My Verbally Abusive Marriage

I am so grateful to the married couple who decided my boys (and cats) and I should be allowed to live in their house! I feel FREE.

And then I panic. But then I feel FREE again.

And then I panic. LOL

I’m hoping the panic subsides. I am sure it will as soon as I find a JOB.

I can’t wait to transplant my lavender and sage into the front flower beds. The woman who owns this house has a yard style kind of like mine – if it grows and it is pretty, then it stays. You can’t see the yellow flowery bush (is it wild dill?) she refused to mow down in the front yard. She told me I could, she left it because she thought it was pretty. I think it is, too, so the wild thing stays.

I paid out the money to the landlords today, and it felt so good. I’m so willing to let the cash flow when the pay-back is going to be worth SO MUCH more than the cost.

Peace. Peace. Peace.

You can’t make it out too well in this picture, but that is MY car under the carport. My car under MY carport.

Happy (then anxious) happy happy day. I can’t wait to sleep there.

I started thinking about where I wanted to live about a week after Will was forced to leave this house. I knew I didn’t want to be HERE, but where did I want to live?

After shoving all the other questions out of the way, I came up with my ideal house. It looks like this:

• It’s an old, probably white, farm house.
• There is a lot of land around it, but not much of a yard to maintain.
• It’s got “pocket” rooms – rooms in odd places, more rooms than you think by looking at it.
• It’s got windows and sunlight with a good place for my office, my work area.
• It’s located in a safe place.
• It might have a ghost, a loving one.
• It’s in the boys current school district.
• It’s affordable.

I asked the boys what they wanted in a house. They didn’t care about the inside, they wanted what was outside.

• Eddie wanted trees.
• Marc wanted water, preferably a pond but a stream would be okay, too.

I added their wishes to my list, and started looking for THAT house. I’ve been actively looking for about six weeks, not seeing anything that I liked. Lots of manufactured, run-down homes in my meager price range, or nicer homes in less safe areas.

I started to think that the house I would “end up with” wouldn’t be exactly what I wanted, but if it had a short lease, it would be good enough for now. I came to peace with that idea.

I started calling realtors, started calling people who put ads in the paper. Talked to more than 25 leads in one day, 2 or 3 on most days. The bare bones “price” and “location” search was fruitless.

I went back to my local realtor to remind him I was looking. Then I went back the day after. He told me I’d been on his mind, and he’d seen a friend of his working in the yard of her rental this past weekend. He called her at work, but had to leave a message.

When he told me her name, it rang a bell. Her last name if very common in these parts, but the ringing bell felt different than “familiar”…it felt “hopeful”.

Inspired, I decided to take a drive down some roads out by this current house, along the river. It was a beautiful day, the sun would do me some good. Opened the sunroof, turned on the radio, and drove and looked.

On my way back to this house, on a country road, I saw a little white farmhouse. It had a small front porch painted gray with a small red bench standing in stark but beautiful contrast to the the siding. The face of the house was small, but from the side, I could tell the original house had been added on to…”pocket” rooms to explore based on a family’s needs, not aesthetics.

No sign in the yard, the house was loved. I thought, “No one would want to move from there!” and watched the house leave my rear view mirror.

When I got home, I sent an email to everyone I know here in town. I told them I was looking for a house and a job, and asked them to keep me in mind as they drove about town and conversed with friends. It was a tough email to send, and many of the people on the bcc: list didn’t know me very well.

I left to pick up Eddie from school. We talked about finding a “good enough” house. The drive through lane at BK was long, so I left him to the radio while I went in to get him some slammers.

When I came back out, he said, “A realtor called you.” He didn’t have a name, and the number on my missed calls list didn’t give an ID. I pressed the number and a woman answered the phone. I explained why I didn’t know who I was calling, and she said, “This is [bell ringing name!] and you called in response to my ad in the paper.”

My heart lifted; she was showing the house and asked if I’d like to see it. She gave me the address; it was an unfamiliar address, but she said the house was in the high school district I wanted. When she named landmarks, I knew right where she was.

I had driven down that road earlier today.

I got to the house that evening. It was an old white farm house that had been added on to over the years to contain a growing family. The gray porch was accented with a little red bench.

It was the house I’d seen hours ago, the house I thought no one would want to leave.

I spoke with the lady and her husband. I told them I had no job, but could pay several month’s rent up front. I told her enough of my story so she could understand my situation, but not enough to let on WHY I’d left my husband, or the circumstances surrounding my decision.

She liked me, I could tell. I definitely liked her. She wants to rent to someone who will love her family’s home, who will respect and take care of it like she would.

I am definitely that person.

I took Eddie to see it yesterday. He loves the trees, he loves the land behind the property that stretches all the way back to the River. He senses no foul spirits in the house, only peace (he’s sensitive like that). He kept calling it “our house”.

The landlord told us all about the neighbors, her family, where she placed her Christmas Shoebox (no stockings) on Christmas Eve when she and her siblings were small.

I gave her my application, full-disclosure of course, and reminded her I could pay several months rent upfront. As a landlord, I know she wants to check my references (you can’t be too careful these days!), so she stopped short of saying, “It’s yours.”

But, when I reminded her that I wanted to move relatively soon and was wondering if I should keep looking, she cut me off and said, “Stop looking.”

I think this is going to work. Pray for me, that I get to live in this wonderful house with this wonderful landlord overlooking her family home.

If you want to visualize the house, scroll to the top of the post. The description of the house in my and my boys’ imaginations is the exact description of our (hopefully) new home – well, I don’t know about the ghost…

I am looking for a paying job. But I really don’t want a boss. I’ve had a boss for 18 years, my husband, and it hasn’t turned out well. The more I tried to please my boss, the more he took advantage. The time I spent “helping” and pleasing him was wasted.

Well, not entirely. I do have two beautiful boys as a result of my marriage. And I did have plenty of time to learn new skills, although I taught myself and have nothing to “show” for my efforts. Not really. Not if what I want to show is job experience (for an employer) or an income.

I fight the urge to run out and apply for a cashier position at Walmart. After all these years of enjoying his steady paycheck, I’m a bit frightened of having to create my own money. I’m a little afraid of NOT having a boss. I don’t really know exactly HOW to boss myself.

But what I DO know is a job at Walmart would be devoid of passion. Some people LOVE working at Walmart and other cashier type jobs, and I’m grateful they do. In fact, I wish more people loved it because the lines at Walmart get super long and I highly value good cashiers!

But I don’t want to be one.

After years of hiding my passion, or at the very least, crippling it, I want to USE it. I want to live in it. I want to love my days, love my hours, love every minute. And make some money while I’m loving it.

There are a multitude of reasons for living with passion. One, and probably the most significant, is that passion is power. I read a great post by Aaron Wong who gives three reasons to use my passion. He writes:

1. Passion creates energy, energy creates power
2. Your passion empowers others
3. Passion is invincible

I tell you, this Aaron kid is after my heart! He hit the nail on the head. That is exactly what I want.

I have passion, I am gaining the “know-how” to use it, and I have the skills I need to use it.

What I feel I don’t have is the TIME I need to decide exactly which path to follow first. I have a lot of passions, a lot of skills. As soon as I narrow it down to writing or web design, I feel constricted. Labelling my passion scares me. I want to be able to use it in WHATEVER vehicle I FEEL LIKE using at any given time. Crazy?

Actually, I read a book on this very subject. It’s called “Refuse to Choose” by Barbara Sher. She calls people like me (who can’t seem to make up their mind which great “thing” to do) Scanners. Scanners have loads of passion, possibly even loads of talents, but feel divided and unsure which path to choose. On top of that, we don’t WANT to choose ONE path. We want the freedom to do it all. That’s me.

Scanners like me also feel ostracized by a society that tells us to pick one thing and do it well. If we’re not “specialized” or if we don’t have a career with a name, then we’re not doing something right. Other people call us flighty, indecisive, unmotivated due to a seeming lack of follow through. (If those people only knew what went on inside my head! LOL)

The trick is to EMBRACE the passion, EMBRACE the ability to do multiple things, to wear multiple hats. Then, we Scanners can throw off societal blame for not living up to our potential, for not CHOOSING one road. The book gives really great ideas on how to go about creating a career for ourselves using our multiple passions OR creating multiple careers (and multiple streams of income).

So as I look for this elusive “job” I am going to push away the panic of “not having” a steady paycheck. I do need some form of income, though. I’m thinking that my first stream of income will come from designing websites for small businesses. Simple, clean, efficient – so when a potential customer looks for the business online, there is an actual website and relevant information to see. So important these days!

I’m also writing a book, and have a second one in line. I am also exploring affiliate marketing and website hosting. Oh – and I wouldn’t mind getting paid to write some articles for magazines. And I’m willing to be a guest blogger for free!

I’d also like to speak publicly about my experience and what other people can do to escape abuse, and how the ones who love the victims can best help them. I’m going to Toastmasters to work on that skill.

So you see, I’m not short on IDEAS, but I am short on time. Or maybe that is just another idea that I have to extricate from my psyche. Maybe I have exactly the time I need.

Despite the heart ache involved in separating from my husband, I am noticing something else that has always been present but that I ignored. Any one day has in it beautiful moments.

On Friday, I received a phone call from Marc. We talked about something important and things not so important, but we didn’t talk about “this”. We didn’t talk about how we were feeling or what we thought of the future. We laughed and I smiled. My phone told me I’d spoken to him for 32 minutes and 11 seconds, but for a little while, time wasn’t important. It was as long as it needed to be.

It didn’t matter where he was or where I was; it didn’t matter what has happened in the past nor what may happen in the future.

I was happy.

Later in the day, I picked up Eddie from school and drove to pick up his friends for an overnight. I haven’t had “boys” in this house since the end of January due to weekends spent at dad’s house. I heard them talk and laugh and checked on them without them knowing I was checking. I saw Eddie smiling and heard his now deep voice discussing things of interest to him. Things unrelated to “this”.

I was happy.

I am wondering why I didn’t pay attention to those moments before. I could blame the intolerable situation between Will and myself for filling up so much of my thoughts and stealing my emotional energy. Our relationship was all-consuming, at least for me, and I didn’t notice the happy times…at all.

No, that isn’t quite right. I noticed them, I experienced these small instances of happiness, but then I quickly let them fade as I chose to tend to the pain, confusion, and sense of merely living through the day. Maybe now, because I know the pain is constantly ready to surface, I am more willing to let the good feelings wash over and through me. I think I hope that the waves of joy will serve to diminish the pain, over time.

Joy became more important to me this week. Perhaps the darkest moments I’ve experienced are setting me up for the capacity to once again be happy.

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!

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.

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?

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!

I’ve had a long day. I haven’t experienced and emotional upheavals, and the doubts and fears seem to be at bay. I’m feeling really good.

But I noticed something weird. There is a lot of time to fill when there is no anxiety. Or at least, no anxiety dependent on another person’s actions.

Here’s a list of some of the things I did not feel anxious about today:

• Did I remember to pack his lunch last night? Did he go to work without it? I hope he had socks that were acceptable to wear – he must have because I didn’t hear any drawers slamming this morning.
• Is the house presentable? Will the other things I’ve done today excuse the dirt on the floor and the unwashed dishes?
• Did what I do today need to be kept under wraps or should I remind him that I went to the Woman’s Club meeting? Is what I purchased at the store on the way home “needed” or “wasteful” and do I tell him about it or let it appear like magic from the toiletry closet?
• Did I sit on my ass too long after I got home? Should I have been able to clean and wash clothes and pick up after the kids and clean the litter boxes and … ? Is he going to look around tonight with that look on his face? Is he going to say something to me before or after he starts drinking?
• Is he going to come home already smelling like alcohol?
• The report cards are due. I need to see them before he does so I know how he’ll react.
• Is he going to mutter about having chicken for dinner again after we take our separate rooms? I’d really like to watch Medium tonight, but I don’t want to sit in there with him – he thinks my shows are stupid. Maybe I can write without him getting mad that I’m writing. It depends.
• He didn’t ask me how I was or give me a hug when he got home. Does that mean something?
• He’s putting some ice in that glass. I wish he weren’t having another drink.
• He is in there talking to the air in reference to me. Should I acknowledge that he’s speaking to me (when he really isn’t) or do I pretend I don’t hear?
• Now he’s talking about me to Marc without saying he’s talking about me. He’s talking about women in general but picking my faults to complain about. Do I say something? How much has he drunk already? I almost wish he were drunk so I could more easily pretend his words are unintentional.
• He’s quiet. What time is it? Let me go see if he fell asleep on the couch.
• Should I wake him up to go to bed? Will he be madder that I woke him up or that he woke up on the couch tomorrow morning? Will he try to continue the conversation with the air if I wake him up?
• Is it okay to lie next to him or should I keep my distance. Maybe I can put my feet on him…I can pretend to be close.

You tell me…Am I happy he is gone?

A couple of days ago, Marc and Eddie were sitting on the couch with their computers. They called me in and began a “conversation” between Stewie (Family Guy) and Ashton Kutcher sound boards.

I’ve got to tell you, the “conversation” between those two people turned out to be the funniest damn thing I’ve heard in forever. Marc played Ashton and Eddie played Stewie, and although I’d never ever in a million years considered what their conversation may be like, I got a pretty good idea via the creativity of my boys.

Part of the conversation went something like Stewie telling Ashton not to mock him, at which point Ashton teased Stewie about his job at the drive-thru window. Stewie got madder and Ashton kept ordering food.

It is painfully obvious that I need to work on my humorous story-telling, but this story may not be funny to anyone outside of my living room two nights ago anyway. But really…Ashton Kutcher and Stewie? They’re funnier together than you might think.

Check out a website (such as this one) that have soundboards with clips of things famous characters and people have said. Another possibility for these soundboards are prank calls…but I wouldn’t know anything about that childish nonsense.