When I booked my ticket last Sunday for the film Home Sweet Home, I already knew it would be a difficult watch. A film about domestic violence rarely comes with emotional comfort. I walked into the cinema preparing myself, not just as a therapist, but as a woman — and as a human being.
As people slowly filled the room, I was observing them. I could hear snippets of conversation, feel the tension and anticipation in the air. What pleasantly surprised me was the number of men present. The ratio was roughly 4:1 — four women for every man — which, frankly, was wonderful to see. It meant men also wanted to understand this topic, to face the discomfort rather than remain oblivious. That gave me a small sense of hope before the film even started.
Unfortunately, as the movie began, a woman sitting behind me kept commenting on every scene and every movement. It was incredibly distracting. I turned around once, hoping for silence, but it made no difference. Eventually, I changed my seat so I could fully engage with the film rather than with someone else’s anxiety and emotional dysregulation. I understood she was reacting to her own internal chaos — trying, unconsciously, to self-regulate — but she was pulling the attention toward herself, and I didn’t come for anyone’s performance except the one on the screen.
So I moved.
And then I could finally “be with” the film.
A Brilliant Yet Painful Production
Wojciech Smarzowski, the producer, did a phenomenal job showing the full cycle of domestic abuse:
- the love-bombing
- the early subtle “no-shows”
- the quiet red flags
- the emotional turbulence: embarrassment, denial, hope, devastation
- and the collapse of self-identity, dignity, self-worth
At that stage, ideas such as boundaries or confidence simply stop existing. Everything becomes about surviving.
All forms of abuse were portrayed: emotional, psychological, physical, sexual, financial. And yet amidst this horror, the protagonist — Gosia — still finds an inner spark of strength.
Both actors, Agata Turkot and Tomasz Schuchardt, played their roles with extraordinary depth. Every facial expression felt real, every emotional shift genuine.
I also appreciated how Smarzowski played with possible outcomes — showing different scenarios and how one moment, one choice, one reaction can lead to entirely different consequences. He didn’t romanticise anything. He didn’t soften the truth.
He showed the system as it is: police, social services, lawyers, judges, politicians — all failing, all contributing to the trauma instead of reducing it. Another layer of harm. Another layer of disregard.
The Beginning: A Childhood Without Safety
From the very beginning, Gosia had no foundation of safety or emotional stability. Her mother was verbally abusive, emotionally unstable, unpredictable, and entirely unsafe. On top of that, she struggled with alcoholism — a clear sign of her own unprocessed trauma.
Her father wasn’t just emotionally absent; he was absent altogether. He abandoned the family completely, leaving Gosia without any reliable parental figure.
Her sister, too, exploited her — constantly asking for money, ignoring boundaries, and treating Gosia like a financial resource rather than a sibling. There were no healthy relationships, no emotional nurturing, no stability.
Gosia’s entire childhood was built on survival, not love.
When she later moved to London to study and teach English — without a full degree — her mother constantly criticised her. So criticism became normal to Gosia. Something she didn’t question. And as we later see, this normalised criticism becomes fatal in her marriage.
You can’t see red flags when red has always been the background colour of your life.
Her lack of confidence, lack of boundaries, and lack of emotional support made her an easy target for a psychopath like Grzesiek — her future husband. She had nowhere to go, which made her incredibly vulnerable. He knew this. He used it against her. One of the most chilling moments is when he says:
“Where will you go? You have nowhere to go. All you have is me. I am your family.”
This sentence alone shows the psychological cage he built around her.
We also cannot forget her unprocessed grief after the death of her previous boyfriend — another emotional wound making her more vulnerable to manipulation.
Red Flags That Became Normal
From the beginning, the signs were everywhere:
- ignoring her boundaries
- not showing up
- inviting her to a party, avoiding alone time
- letting her pay for holidays and dinners
- public humiliation and name-calling
- showing intimate photos to his friends
- gaslighting, confusion, psychological destabilisation
Each of these behaviours was a red flag — but to Gosia, they were simply familiar patterns. She grew up in an environment where disrespect was normal, where her needs didn’t matter. So she didn’t recognise danger; she recognised home.
Even when his ex-girlfriend appears and warns her to run — Gosia dismisses it. Not because she is “weak,” but because she is conditioned to believe this is love, this is normal, this is her worth.
Terror
The physical abuse started even before they got married — subtle, but still abuse: pushing her, grabbing her throat, showing his strength. From the very beginning, everything revolved around him, his needs, his moods, his demands.
One of the most significant moments was on their wedding day, when Gosia’s mother collapsed and died. Instead of showing empathy or concern, he accused Gosia of ruining his wedding day.
This is exactly what the producer wanted to show — that victims are blamed for absolutely everything, even for the most tragic and unpredictable events.
With an abuser, everything becomes the victim’s fault.
The scenes of rape, choking, beatings, and drowning attempts were extremely difficult to watch. No matter if someone has lived through such terror or not — the brutality hits the viewer in the nervous system.
Watching Gosia transform from a joyful young woman into a shadow was heartbreaking. Her personality, dignity, identity, and sense of self were torn apart by a deeply disturbed man who himself had childhood trauma. In his family, women were beaten; violence was generational.
But — and I want to be clear — understanding the root of his behaviour is NOT the same as excusing it.
Trauma explains behaviour; it never justifies it.
Domestic abuse affects not only one person; it impacts entire families, generations, and entire societies.
Some trauma is beyond repair. Some people are beyond treatment.
That does not mean victims should pay the price.
The Daughter — A Silent Victim
Gosia and Grzesiek had a little girl.
There is a powerful line in the film:
“Gosia, can you imagine what would happen to your daughter if you didn’t leave him?”
And we see it.
The child already begins identifying with the father — because he represents “strength.” She shows emotional coldness, a lack of fear, and a frightening sense of normality around violence.
One scene broke me:
Gosia is locked outside in the cold rain, banging on the doors. Inside, the father and daughter are laughing, playing, completely ignoring her.
Another scene — Gosia lies on the kitchen floor, covered in bruises and blood. The daughter calmly says:
“It’s good you fell here and not there — because then you would have hurt yourself more.”
This is not innocence.
This is a child already shaped by trauma, learning survival through emotional detachment.
Children do not naturally see women as weak or deserving of punishment.
They learn it.
They introject it.
They inherit it.
This is not innocence.
This is trauma speaking through a child’s mouth.
Children internalise everything.
They learn what power is.
They learn what love is.
They learn what women deserve.
They learn what men can do.
And they carry these lessons into adulthood.
The Silence of Friends — Another Layer of Trauma
Gosia had “friends,” yet no one spoke.
No one asked.
No one named it.
Everyone pretended not to see what was happening right in front of them.
Until one day, during a gathering, her sister finally named it out loud — and the entire room fell apart. People left. The party ended.
Naming the truth is uncomfortable.
But silence keeps victims trapped.
Isolation is the strongest weapon of every abuser.
And society often helps them by looking away.
We all need someone who will say:
“I see what is happening. You don’t deserve this. I will stand beside you.”
The System — A Second Wound
The film also shows how the system fails victims at every level:
police, lawyers, courts, social services, and health professionals.
Not because of gender — because of culture, apathy, incompetence, and lack of trauma-informed understanding.
This is why so many victims stay.
Not because they want to — but because escaping requires strength that trauma has already stolen from them.
And then they must prove they’re victims on top of that.
The system becomes another abuser.
Violence Has Many Faces
Smarzowski also shows other dynamics:
- men who are victims
- same-sex relationships with abuse
- different social backgrounds
Because domestic violence is not a “gender problem.”
It is a power problem, a boundary violation problem, a human dignity problem.
Love? No. A Weapon.
Until the very last scene, Grzesiek repeats:
“Sweetie, don’t leave me.”
“We can be happy again.”
“I love you.”
These are not declarations of love.
These are tools of manipulation.
Words turned into chains.
Love builds.
Love nurtures.
Love protects.
Abuse destroys.
Abuse breaks.
Abuse empties.
There is nothing loving about violence.
Ever.
From a Therapist’s Heart
I went for personal and professional reasons.
I expected to feel a lot.
Yet during the film, I wasn’t in my personal mode at all. I was in full therapist mode: analysing, observing, understanding the dynamics and the trauma responses.
But the moment I got to my car, my nervous system showed me the truth.
I felt hypervigilant.
I wanted to go home immediately, even though I had planned to go shopping.
I drove less carefully — survival mode.
I played loud house music so I wouldn’t hear my thoughts — avoidance.
When I finally got home, I made myself my comfort tea — sage with honey — lit candles, wrapped myself in a blanket.
Only then did my body allow me to feel.
Only when I felt safe again.
And yes, I was observing myself throughout all of it —
a strange part of being a therapist… which is both the blessing and the curse of being a therapist. You can never fully turn off your internal radar.
But maybe that’s also why I needed to write this.
To process.
To honour the story.
To honour the survivors.
To honour the truth.
With warmth and humanity,
Sylwia