still stay.

Fear Without Wealth — and Fear With It

Miss Vee and my client’s boyfriends weren’t rich. They didn’t have teams or empires behind them. And yet, their abusers wielded manipulation and fear like weapons — crafting silence, shame, and control. Fear made a woman hide in her own closet. Fear made another watch her back two states away. Fear convinces women that leaving isn’t safety — it’s escalation. So, if this is the dynamic without wealth and power, we must ask: What did Cassie’s fear look like? What does fear feel like when your abuser has endless money, powerful connections, and the ability to make problems disappear?

A System That Fails Women

In the United States, 75% of incarcerated women report having experienced domestic violence at the hands of an intimate partner. That statistic doesn’t just expose a pattern — it indicates a flawed system. We owe my client, Miss Vee, Cassie, and the countless women — our mothers, sisters, daughters — who have lost their lives, suffered in silence, or are incarcerated for protecting themselves a tremendous apology for our failure to protect them. Moreover, we owe them safety and justice without judgment.

A Call to Action

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, help is available. Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) or text “START” to 88788. Free, confidential support is available 24/7 in over 200 languages. You are not alone. You are not to blame. And there is a way forward.