My Verbally Abusive Marriage

Marc left the house with his dad yesterday. They’re going to live together for a while; maybe it will be permanent.

A piece of me feels like I found out about “myself” and decided what behaviors I would and wouldn’t tolerate TOO LATE. A big piece of me wonders “What if I had realized my marriage was abusive three years ago? 10 years? 17 years ago?…How would my life be different now?”

The question fuels my guilt. I feel guilty for not doing something sooner.

On the other hand, when I look over the past years, I know I was doing the best I knew to do at the time. Whether I was compromising, negotiating, caving, pretending, yelling, fighting or crying, I was doing the best thing I knew to do.

I’ve been in communication with an angel (an ANGEL!) for about 15 of these years…I’ve had the best guidance possible. If an angel wouldn’t tell me what to do, then I can surmise that no one could have told me what to do. I wasn’t ready to hear it, wasn’t ready to do THIS that I’ve been doing for the past year and a half.

But now that I am ready, now that I know, to do differently could only result in feelings of failure and anxiety. When I’m 60, I don’t want to look back over this period wishing I had pretended I didn’t know about boundaries, co dependence, abuse, manipulation and control.

I don’t want to pretend I am wrong for doing what is right for me, or wrong for doing what I believe is right for my children.

Every action has a consequence. Positive action, such as standing up to my teen, can have hurtful consequences in the short-term. But what about next year? Where will Marc and I be next year?

Well, it won’t be a world in which my words and beliefs don’t matter. It won’t be a world in which I allow my boys to run all over me and I anguish about “giving in” to teenage hormones and emotional manipulation.

Better? Worse? Only time will tell. But right now, I’m doing the best I can with the knowledge I have. That will have to be enough.

My dear friend started her own blog about spirituality and abuse. She’s off to a roaring start and I hope you’ll check out her thoughts at “My Perspectives of Spirituality in Abuse”.

She’s a thinker and a feeler and an excellent communicator and writer. Enjoy!

Marc, Eddie and I went to the movies tonight. Marc met two of his friends there. Marc left with them without telling me; he went to get a refill on popcorn and didn’t come back.

Texted me that he had a change of clothes and a place to stay and that he would be okay.

I called his father who lamented the “drama queen bullshit” that prohibited him from … from what?

So Marc is gone (again), Will is referring to his limited legal position as my fault, and there is really nothing new with either of them.

I’m not worried about Marc. He has no money, no job, and soon he’ll have no phone. His friends will eventually tire of housing and feeding him, and he’ll come home (eventually) to find school uniforms and two changes of clothes in his closet. He’ll always have a home here.

But I’m tired of providing luxuries for a child who doesn’t appreciate them and compassion for a man who forgets who he’s talking to when he’s pissed or worried.

Abusers kill their wives and then themselves because once she is finally dead and motionless on the floor, he realizes that the life spark was hers and hers alone. In killing her, he sought to absorb her; now that All is gone from her, he realizes he will never ever and had never ever been able to use her life spark for his own.

Overwhelmed with true grief because he feels unable to live without leeching from her, he turns the weapon upon himself.

He truly loved her life force. His mistake was thinking he could ever take it from her and use it as fuel for himself.

Scary.

Will and I were unhappily married and I once mistakenly blamed him for every one of our missteps and evils. Although I thought I was trying to make him happy, I was really trying to make him happy so he could make me happy. When I failed, I wanted to run far and fast. I tried running away into motherhood. I tried running away into shame. I tried running deeply into loathing and hate and sickness.

I’ve run, but I haven’t left.

There must be a reason for it. There must be a reason greater than my experience to explain why I haven’t run from here.

Why must there be a reason? Why must I seek a reason why I’ve stayed?

I want to say I’ve stayed for love; but by my own admission, I don’t know what love means. So if I haven’t stayed for love, then why?

Maybe I’m tired of running. Or maybe when I ran into the arms of my husband, I did it for a reason other than escape. Is it possible that he offers something that I need to be me? Does and has he challenged me to finally find the All within myself? Is that why I’m with Will?

I know that being with him, in part, has caused me to find “Big Me”. Being with Will has forced me to look and listen inside myself, peeling back layer after layer. Most of the peeling hurt badly. Most of what I peeled back tore me apart, exposed old wounds. It fucking hurt.

I turned inward, away from him, away from what he said and how he treated me, seeking refuge in scarred and burned scabs that didn’t want to be ripped off, but in my frenzy to run, I ripped them away despite my fears.

Now that I’m getting a glimpse of the All, I want to pluck it out of me like an unskinned grape and present it to him. I want to show him what I’ve found so he may believe that the All is within him, too. My old habits tell me that I am supposed to use the All in me to save him. But that isn’t what All is telling me to do.

All tells me to stay quiet about what I’ve found. I’m not supposed to define it for Will because he, out of habit, will try to shame me into putting All away again.

You see, Will has bad habits, too. He cannot bear to think that All is in me because he thinks he should have All only to himself. If my sin is pride, then Will’s is probably selfishness. I don’t think “selfishness” is on the 7 Deadly list, but it’s enough of a sin to cause problems. I digress, “selfishness” is on the 7 Deadly Sins list; it is called “greed”.

I could be wrong about Will’s sin. I have no business in his mess right now anyway. This is about my mess. My pride.

In today’s psychology, there is a less deadly word for pride. It is codependence. Ask a hundred people what codependence means, and you’ll get 100 answers. Codependence is practically indefinable because it is a catch-all phrase for people who do things they shouldn’t at the expense of themselves and those they love but just happen to have an alcoholic or other dysfunctional person in their periphery. Codependence is acknowledged as a problem in itself; the codependent has her own set of problems, presumably exaggerated because of the “other” person involved.

My definition of codependence is the belief that I can fix everyone around me and that they, by doing certain things I decide, can fix me. Sounds like pride to me.

Pauline clued me in to two little demons running amuck within me, waiting for their day in the sun. I haven’t asked her why she did it, yet, and I will. But first, I want to take a stab at guessing.

As science is now showing, we find what we’re looking for. We thought an atom was as small as it got; then we discovered protons, neutrons and electrons living inside the atom, then smaller bits making up those bits. Light measures in waves and in particles, depending on what we are looking for it to be. No matter what we look for, we’re going to find something; the act of expecting to find something else always results in finding something else.

So, if I keep on looking for the bad shit floating around in myself, I am going to find it. Imagine for a second that I found every little demon wandering the halls of my mind. I named it and exorcised it. When I exorcised the last demon, when there was nothing bad to be found in me, what would I feel? Probably, you guessed it, Pride.

Pauline may be trying to tell me that it sometimes doesn’t matter what demons are running around in my head. Punishing myself by trying to exorcise tiny laughable demons is a waste of time. It’s not that I’m bad and there’s nothing that can be done about it, the key is that I’m bad and I’m good and there’s nothing to be done about it. I’m going to see-saw back and forth at times, and that is okay. The challenge is to keep looking for the good until I find pride, then back off and fix the bad until I find pride again.

This playground game can be played in seconds, in days, weeks, months and years. It is a constant, and it is to be an experience. Period. Not a good one, not a bad one, but always a grand one. It is the mystery, the life, the quest of a human. I will push the limits and get pushed back, continuously. This is what we’re here to do. Stretch and contract, stretch and contract, but above all, remain flexible.

I had become inflexible. The years I felt I wasted are simply years that I refused to stretch or contract. It took me longer than some and not as long as others to realize that I’ve got to keep moving. Standing still denies the All the opportunity to live through me. Being stubborn in my belief that I am any one thing (codependent, abusive, victimized) causes All to stop experiencing life through me. Life ends.

All is inside of me. All is constantly moving, growing and being new things.

Consider God, Christian format, for a moment. Old Testament God was full of fury and vengeance. He turned women to salt and burned cities, flooded the earth and murdered men who spoke contrary to Him. New Testament God was full of love and gentle guidance. He sent and sacrificed His son so the rest of us could take a lesson on what it meant to love outside of possession and desire. You could say the Christian Bible is a snapshot of God, or perhaps a three minute youtube video of God expanding and contracting. He definitely isn’t staying still.

God also fractured himself in the Bible. He created angels to worship Him, and humans to look like Him. And then He allowed a piece of his creation to go rogue. Lucifer (turned Satan) is the best of God who found Pride in Himself and exorcised that piece of Himself to the Earth. Why didn’t He send Lucifer and his buddies straight to the promised Hell? Because God knew that killing Lucifer wouldn’t solve the problem.

You see, God is ALL. He is darkness and light. He lives. He experiences. And He put Himself in each one of us so he can experience what we create as well as what He has created. God knows that to stand still means that He will die. Yet He gives an entire portion of Himself to each of us, as a loan, so when we return to Him, our bodies decaying in the earth, we can watch our selves reunite with All, and we will know, beyond the shadow of an earthly doubt, that what we experienced was worthwhile.

Funny, “I Want to Lie to You” also fits in the Six-Word Memoir category. I wonder if that’s a good or a bad thing. No judgment; I’m not going to lie to you, so it’s really a moot point.

I visited my attorney for the first time on January 26th – two days before our first court date. On that day, she asked if there was any chance of reconciliation. I told her that he would have to do a lot of things he swore he would NEVER do if we were going to reconcile. I told her that reconciliation was out of the question so far as I could see.

On February 13, I wrote Too Soon. At the end of the post, I said:

“Instead of blogging, I am going to write out what I want. I’m going to give that to my attorney (for record-keeping) and have her send it to Will. Then maybe he’ll tell me what HE WANTS and I can either be pleased, hurt, or angry, but I would be able to move ahead without feeling unheard and rushed.”

I wrote it out, everything I wanted. What it would take to maybe repair our relationship and maybe save our marriage. I never sent it to my attorney, but last weekend, I gave a copy to Will.

I told him that I was holding onto it because I didn’t think he’d agree to it. I didn’t tell him that if he didn’t agree to it that I would be hurt, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that he didn’t think “I” was worth the effort. If he doesn’t agree to the terms, then it means we’re finished. Completely.

But I want to know. I want to move forward in this life knowing I did absolutely everything I could to prevent our divorce. To prevent my children’s hearts from ripping in two. To prevent my heart from ripping the rest of the way. To prevent destruction. To give him a chance to face his demons as I face mine, individually, but together.

In the document I gave him, I tell him the what I want. I tell him he can add to it, but not take away from it; if I cannot agree to his additions, then we divorce.

I wanted to lie to you for awhile longer, waiting to see if he would agree or not. If he did agree, then I would tell you all about it.

But if he never agreed, then I would keep the shameful secret to myself.

I do feel ashamed. Once I left, I knew I’d done something that my family and some of you had been praying I would do. I feel ashamed because by giving him this chance, by giving us this chance, you may see me as a loser. You may see me as someone who retreats instead of someone who fights. You may see me as a true abuse victim, willing to subjugate my wishes to his. You may lose confidence in me, you may think I am a fraud.

I feel ashamed because I thought once I left, I would be gone for good, and here I am giving him another chance to break my heart. Even if he agrees to the terms, there is no guarantee he will honor them later. He has a tendency to forget things that are important to me.

But, on the other hand, I do not promise that if he agrees to the terms that all will be immediately well. I want this year apart. At the end of this year, even if we’ve both done everything I’ve asked, I may not want to stay married. He may not want to stay married. Maybe we’ll go ahead with the divorce. Maybe I’ll think we’re reconciling but he hits me with divorce papers.

I know I’m leaving myself wide open. That’s what I do – expose my soul.

Maybe it is better if you read the agreement. The only difference between what I gave to him and what I’m providing to you is his name. I changed his real name to “Will” as I do on this blog.

What I Want

Back in November 2009, I completed the Nanowrimo Challenge: 50,000 words in 30 days. Today, I am going through what I wrote and organizing it in yWriter.

A slight portion of what I wrote records conversations between “Big Me” (my true voice, the one connected directly to God), and “Little Me” (my everyday self). Without boring you with the internal workings of my mind, I’d like to share what Big Me said about my marriage.

—————

Little Me wrote: I wonder how long I’ll be able to go on with abuse at the forefront of my mind. At some point it will truly exhaust me. How will I know if it’s time to cut out of my marriage? How will I know if I need to continue healing on my own, when me trying to force Will to stop his part in this if fruitless? How will I know if it’s time to leave?

Hey, Big Me, I’m talking to You. Signs that it’s time to leave the marriage? Hello? Maybe a David Letterman’s Top 10 List?

Big Me said: You don’t really want me to answer that question.

Little Me wrote: No, I suppose I don’t want it, but I think I need you to answer me. Don’t make me dance around like Squirrel Nutkin here. Please, tell me: When is it time to let go of this marriage?

Big Me said:

1. When you cannot hear Pauline [my guardian angel] or me.
2. When you do not write or draw or express your truth in any new way.
3. When you are seeing darkness in the middle of the day.
4. When no one wants to listen to you anymore because you encourage them to do things you cannot do. Or will not do.
5. When you cannot bear the sound of his footsteps, it is time to not hear those footsteps anymore.
6. When you feel as if everyone would be better off without your crazy ass self.
7. When you feel dead, your eyes are puffy and you have headaches from all the cry-snot you generate.
8. When you feel all hope is lost.

Those are signs that it is time to leave your marriage.

—————

The only sign I’ve lived through since his return in December is #5. I dreaded the sound of his footsteps. I still don’t want to hear them in my house, but it’s all right when I hear them as we meet to talk about the boys. He’s not HERE, and I’m satisfied with that for now.

However, I have lived through most all of the other signs in the past. Except for #4. But I have been considering being untruthful with you, the readers of my blog. I’ve considered encouraging you to do something that I am not certain I can do.

If you’re interested, you’ll have to read the next post. I think it may be a long one.

Tomatobaby’s post reminded me of a site I’d found a couple of weeks ago called Six Word Memoirs. The idea is to define yourself in six words. Tomatobaby was a step ahead because her tag line is “To smile To create To thrive.”

My latest memoir reads “I love who I am becoming.”

My other one reads “Thought love meant pain. Was wrong.”

When Marc returns to a normal school day schedule, my memoir may be “Got Kids on Bus Now Write!”

But I think my only “true” memoir is the one I came up with today. I have always loved “becoming.” When I was a little girl, I loved becoming a tree climber. When I was a teenager I loved becoming an artist. When I was in my twenties, I loved becoming a mother. Around 30, I loved becoming a woman.

Now, at 38, I don’t know for sure what I am becoming, but I know I am enjoying the process. I am enjoying becoming with all its hazards, failures, unexpected joys and successes. I love that I may not see what I’ve become for another 5 years when I’m already working on becoming something else.

All in all, I love my life with all of the successes and failures, blind spots and divine interventions. I really love the successes and divine interventions, but the failures and blind spots are learning experiences and without them, I wouldn’t have become who I am right now, at this moment.

“I am right now this moment.” There’s another six-worder.

What is your six word memoir?

Marc and I had a conversation on Friday about equality of race and sex. I’ve long believed that my children’s generation is the first in this country to grow up in an environment where most people consider themselves to be equal in worth to their neighbors, spouses, class mates, and all the other people they meet during the course of the day. Not that racism and sexism and all the other -ism’s do not exist; they do. But my sons’ generation doesn’t have to fight for equality like the baby-boomers and generations before them did. They don’t have to raise their collective voice or refuse to move from a restaurant’s counter. As a whole, my son’s generation loves who they want without regard to race OR sex.

However, Marc says, his generation is not very individualistic. They don’t see the value of self because self is lost in the whole. They’ve been taught (correctly) to disregard outward signs of difference and look to the individual’s character, but, Marc says, the teaching of equality also tends to sweep away the unique talents of an individual. Teens are not taught to be proud of their differences, the bits of talent and personality that makes them who they are. Instead, they’re expected to blend in with the rest, not toot their own horn, and not be “more” than the guy sitting next to them.

It doesn’t matter that the guy sitting next to them may be “more” when it comes to singing and my son may be “more” when it comes to numbers. Nope. Neither teen’s talent is honored, validated, or approved.

Part of me thinks that Marc’s view is a side-effect of adolescence when we all want to be part of a group. We want to identify ourselves to something with a definition. Even if you were a “loner” in high school, there were other “loners” around you. You were part of a group.

But I’m concerned because if we take away all trace of positive differences, if we refuse to honor uniqueness, then what do teens have to strive for? It’s not okay to be “more” than anyone. So where do teens find their identities? By being less than someone else. If you take away the positive, all you’re left with is the negative.

If a kid can’t get honor and approval by being better at something, then isn’t he more likely to seek that attention by being badder than the guy next to him?

It is okay to be “more” than your neighbor in some ways. It is okay to toot your own horn when the situation calls for it. It is okay to say, “I am a great ___________!” and perfectly wonderful to be proud of it. Now that we, as a society, are truly getting the -isms out of our system, now that we’ve pretty much knocked the bullies down to size, it is time to stand up and be counted for our unique talents.

Let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water…be proud of who you are and all the differences between yourself and your neighbor. I would like to see all of us honor our god given talents, put them to use for the betterment of ourselves and everyone else, and never ever think we’re “more” than someone else because our talent is merely different from theirs.

Is that so hard?

20 minutes until I have to leave the house. I could waste it playing Solitaire, or I could spend it writing.

Writing every chance I get is proving to be an easy new habit. The other night, Marc’s school put on a presentation and I wrote down observations and snippets of prose (not good prose, but prose!) while listening to the lectures of area business people. I carry (have always carried) a notebook in my purse, and now I use it to jot down words other than reminders and family business. Easy.

This morning, with 20 minutes before I must leave the house to attend a “Career Make Over” class, I could have done any number of things which need doing. Fold the basket of laundry. Wipe the kitten footprints from the floor. Clear off the end tables. All things I would have done in the past to avoid problems later in the day. But I chose to write. And I feel good about it.

No, I don’t know who is going to do the household stuff or when it will be done, but it will get done. There’s no one here to tell me I’m not a good person because it isn’t done. No one to tell me what my “job” entails or complain if I let them down because there are crumbs on the table.

I’m free to write.

Much like Will has been free to soldier. He is required to go to work every day, and look how far it’s taken him! He’s one rank from the top, and he got there because he “soldiered” day in and day out, religiously. He didn’t have anyone telling him to stop soldiering and clean the car. He didn’t have anyone breathing down his neck to fix the leaky faucets or clean up the dirt he tracked into the house.

I left him to mind his own time and be a soldier. Any other demands of his time he chose to attend to when there was an opening in his schedule – not before and not after. He decided when to do something other than soldier.

I’m going to learn from him when it comes to writing. I am going to write even when I don’t want to write. I’m going to “go to work” even if I’m sitting here at home and not worry about other menial chores that will be there later. When I can, I’ll tend to the laundry, the car, the faucets, the dishes… Until there’s an opening in my schedule, I’m not going to worry about the things that can wait.

I’m excited!