The recent controversy surrounding Dennis Padilla's public outburst about not being the "father of the bride" at his daughter's wedding struck a chord deep within me. It’s not just because it made headlines but because it mirrored something painfully familiar—a story I’ve lived through.
Dennis Padilla has been known for his past abusive behavior, both emotionally and physically, toward his family. Yet, when confronted with the consequences of his actions, he turned to social media, casting himself as the victim—a strategy abusers often use to evade accountability.
I can relate all too well.
Like Dennis, my perpetrator didn’t hesitate to rewrite the narrative to serve his version of the story. Despite the physical and emotional scars I bear, he often portrays himself as the one wronged—"the depressed victim." The manipulation goes beyond the private sphere; it spills into the public domain, where sympathy is weaponized to validate their actions and invalidate ours.
What’s heartbreaking is that society often buys into this portrayal. The tears of a man who “just wanted to be a father” overshadow the years of trauma endured by those he hurt. The world forgets—or chooses to ignore—the cycles of abuse that lead to estrangement. Victims like me and Dennis's family are left to navigate the painful double burden: healing from the abuse itself while enduring the added injustice of being painted as the villain.
This isn’t just about one man or one family. It’s about a pervasive pattern where abusers manipulate the narrative, gaslight their victims, and turn genuine calls for accountability into opportunities for pity.
For people like me, this is triggering. It brings back memories of every excuse my abuser made, every instance where he played the victim to divert attention from his wrongdoings. It reminds me of the times I questioned myself, doubting my reality because of his skilled manipulation.
But stories like this also remind me of the importance of speaking up, reclaiming my truth, and rejecting the lies abusers tell the world.
And now, as if that weren’t enough, netizens have chimed in, invalidating Marjorie Barretto's recent claims that she was physically abused by Dennis, questioning why no case was filed. It’s maddening to see how easy it is for people to dismiss a survivor's truth simply because there’s no paper trail to prove it.
I can’t emphasize this enough: unless you’ve been through it yourself, you will never understand the complexity of the situation. I understand. I filed a case against my abuser. I desisted later, hoping for reconciliation, only to regret that decision deeply. Even now, I remain confused. The memories still ache, and every time I see stories like this that echo my experiences, it feels like a wound reopening.
What these stories do, however, is serve as a stark reminder—a visual prognosis of sorts—of what kind of father my child might have in the future if I don’t protect him well. The thought terrifies me. But it also fuels my resolve.
Sure enough, I will protect him. I will do everything in my power to shield him from the cycles of abuse that could shape his life if I let history repeat itself.
Stories like Dennis Padilla’s aren’t just about one man or one family. They reflect a broader pattern of how abusers manipulate narratives, gaslight their victims, and garner public sympathy, leaving the real survivors doubting themselves and their truths.
To those who feel triggered by this, too: you are not alone. Your pain is valid. And while the world may not always understand, our truth will always matter—if not to them, then to ourselves and the children we’re determined to protect.
