My Verbally Abusive Marriage

Pride and Greed were walking a darkened path. Pride was talking excitedly about the wonderful ideas floating around inside of her. She was full of promise. Her enthusiasm acted as a torch light, guiding their steps down the darkened path.

Pride spoke so eloquently and confidently that Greed believed her. He believed that she held the key to glory. He believed that everything she touched would turn to gold. Pride seemed to agree with him. She was so sure she had all the answers, and Greed became certain he wanted them.

Suddenly, Greed wanted Pride to be his forever. He wanted to make Pride his own so she would be his help mate. He wanted her light for himself, but she was so wonderful that he feared she would never want to be with the likes of him.

Greed sought to dim her light just enough to make her his equal, so Greed began to question Pride’s statements.

Pride said, “…and the grass is green because of a photochemical-”

“Have you seen this chemical?” Greed asked.

“Well, no. I don’t have to see it to know it is there.”

“Yes you do. If you can’t see it, you cannot be sure it’s there,” Greed argued.

Pride asquiesced, “YOu are right. If I cannot see it, then I cannot be sure it is there.” Her light dimmed a little, and Greed thought he was bringing her closer to being like him.

Pride continued, “But there are ways that I can see it. I will buy a microscope and-”

Greed began laughing. “Oh my, you are funny. How will you buy a microscope on your salary? You do not have a job to support your fantasies,” he said.

Pride’s light dimmed a little more. “You are right,” Pride said, “I cannot afford a microscope. But I can go to the library! I will bring you a book that teaches of photochemicals, then even though we cannot see it, we will know it is there.”

Greed said, “That is silly. Anyone can write a book and say whatever he wants to say in it. There’s always some sucker willing to believe a silly lie because it is printed there.”

Pride’s light faded to a pale glow. “You are right. There are people like that in the world. Perhaps I don’t know as much as I thought I knew about the world.” Her light dimmed lower still. “I’m worried. I’m scared that what I knew earlier is a lie and that I have no way to care for myself. I am sad that my ideas are doomed to failure.” And her light went out.

Greed grabbed Pride’s arm and stopped her. He saw that her torch had gone out and thought now he could have her. Now she would want him, her light would return, and it would be his. He said, “You know, this world is a dark place. Very dangerous for you who will believe anything. Let me protect you. Be my wife.”

Pride glanced around in the darkness and saw nothing, not even the sly smile on Greed’s lips. She was scared. “Okay. I will marry you.”

But now their path was dark. Neither could see where the path had gone. They stumbled about, falling hard on their faces more than once.

“Dammit,” Greed said, “turn on your light! I cannot see anything and we are hurting!”

“What light?” Pride asked. “You said you would protect me! You said that you would save me! I know nothing of the ways of this world, dear husband. I do not have a light.”

This is my official word count for the nanowrimo challenge. I am so excited, I’m almost there! I am reserving judgment on my novel; it is drastically different from what I imagined it would become. Only a few thousand more words here, then I’ll be back to the blog to share what I’m learning. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

And yes, my writing really was this sporadic. And exhausting

It’s a good idea to know what the enemy is. Verbal abuse, by nature, attempts to make us forget what we’re fighting. Here are some web pages that I like when I need to remember and acknowledge the truth:

Narcissistic Abuse/Verbal Abuse

How can I identify and respond to verbal abuse?

Signs of Verbal Abuse in Marriage

Cycles of Abuse

Verbal Abuse; especially good on this site: Patricia Evans FAQ

When I was little, I had to be quick. I had to take any opportunity to pierce the armor of silence my parents wore. This isn’t to say that they never told me they loved me. They told me often. At least once a day, every night.

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite! I love you! Turn the hall light on, please,” I’d say.
“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite! I love you, Kellie,” they would say followed by the click on of the light switch.

At least once a day, they said it. There were hugs and kisses, too. There were doll babies given to me, and I fought the feeling that the dolls were substitutes for what love my parent’s couldn’t give. I truly loved my dolls because I put everything of me into them that my parents weren’t able to receive from me.

I wanted to give myself to Meme and Pap. I wanted them to adore me. I caught glimpses of their love for me. My mother would sing “You Are My Sunshine” as if it were written for me. My dad would sometimes talk to me for awhile about most anything; I usually let him choose. If my dad wanted to talk, I didn’t care what it was about.

He was a tough nut to crack, but so obviously fragile. Sometimes I felt that my mom should take better care of him; he wasn’t made to stand out, he wanted to fill every hidden crack in the wall that he could.

But Meme insisted that she was the fragile one. Not in so many words, of course. She never said she was about to fall over and break, but that’s what it seemed like to me. My mom wanted to break, and my dad wanted to hide in dark crevices. There was a fine line between “happy” and “tragedy”. (Sad isn’t enough of a word to oppose happy – tragedy was what would happen if no one could pretend to be happy any longer.)

I felt very much outside of my family.

I felt that I was supposed to do “something” … I was supposed to be the shining light that both of my parents could point to and discuss instead of whatever it was threatening to break or scare them. They didn’t have to address anything scary so long as I was around.

I was love, yet I was incomplete somehow because I couldn’t reach them. I wasn’t powerful enough to be a constant in their lives, so I had to be quick instead.

If there was an opening to bring light to them, I had to see it first and act. I had to do good things at just the right time if I was going to succeed in gaining their attention long enough to share myself. That’s what love was to me – giving myself at certain times when it would do the most good.

It’s tough to realize that love was all about the giving, not ever the receiving.

So when did I stop receiving the love? When did I make it all about giving? When did I begin to be codependent?

My existence as a person depended on my parents being receptive to what love I had to offer. That’s backwards. If someone doesn’t want to receive “me” then why try to force them into it? Why try to make them love me?

Well, because they were my parents and tiny, small, baby Kellie wanted Meme and Pap to love me more than anything else in my limited world. And in order to get the love I craved, I had to make up an incomplete definition of love. They could love me when they were happy, so it was my job to make them happy.

I dare say, that is not any child’s job. It’s not anyone’s job.

As a side-effect, I was happy when they were happy, and it was a tragedy when they were not happy. I grew up in the middle of a tragedy.

I’ve been rather silent the past few days because of two things. One, another conversation with my husband in which I “lost it”. Two, my older son completely blew my mind with something he did. Not a good thing.

Usually I would have immediately vomited these things onto this blog for all the world to see. Usually, the release would do me good. But I’m not certain I want to go there just yet.

Last week, there was some conversation on boundaries. I took some time reviewing my boundaries, tweaking them, loving them, and then I realized something.

Boundaries work both ways. Not “both ways” as in ‘omg, he can have boundaries too!’ because I already knew that. No, boundaries work to keep others out, but they can also work to keep myself in.

What I’m talking about is PRIVACY. I’ve understood privacy as it relates to bathroom activities and sexual goings-on, but now the definition of privacy is expanding right before my unbelieving eyes.

Privacy also means that I have the right to keep things to myself. Wow.

Keep in mind, please, that my entire history with “myself” revolved around the idea that what other people thought of me WAS, IN FACT, who “I” was. This thought clarified itself to me this morning as I wrote my nanowrimo novel. I’ll simply copy/paste that part here:

Darkness reinforced the idea that “who I am” equals “who they think I am.” I was on a mission to control who they thought I was. Every angry word caused me to tweak their perception of me by making it right. No matter if they were angry for no good reason, their anger was judgment, and I needed them to judge me in a good light. I appeased people in ways that ensured they liked me. Wasn’t that important? Wasn’t that the goal?

It is more than needing someone to like me. My very existence depends on everyone else’s acceptance of me, and the more people who like me, who are willing to go to bat for me, who think I am perfect, then the happier I can be. Isn’t that how it works? Aren’t I supposed to do some distasteful things in order to feel good about me?

The missing person in all of my days has been the mysterious “me”. It’s like I was taught the word, but it never had meaning. I know when to use the word “I” but I don’t know who “I” is supposed to be. The “I” is not within, it is outside. The “I” in me is determined by what you say, by how you react, by what you think of what you call “me”. You get to decide who I am.

 But no, “you” do not get to decide who I am. Now that I have set some boundaries, the proof for myself that “I” am separate from “you” is undeniable.

My privacy (new, expanded definition) is a new concept to me. In the cases of the phone conversation with my husband and the actions of my son, I’m kind of conflicted.

I’m working through email with Will to express and correct the mistakes I made and giving him the chance to express and correct his own. Doing this “in private” is vital. I must keep it close to my chest in order to see how we handle this together, without giving him the ability to watch it unfold on my blog. The results may not be private. I’m hoping to share some positive happenings with you in the future, but at the least, you’ll find out the truth along with me.

There’s not too much to be done about my son at this point. I am thoroughly disgusted with his action especially since there has been so much “GOOD” lately. The bright spot is that I’m not discounting his actions as another sign that I am responsible for his behavior. He owns what he did. He is my child, and I will stand beside him as he faces the consequences. Key to that statement is me standing beside him – I am not taking his place, I’m not taking the blame or the responsiblity.

So my son’s part of my story is private because it belongs to him. I don’t feel that I have the right to tell his story, so I won’t.

 I must say that donnalee’s recognition of her own boundaries couldn’t have come at a better time for me. In sharing the limited experience I have with her, I was enabled to see another dimension previously hidden to me. (Thank you, DonnaLee!)

Privacy. Boundaries work both ways. I feel empowered knowing that I control what  gets into me as well as what goes out of me.

Actually, whoever wrote The Beast of Burden sounds co-dependent to me. Here’s my interpretation of this fabulous song.

This guy says he’ll never be her “beast of burden”, meaning to me that he’s not going to carry her load for her – he’s his own man with his own burdens. All he wants is for her to make love to him. Based on the music and the “feel” of the song, I think it’s more than sex he’s talking about. (Maybe not, he is a “rolling stone.”) I think he wants her to love him, period. The focus on making love may be a rock ‘n roll by-product.

Right after he tells her his feet are hurting from his own burden, he launches into asking her if he’s hard, rough, and rich enough for her. Why? Because co-dependents are always wanting to be what we think our lovers want us to be.

Not rough enough? Okay, I can change that. Not rich enough? Okay, I can change that too.

It may be better if I interpreted the lyrics my way. Much less poetic, much wordier, but here they are. (Lyrics by the Rolling Stones are italicized, my interpretation is not. As if you wouldn’t know.)

Beast of Burden by The Rolling Stones

I’ll never be your beast of burden
My back is broad, but it’s a hurting
All I want is for you to make love to me
I’ll never be your beast of burden
I’ve walked for miles, my feet are hurting
All I want is for you to make love to me

[I'm not here to carry your load. My own cross is heavy enough. All I ask is that you love me and I'll love you.]

Am I hard enough, Am I rough enough
Am I rich enough, I’m not to blind to see

[But I can tell that you don't like me how I am. I don't know if I need to be tougher, richer, or something else, but I know you don't think I am good enough for you. I'll do whatever it takes to make you love me.]

I’ll never be your beast of burden
So let’s go home and draw the curtains
Music on the radio
Come on baby make sweet love to me

[Just a reminder, I want to be here for you, but not in the way you SAY you want me to be here. I'm not going to carry your cross, I don't even want to hear about it. Instead, I'm going to do what I think you REALLY want from me...I'm creating an illusion of me an you together in our home. I've put on the radio to create the mood I think you want. I've put on the loving show I think you want from me. If you'll only make love to me, then I'll feel like I've done something right.]

…filler lyrics and rockin’ solo…

I’ll tell ya
You can put me out…on the street
You can put me out…with no shoes on my feet
But you can put me out, put me out, put me out of misery

[You can treat me badly, you can treat me unfairly. You can do anything you want to me because you're the only one who can put me out of misery. I need you to love me how I think you should love me, and I'm willing to stick around until you change and love me the way I think you really want to love me. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I ache.]

All your sickness, I can suck it up
Throw it all at me, I can shrug it off
There’s one thing baby, that I don’t understand
You keep on telling me, I ain’t your kind of man

[Well fine then. I'll do it, whatever it is. Give me your burden, give me your crap. I'll be your damn beast of burden on top of everything else I think you want. Dammit, this is hard. I've given up myself for you AND taken on the added responsibility of your burdens. Whatever. And why do you keep saying we're not right for one another? How can I not be right for you, after all I've done? Good god, you're confusing!]

Ain’t I rough enough
Ain’t I tough enough
Ain’t I rich enough, in love enough
Ooh, ooh, please

[Let's try this again? What am I that you don't like? I can change it. Please don't leave me, I wouldn't know who I was if you weren't here to tell me what I am not. I want to be what you want me to be. Forget what I said before...I'm not mad. I'm sorry. Let's try it again.]

…

I’ll never be your beast of burden
I’ve walked for miles and my feet are hurtin
All I want is you to make love to me

I don’t need no beast of burden
I need no fussin
I need no nursin
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be

[Hey. I'm not gonna carry your cross, too! Hey! Just love me, will you? No, I won't be here for you in the way you say you want me to be here for you. What's your problem? How am I high-maintenance?! You don't have to apologize, my feelings aren't hurt. I'll never, never, never, never, never, never, never be ... ME.]

So far in this after actions review of my temper tantrum, I’ve uncovered some useful information to help me in the future. (If you’re wondering, read Peace and then Distraction)

I now realize that, more than anything else, should-ing on myself led straight into my temper tantrum. For some reason, I think I wanted Eddie, my 13 year old, to hear how angry I was. I wanted to express my anger to SOMEONE. Very unfortunately, I did not express my anger in a good way.

Instead, I talked loudly to myself while storming around and even topped off my show by kicking something. If no one had been home, this immature physical acting-out may have been okay, no harm-no foul. But Eddie was there. I forced my anger into his space, purposely, without considering his perception, his feelings…until the last second, but by then the damage was done.

I’m stymied in choosing which question to answer. Why did I want an audience? Why did I act out? Why did I purposefully stay in the room into which my child had “escaped”? Why did I allow my frustration to overcome my knowledge of how to better handle anger? Why did I misdirect the  expression of my anger at one child onto the other? Why did I misdirect my anger at myself onto my children in the first place?

I could get lost in the labrynth of questions and lose focus on the objective. What is the objective again? Oh yes, to prevent this ugliness, this abuse, from happening again.

1. I will pay attention to what my inner critic is saying (for now, by paying attention to the feelings of frustration, futility, anger) and work through the critic’s accusations before acting. This critic has taken control of my thoughts, and in doing so, has become an unreliable source of information about myself. I want to get my critic in check so I can rely on her to tell me when I’m right or wrong in the future. Right now, my critical voice is too powerful.

2. If I feel the need to storm around and work out some frustration physically, I will do so in a room with pillows and ALONE.  I am my anger’s first judge, first observer. I am the first audience for my anger. I am the first person who gets to hear how I’m feeling, not an innocent bystander, not even the person I think I’m mad at.

3. After the intense feelings dissipate, then I can decide who I want to express my anger to or decide if I still want to express it at all. Maybe in the calm, I’ll discover that I’m only angry at myself, and that can be handled without confrontation.

In the end, thinking through my anger, whether directed at myself or another, at the first sign that “something is wrong” is the only way to prevent my anger from escalating into bad behavior. It’s the only way to ensure that angry mistakes do not become sources of guilt, shame, and pain.

I feel a little let down at this point. When I started writing about my temper tantrum, I had thought that the tantrum itself would hold the secret to my problem with anger. What I’ve discovered is that the tantrum itself is nothing but the culmination of bad choices.

Slowly, a realization is creeping into my mind. What is it?

Oh my. I have the power to control my self. No one but me controls my reactions or my actions. I have power. Up to this point, deep down, I’d thought I was powerless. But going through this incident, step by step, has convinced me that I am powerful.

All I have to do is pay attention to the emotions I experience. The emotions I experience. If I feel anger, I must honor it not by reacting to it, but by feeling it. Stopping, and feeling it, then CHOOSING how to handle it. I have the power to control my self, and I never have to give that power away to anyone.

I’m taking a little break in the after actions review of my temper tantrum to share a separate but relevant thought.

When I realized that what happening in my family was abusive (and began writing this blog), I was tormented by the thought that it was too late for my older son. I thought and worried constantly about Marc’s behavior and wondered if my son was destined to be an abuser.

However, I am beginning to think differently on this matter.

My son exhibits qualities vastly different from my husband’s after an event like this has occurred. He has always willing to apologize, not just with words designed to worm out, but with words exhibiting a true desire to make things right. Even before I realized the abuse in my home, Marc and I were able to overcome what, unbeknownst to us at the time, were abusive incidents.

I believe Marc, with support and guidance, will overcome his abusive teachings. Nevertheless, “He’s acting like his FATHER!” is a thought that, when it hits me, seems like the end of the world. Or, at least it did. Now when those words cross my mind, I’m going to think, “This abusive nonsense is what I’m fighting, not my son.”

In other words, I’ll detach. With time, I’ll more easily detach from my husband, too.

The After Action Review of my temper tantrum (previous post) has already uncovered one problem area for me, and that is the negative voice in my head that wants me to take responsibility for other people’s actions, blames me for everything, and helps to keep my frustration and anger high.

Next, I’d like to point out another simpler error I made, in part due to the confrontation that took place in my head. Because I was unsure of my responsibility and angry at myself for being a failure, I posed a question to my sons: “Who turned off my alarm clock?”

I already knew one or both of them did, but that is irrelevant. When I asked the question, it came out as a question, of course. Questions like this one, coming from a parent, leaves the door wide open for denial.

“I don’t know” is one possible anwer; or maybe you’ll get the answer that I got: “Why the hell would we turn off your alarm clock?!”

And there it is. The opportunity for word play, lying, distraction. Suddenly, I’m not the parent who is in charge. I’m the one on the defensive, answering the demanding question of a naughty child.

I want to pay special attention to this minor glitch in communication. Ever heard the phrase “the devil is in the details”? The question I posed is the devil at work.

As any parent knows, a young child will do something obviously naughty right in front of you and if you ask, “Why did you do that?” the child will say essentially, “Do what?!” and look at you like you’re crazy. It’s no difference with teenagers, except they may add “You can’t prove it!” onto their defense.

If you think I’m crazy, think about the last time someone caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Was your first thought similar to “Is there any way out of this?” before the ideas of integrity and morality settled in your mind? I’m just saying that denial of wrongdoing is a natural thing although we (hopefully) reach for higher morality before we act on it.

When I asked the question “Who turned off my alarm clock?” I opened the door for confrontation and lying, a.k.a DISTRACTION.

Distraction is what happens when the FOCUS of a statement is misdirected in order to secure a better outcome for the one doing the distracting. In this case, my son employed three techniques.

• One, he used a curse word and haughty loud tone to add a fresh problem that may throw me off my game (and perhaps put him in the driver’s seat because “louder always wins” around here).
• Two, he questioned me in return, implying that my perception was invalid.
• Three, by refusing to address the focus of my concern, he dismissed it.

My initial reaction to this was “He’s acting like his FATHER!” which is a trigger point for me. This thought is always followed by a bunch of shoulding (I should have stopped this sooner, should have raised him differently, should have known, etc. ad nauseum) and guilt, which further clouds my ability to act and think clearly.

At the time, “He’s acting like his father” won. Not only was I thinking about that, but I had launched into EXPLAINING, defending my position. Fact of the matter is there was nothing to defend; I explained myself out of habit. I explain myself because I (incorrectly) believe that doing so will cause the “distractor” to understand.

The distractor doesn’t want to understand. He wants to distract from his misdeed.

Therefore, it didn’t matter if I said I knew they (he) had turned off my alarm clock because Santa Claus came to me in a dream and told me so. He wasn’t interested in how I knew, only that he didn’t want to get into trouble for it. ANY explanation I had would result in him attempting to yell over me, saying something else to add to the distraction, or dismissing my claim.

Hindsight is 20/20, but it’s also invaluable as I forge a new path for myself and my family. Next time, distraction won’t work as well, and that is progress.

I want to end this section of my temper tantrum AAR with a positive action I took.

While my body was busy playing my part (explaining, increasing frustration levels), my mind heard a little voice saying, “Something is not right. You are not feeling strong. What is wrong?” Miracle of miracles, I listened to that little voice.

I realized that this was part of the dance. I realized that it needed to stop, that there would be no “winner.” I stopped myself and said, “Go to your room.”  I didn’t hear another word he said; after I took the power back, I didn’t waver. (*Note to self: You can’t send your husband to his room. There’s a way to take my power back with my husband, I just have to find it.)

And just like that, I ended the confrontation with my son.

I’ll stop on a positive note, because the next section of this AAR will deal with the actual temper tantrum I threw in front of my youngest son.

In the Army, we did assessments after training events called After Action Reviews (AARs) to help us appreciate the great, identify the bad, and determine a better course of action for the future.

In the past, I would probably have spent yesterday and today buying stuff to make up for my tantrum. Possibly to the chagrin of my children, I did not do that this time! And hey, that’s another good thing.

Instead, I filled yesterday doing an informal AAR post the temper tantrum I threw in front of my son(s). It so happened that I had an appointment with my therapist scheduled for yesterday, and she offered invaluable feedback, pointing out some information I had overlooked. I was determined to find one little thing that I did right during that episode, but I discovered that much more went “right” than “wrong” when looking through the lens of PROGRESS.

AAR’s start with “What was the objective?” My objective is to positively overcome the abusive tendencies exhibited by others and to eliminate the abusive tactics I use that increase or perpetuate abuse in my family. Whew! That’s wordy, but I think it sums up what I’m trying to do.

Now, it’s time to evaluate the event, my temper tantrum. As with all things, final outcomes don’t happen in a vacuum. There’s a lead-up. My lead-up began with frustration.

I awoke frustrated that I had overslept, but I became more frustrated as I realized the boys had turned off my alarm clock without giving the courtesy of making sure I was awake. They pulled a fast one so they could continue doing whatever instead of the homework I had told them we would complete after I awoke.

I was angry with them, but before I even processed that anger, I was also thinking, “I shouldn’t have taken a nap…most people get through every day without a nap. I should have known the boys would want me to oversleep. I should have been aware of the alarm clock’s sound or been able to wake up automatically without the stupid clock. I shouldn’t have taken that cold medicine – I know when DayQuil wears off that I just want to crash. I shouldn’t have gotten sick in the first place.”

You get the picture. I directed my frustration at oversleeping into “should-ing” on myself until I was overwhelmed with frustration and anger at myself. I think my anger at my own perceived weakness and lack of judgment overwhelmed my good sense and my ability to deal with the boys in a more constructive manner.

POINT of IMPROVEMENT: Be aware of my habit to judge myself harshly; be aware that I internalize anger and blame myself unjustly and often, even to the point of taking responsibility for another person’s unpredictable actions. Should-ing on myself is habitual, and the ensuing frustration and anger is predictable. 

IN THE FUTURE, I will do my best to recognize the internal blaming dialogue, shut down the irrational should-ing, and calm down. I will do nothing until I am able to take responsibility for my own actions, but allow the responsibility for someone else’s actions rest with them.

It was not my fault that the boys turned off my alarm clock without making sure I got out of bed; they did that, not me. My responsibility is to deal with my frustration resulting from oversleeping. After I realize that (in this case) oversleeping does not mean that I am a horribly negligent person, THEN I can contemplate how to handle the exterior events that occurred (in this case, decide how to discipline my sons).

If I had acted from this point of empowerment instead of the weakened state of frustration and anger, I feel the whole event would have unfolded quite differently.

I read the phrase “should-ing on yourself” from “How To Keep People From Pushing Your Buttons” by Albert Ellis, Ph.D and Arthur Lange, Ed.D. This book was eye-opening and very beneficial to me.

I’ll continue my AAR in the next post because this on is already long.