When a woman in Maine dials 911 during a domestic violence incident, she’s not just calling for help, she’s risking everything. She’s scared, vulnerable and hoping that, this time, someone will protect her. Too often, what happens when police arrive is not safety — it’s re-traumatization.

Across the country and here in Maine, an all too common narrative is police officers respond to domestic violence calls, they encounter a calm, composed man who confidently recounts “a fight” and shifts blame onto his partner for being irrational or “ungrateful.” Officers frequently respond with understanding, even empathy, toward him. Meanwhile, the woman — visibly injured, shaking or emotionally shut down — is met with skepticism.

She may offer vague explanations for her injuries, minimize the violence or say nothing at all. Rather than recognizing these as trauma responses, officers often become frustrated, accusing her of being uncooperative or dishonest. They expect the victim to calmly and clearly recount terrifying abuse while still in the presence — or psychological grip —  of her abuser.

When her version doesn’t match his, and the stories conflict, too many officers shrug, issue a verbal warning, or tell the couple to “take some space.” No arrest. No intervention. No safety plan.

What happens next is tragically predictable. That woman, left unprotected and now seen by her abuser as someone who got him “in trouble,” is often punished. She’s beaten again, sometimes to the brink of death. Sometimes she is killed.

It doesn’t have to end that way. Officers are not to blame for the abuse — but they must be trained to recognize the signs of trauma. Victims of domestic violence often appear withdrawn, contradictory or emotionally volatile — not because they’re lying, but because they’re terrified. Until police are equipped to respond with empathy, not impatience, we will continue to fail the people most in need of protection.

As a survivor of domestic violence, I know how easy it is for victims to downplay abuse. Officers often misread this as dishonesty or weakness. When a victim minimizes or even protects their abuser, it’s often a trauma response. They’ve been conditioned to believe the violence is their fault. They may fear losing their home, children or life. They may have called for help before and been let down. So they make excuses, tell half-truths and hope things won’t get worse.

What looks like “protecting the abuser” is often an act of survival. Unfortunately, many police officers still aren’t trained to understand this or on these critical life-saving measures. Calm, confident abusers are seen as reasonable. Emotional, disoriented victims are seen as unstable or manipulative. And when police leave without action, they send a chilling message: You’re on your own.

A high-profile example of this is the Gabby Petito case of 2021. In body-cam footage, we see a calm abuser and a hysterical victim seemingly having a mental health breakdown and defending her abuser. This isn’t just a systemic failure. It’s complicity.

To protect victims, we must change how domestic violence is handled in Maine. That means:

• Mandatory trauma-informed training for all officers.

• Accountability for how body-cam footage is reviewed — by third parties, not just internal departments.

• Specialized response teams including social workers and advocates, not just law enforcement.

• Clear policies that elevate charges when injuries or repeat offenses are involved.

• Resources beyond police, emergency housing, legal support and confidential advocacy services.

When someone calls for help, they shouldn’t have to convince someone they’re worth saving. Their safety shouldn’t hinge on whether they say the right thing or if their abuser plays it cool. They deserve to be believed. They deserve to be safe.

For too many survivors in Maine, the next knock on the door won’t be the police — it’ll be the person who promised to love them, ready to harm them again. Next time, there may not be another chance.