The most important thing I learned about abuse came to me while I was learning how to train my dog. Determined to develop a positive relationship with an unruly puppy who appeared to have no natural affinity for obedience but a seemingly endless supply of razor-sharp teeth, I devoted myself tirelessly to understanding how animals learn and how to instill particular behaviors. That’s how I came upon Skinner’s variable-ratio reinforcement study, in which rats were rewarded with food when they pressed a lever. If the rats received a reward every time they pressed the lever, they would initially press it again and again, then lose interest. But if rewards were dispensed only sometimes and at random intervals, the rats never stopped pressing the lever. Even if they had not received a reward for days, the rats still held out hope that the next press of the lever would be different. And so they kept pressing, their hope eternal. I shut the book and I cried.
By the time I learned about the extraordinary efficacy of variable-ratio reinforcement I had been out of my abusive relationship for five years. I was married to a wonderful man and deeply in love. My life looked nothing like the small, suffocating, and bleak world I had inhabited in my time with my abuser. And yet there was a closeness I had had with the man who abused me that I had yet to even approach with another person, an intensity of bonding that disrupted my ability to feel the things I assumed a person should feel about their abuser. Instead of anger, disdain, or even pity, I felt a deep sorrow for the loss of that tremendous bond. In secret, I mourned it even as my logical mind revolted. Skinner’s rats opened a door for understanding the visceral connection between my abuser and me in terms of social conditioning, obliterating romanticism and dispelling the notion of us as uniquely linked. Our bond was not one of love, but one of trauma.



