Category Archives: domestic abuse

I wish

domestic abuse, Gaslighting

I was married for 12.5 years. The emotional abuse started within the first couple of years (we were both military and he deployed a few months after we got married).  He was offered his first alcoholic drink when he was in Iraq, and by the time he came home, he settled into a routine of polishing off a case of beer with a buddy in one night.  This happened frequently.  I wasn’t able to identify the emotional abuse until after we moved back home (year 3-4 of marriage) and even when I did, it was usually brushed off as PTSD.

He punched me in 2007 (followed by holding me to the ground in a headlock).  It became a joke in years to come – a joke that I learned not to hit him because he hits back. His response to that incident was that “he learned how to neutralize the enemy while he was in the army.” So that’s all he was doing.  He was doing what he was trained.

For some reason, that didn’t comfort me.  It only reminded me that he was trained to kill.

Over the years there was VERY little physical abuse. There were a few times where he would hold me tight in bed and not let me go (not in a romantic or playful way).  Other than that, I don’t really think there were any other actual physical encounters.  It’s like he got smart.  He knew that when he hit, I left.  He learned he couldn’t hit, there would be consequences*.

*why I didn’t leave immediately when he stood at the foot of my bed with a loaded gun is beyond me….

I am going to be VERY real with you, and it’s not going to be pretty: I get jealous of the women that have been knocked around by their men.  I have said for YEARS that I wished he would just hit me.  People understand physical abuse.  They are terribly offended when a man lays a hand on his lady.  Leave a mark?  Leave your man! Oh how I’ve wished I had external markings on my body to show my abuse.  I’ve desperately wished he’d beat me to a bloody pulp.  Now that’s something I can take a picture of.  That’s proof of his abuse. That would get people saying “You can’t stay!  He hurts you! What if he turns on your kids?!”

But no.  Sadly, nobody can see how he hurt me.  In fact, over the past 3 months I have felt re-victimized as I hear him telling his stories and as I hear people actually believing him (without feeling the need to get my side of the story).  I’ve had my credibility questioned, my reputation trashed, my character scrutinized.  I wish I could show you the damage he did to my brain.  The bruises on my heart. I wish there had been video cameras for all the times I left a conversation with him lost in the gaslighting fog and confusion. Thankfully I have some amazing friends that have been by my side through it ALL and can bear witness to the many many times I’ve come to them saying “what the heck just happened?”

gaslighting.jpg

My counselor has said she believes I have PTSD from my marriage. THAT’S crazy. But I believe it.

I feel morbid wishing he had beat me up, but it’s how I feel.  I’ve spent a decade being emotionally/mentally beat up, and now I feel like I have to have notarized documents proving it all.  It would have been so much easier to tell people “he hit me”, and here’s the bruise to prove it.

By the way, bruises on the heart take a really really really long time to heal…  just FYI.

Why Stay?

domestic abuse

I watched this TED talk today…  and I’m not quite ready to share it on facebook yet.  So here I shall plant it.

I’ve said many MANY times that I wished he had hit me.  People understand physical abuse.  They are horrified to see bruises.  They insist you leave if he lays a hand on you.  So no, my story is not like this woman’s, but it’s had it’s horrifying moments as well.  She says something a little over 10 minutes in that really hit home for me.

“I never once thought of myself as a battered wife. Instead, I was a very strong woman in love with a deeply troubled man.  And I was the only person on earth who could help [Conor] face his demons.”

And in response to the common question: why doesn’t she just leave?

Because it’s incredibly dangerous to leave an abuser.

My story doesn’t involve the physical abuse the same way it involves her, but the ending is chillingly similar.  I left because I was terrified (and still am fearful) that he would kill us all.  He already planned to end his own life when he felt he had nothing left, so it’s not that far of a reach to think he would have a “if I can’t have them, nobody can” mindset.

“Because the final step in the domestic violence pattern is kill her.  Over 70% of domestic violence murders happen after the victim has ended the relationship. After she’s gotten out. Because then the abuser has nothing left to lose.  Other outcomes include long term stalking, even after the abuser remarries. Denial of financial resources, and manipulation of the family court system to terrify the victim and her children, who are regularly forced by family court judges to spend unsupervised time with the man who beat their mother.”

Why do I blog about my abusive marriage?  Because abuse thrives on silence.  

The Things That God Hates

domestic abuse

9 years ago I slapped a man after he threw my laptop across the room. In return, he punched me and held me in a headlock on the ground.

I left.

That lasted a month. 2 years after that, that same man stood at the foot of my bed with a loaded gun (bullet in the chamber), demanding my respect.

It took me 2 months to leave after that.

That time lasted 3 months. There have been a handful of times between 7 years ago and 2 months ago that I have said I needed to or tried to leave, and each time I was convinced I needed to stay because “God hates divorce”. Even now, even with people that are well aware of the actual physical (and mental/emotional) DANGERS present if I stayed, I still feel judged for leaving and protecting my babies.

Friends, if nobody has told you yet today… There are a LOT of things that God hates, and abuse is one of those things. One of these days I will be able to speak more freely about my marriage, but in the meantime please let me be one to tell you – you are worth SO much more than rubies, and you should never have to tolerate being abused, especially in the name of your faith.

Standing Here

domestic abuse

Yesterday I rang the doorbell to a women’s shelter.  A shelter where abused women seek refuge and safety.  I wish I could say I never in a million years dreamed I would ever be the woman on the inside of that door, but that would be a lie.  I just *hoped* it would never come to that for me.

Yet here I stood.

It’s surreal talking with people with years and decades of experience relating to domestic abuse.  The fear in their eyes, the urgency in their voice, only to realize, oh! They’re talking about ME!  They’re concerned about ME! Something about my situation really IS frightening!  I’ve spent so many years being made to believe I’m the crazy one for being concerned about yet another scary outburst or breakdown, being made to feel like it wasn’t a big deal, it was just an anxiety attack (which, according to him, I could have helped).  It was my fault.  I didn’t keep a clean enough house, so he couldn’t find his stuff.  I didn’t respect him, so he reacted in kind.  Always my fault.

And yet it doesn’t feel real.  I’m being validated left and right.  This is NOT ok.  This is NOT appropriate behavior.  This is NOT a safe situation.  They aren’t making me feel like I’m being dramatic, or overreacting, or trying to paint him in a bad light, or being a bad unsupportive wife.  I don’t know how to sort through all these different emotions.  Friday I was quite literally mourning my husband, who, as far as I knew, was at home planning his own demise.  It’s horrifying to realize you’re not sure if what you’re feeling is sadness or relief – and to admit that out loud makes you feel like an absolute monster. By Saturday, and every day after, it was life as normal.  And I was basically told to be patient, because I was the one that dropped the bombshell about wanting to separate, so I needed to give him time to process.  That would have been SO much easier to accept had there not been loaded guns in my basement, and knowing that mere hours prior, they had been in the trunk of my husband’s car with who knows what intended outcome.

I feel like I’m going through the stages of grief, but out of order.  I have been angry, I have been sad, I have had major guilt.  This is such an unpredictable journey, and I’m so cautious to embrace the next emotion because I don’t know how long it will stick around.

This is so surreal.  This can’t be my life.

Domestic Abuse. It still sounds so foreign on my tongue.

And now I shall submit this blog post, after one tiny but mighty mason jar of moscato, and no reviewing it.  Here’s to life, unfiltered and messy.