Category Archives: Letting Go

Good riddance to the baggage of this day

Letting Go, Steps Toward Healing

I mentioned that this month is a month of “one year anniversaries”. Last week at this time I was at my lowest and darkest. I had friends coming from all angles just to be there and sit with me in my pit. People showed up at my door, texted me, emailed me, called me, showered love on me, and most importantly, they covered me – no, they OVERWHELMED me – with their prayers. I have never felt so low, life had never felt so heavy and impossible – and at the same time I have never felt so **held** and cradled.

Today I am grateful to announce that I am back. I am Mandi again.

One year ago today at this time, he asked me if I wanted to disappear forever. The rest of the day was even more traumatic (and quite frankly, triggering.) One day I will share my private blog where I’ve journaled about that day (and that time in my life – and my marriage in general), but today is not that day.

This has been a year of survival and learning. Learning how to be a single mama. Learning how to “make it” financially without child or spousal support. Learning how to accept help. Learning how to fix things on my own. Learning how to support my babies when they are hurting.

When I look back at this year, I am brought to tears as I see the CROWDS of people that walked with me day by day, week by week, month by month. I have never been alone. Even as I hesitantly look at my time hop/memories, I am seeing that from the very first day, I had my tribe by my side.

Today I make note of this anniversary simply because it’s a page in the chapter of my book – a very important day that helped shaped who I am today.

Moving forward? I’m done being a victim. I am walking forward in confidence. I am seeking out opportunities to pay forward what’s been poured into me. I am stepping out in gratitude, grace, love, and PURPOSE.

I couldn’t begin to list the people I want to thank for surrounding me and helping carry me over the last year. You know who you are, and I want you to know that I am getting myself to a place where I am healthy enough to help you back, and to help others the way you’ve helped me.

My friends, I love you. I love you more than I can find words to express. ❤ ❤ ❤
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Good riddance to the baggage that this day holds, today I choose to set down that weight.

One.

domestic abuse, Letting Go

It’s 3am and I can’t get back to sleep.

3am on April 24th.  We’ve made it.  We’ve gotten to this day and we are still here. To be honest, there have been days where I wasn’t sure we would make it – metaphorically or physically.  That’s the hard part about dealing with an abuser, the fear of the unknown when the known is already so scary.

No.  I’m here.  I’m bruised and tender, I’m tired and shattered, but I’m here.  In some ways (and on some days more than others) I’m SO. MUCH. STRONGER. than I ever was before.  I’m lighter.  I’m free.  I’m brave.  But some days the brokenness of it all cuts too deep.  It hurts.  When it heals, it’s stronger, but then my heart finds new ways to break, new places to bleed, and it hurts in places I hadn’t felt before.  And I have to learn all over again how to heal. One day this will all be a distant memory, the pain won’t feel so fresh as we pass over days that have such significance.

One year ago today I exercised my right to enforce a boundary in order to keep my kids and myself safe.  I stopped trying to minimize his behavior by calling his rages “episodes”.  I reached out for help because I was afraid to go home alone (for good reason, as I later would learn).

One year ago today, I said enough.  Again, and for good.

Over the next month there will be other tough one year “anniversaries” that will lead us to the day I finally filed for an Order for Protection and subsequently, divorce. Our divorce will not be finalized for quite a few more months (at minimum) – the joys of divorcing a narcissist – but these one year marks are significant and important and deserve to be recognized.  In addition to the brokenness they represent, they also represent survival, peace, freedom.

So here’s to one year, self.  We made it.  Some days with more grace and peace in our heart than others, but we made it.  And we will keep pressing forward. We will thrive.  We will advocate.  We will not tolerate abuse in our home.  We will enforce healthy boundaries in our relationships. The heart will heal, and it will learn to trust again. Hold tight.  It’s not going to get easier any time soon, but we’ve got this, and we are not doing this alone.

Here’s to one year.

Dear You

Letting Go, That Fateful Day

We’ve had a rough go of it, this marriage of ours.  We weren’t exactly set up for success right off the bat, with all we were up against even in our first few years. It wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t all hard. We truly loved each other (or at least I know that I truly loved you).  You make me laugh, you always have.  This life we’ve built has certainly been a roller coaster.  Our highs are wonderful, but our lows are oh so low.  Low and painful and scary.

Exactly 1 week ago, probably right about this time, I was sitting on our bed with our sons, trying to figure out how to tell them that their dad might not ever be coming home.  What I ended up telling them left it open for the possibility of your return, but in my head and in my heart, I truly didn’t know if that would ever happen.  In reality, I didn’t even know if you would wake up, and if you did, whether or not you would complete the plans you were plotting mere hours before.

I mourned you that day.  I cried to the point the tears stopped coming. I was dried up. I tried to figure out how I was going to tell your sister. I was angry. I was sad. I was confused. I was scared.  Not just for you, but for whoever was about to unknowingly walk into your plans to somehow end your life.  I sobbed at the thought of an unsuspecting police officer forever carrying the weight of being the one to shoot you and likely kill you.  I wondered if your kids would ever learn the truth about how their dad really died. I will never forget that day.

But.

You didn’t die that day.

That sentence is usually ended with a different sort of punctuation.  However, for the next 2 days I lived in a home where there were loaded weapons, loaded magazines, and handguns (ammo status unknown) in my basement.  In the home where our children lived.  Weapons who’s original intent was to ultimately cause your death (or based on your offer, maybe the intent was for my death?) in some way or another.  This past week has been filled with moments of “is this my life?!” I still struggle to wrap my mind around the reality of the last 7 days, not to mention the last 13 years.
Story End

I realize it will be a futile attempt if I try to convince you the many “whys” of my decision, and I’m sure they will be discussed and dissected over the coming months, even years, so right now I’m not going to waste my energy.  Energy that has already been spent in abundance over this issue.

You and I.

You and me.

We.

Us.

We are done.

The risk is too great to continue to figure out how to make this marriage healthy.  I am too tired from cleaning up your rage-filled destruction.  I refuse to live one more day afraid of what might happen the next time you can’t control your anxiety.  Not when I have 4 precious children to protect.  A mama should never have to protect her babies from their own daddy, but that’s what I’ve been doing.  I will no longer live a life fearful that one day my husband will snap and kill us all.

I still remember being in bed next to you that night seven years ago, absolutely terrified as you laid there clutching your loaded Glock.  I don’t know why I didn’t call the police that night.  Just like I don’t know why I didn’t call the police last Friday as you tied up loose ends, offered to “make me disappear” and ultimately made plans to end your life.  Living with you has twisted and contorted my brain in ways I can’t explain if I tried.

I’ve lived with many regrets over our marriage. Countless times I didn’t call the police. Times I put a smile on my face and convinced those closest to me (the ones reaching out in concern) that everything was fine, that you were just stressed about this thing or that, and that it always gets better eventually. Times I went back too soon (or at all).

I know one thing for sure: I won’t regret this.

This isn’t going to be a smooth ride, but I’m choosing a different path now. I pray God gives you the same peace I have found in this decision.

let go