Domestic Violence on Campus, in Oklahoma, and in Ourselves
- ouwhadvocacy
- Nov 14
- 5 min read
Oklahoma has ranked in the top ten for women killed by men in single-victim incidents since 1996, and recent research has placed us second in the nation (Oklahoma Attorney General, 2024).
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Usually, that means seeing well-crafted infographics on Instagram stories, or maybe hearing your favorite celebrity share a story. This spread of awareness is important, but the conversations often feel sanitized.
“Domestic violence is bad. Call this hotline for help. Click this link for resources.”
And while these posts come from a good place and are still important, they rarely capture the raw, messy, nuanced truth of what domestic violence actually looks like, especially in college.
The truth is this: domestic violence is not something that just happens to “other people.” It’s not just some news story or statistic. It happens to students on this campus. It happened in my own family growing up. It happens in neighborhoods, friend groups, sororities, and fraternities. Sometimes it even hides inside the relationships we ourselves have been in.
And it's urgent here in Oklahoma. The most recent report conducted by the Oklahoma Domestic Violence Fatality Review Board concluded that domestic violence has increased nearly 34% since 2011. That’s not just a number, but it’s an indictment of the systems, communities, and cultures that fail to fully see domestic violence for what it is.
When Systems Fail Survivors
Growing up in Oklahoma, I lived through the cracks in our system where abuse thrives. I watched my mom call the police time and time again after a dispute, and rarely did anything happen. No arrest. No accountability. Just silence, and me wishing that maybe next time there would be legal consequences.
Domestic violence can leave bruises or broken bones, but it's also about control, intimidation, isolation, and financial dependence that trap people in dangerous cycles.
My mom, who is disabled with Usher Syndrome (a disorder that causes vision and hearing impairments), faced tough choices. Employment was nearly unattainable, disability benefits were insufficient, and raising three children alone seemed financially unlivable. For women like her, leaving isn’t about courage; it’s about survival.
According to the CDC, survivors with disabilities are at greater risk of violence and often remain in dangerous relationships because of financial dependency, lack of resources, or fear of losing custody of their children. In Oklahoma, those barriers are intensified in rural areas where shelters may be hours away, public transportation is scarce, and law enforcement often dismisses abuse as “just a domestic dispute.”
According to Domestic Shelters, an online resource to locate shelter, Oklahoma offers shelter in only 30 of its 600 cities. Rural communities might be considered unlucky, but even urban shelters face overcrowding, long wait times, and limited resources, especially for women with children.
But the problem isn’t only systemic; it’s cultural, too. Stigma teaches survivors to keep abuse hidden so their families don’t “look bad.” My mom would often tell me not to mention the violence to my other family members, not just out of worry but out of fear of perception. Silence was valued more than safety. And that silence, fueled by both broken systems and cultural shame, allows abuse to thrive in plain sight.
When Violence Gets Dismissed
Even when abuse is visible, it often gets brushed off as if it isn’t serious. I think of a sorority girl who tried to go home after a night out, only for her boyfriend to tackle her to the ground, leaving her with a sprained ankle and scuffs.
Then, her story was tainted by remarks like: “This is what happens when you drink.” That’s how blame can shift from abuser to victim, conditioning us to see violence as an accident rather than accountability. She was taught to take responsibility for her bruises, all while trying to process what it means to be hurt by someone who says they love you.
This normalization stretches far beyond families and campuses. In popular culture, shows like Priscilla or Euphoria reveal the volatility of abuse, yet on TikTok those same scenes are repackaged into edits where toxic men are labeled “hot” or “desirable.” Passion gets confused with possession, obsession with love, and chaos becomes entertainment.
Even humor reinforces this conditioning. Instagram trends like #ihatemyboyfriend joke about hitting, cheating, or mistreating partners. At first glance, they look harmless. But psychologists note that humor acts like exposure therapy: the more we joke about violence, the less shocking it feels. Over time, society stops seeing abuse as outrageous and instead accepts it as ordinary.
And when violence is normalized through victim-blaming, romanticization, and humor, survivors are left doubting whether their pain “counts” at all.
The College Lens and Looking Inward
On college campuses, the normalization of abuse collides with a culture that often makes it worse. Fraternity life can reward dominance, aggression, and control, while parties involving alcohol create power imbalances that blur the line between hookup culture and coercion.
Research shows that women ages 18-24 experience the highest rates of intimate partner violence of any age group (NCADV). That statistic isn’t abstract, in fact it describes us, right here on campus. And in spaces where reputation, tradition, and social climbing matter more than accountability, abusive behavior can hide in plain sight.
But breaking cycles of violence isn’t just about pointing fingers outward. Real awareness requires turning the lens inward.
I know this firsthand. In the past, I lashed out physically in moments of anger, behavior I never thought I was capable of. That doesn’t excuse my actions, and it doesn’t mean I was “the abuser”, but it forced me to confront the harm I caused to another person. Most abusers avoid this reckoning, by deflecting blame or minimizing their actions. But accountability starts with honesty.
On a college campus where so many young people are navigating relationships for the first time, we owe it to ourselves and each other to not only recognize red flags in others but also to hold up a mirror and commit to doing better ourselves.
Taking Action and Breaking the Cycle
So where do we go from here?
If you’re supporting a friend: believe them, listen without judgment, and remind them it’s not their fault. Sometimes the greatest gift is refusing to minimize their pain.
If you recognize yourself in these stories: don’t hide from it. Counseling, anger management, and campus resources exist for a reason. Change is possible, but only when we’re honest about the harm we’ve caused.
If you need immediate help: call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-SAFE (7233) or text “START” to 88788. OU students can also access confidential support through the University Counseling Center, the Gender + Equality Center, and Title IX resources.
This October, let’s get honest about how abuse shows up in our state, our campus, our culture, and even ourselves. Because awareness without honesty doesn’t change anything. But when we’re willing to name the ugly alongside the beautiful, to tell the stories, to break the silence, to refuse minimization- that’s when real change starts.
Resources:
Get Involved Locally:
Learn More About Oklahoma Legislation on Domestic Violence:
Publisher Kelly Nguyen
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