Diana is, I think, the youngest person to contact me in hope of breaking the silent pattern of abuse. She’s 18, and her abuser is 23.
Although I hesitate to use the word “fortunately”, I find myself thinking it because at the time of her writing, she was not with her abuser due to his physically violent rampage. He went for her throat, pushed her into a window.
When I started this blog, I was an open book. I told it ALL, and it felt wonderful to unload. Will desperately wanted me to shut up, to forget about it, to stop telling “lies”. I knew I couldn’t stop telling my truth. Spilling those secrets was the best thing I ever did for myself because only by being open did I find all of you, and with you, the courage and power to move forward, to move away.
If it weren’t for my willingness to lay it all out here to be picked apart and at times judged harshly by strangers, I never would have pressed charges against him on January 22, 2010. I would have left that night for sure; but I would have slunk back into my own home like a shamed puppy the next day. I did that in 2008, but by 2010, I knew that I couldn’t let it slide anymore. I was no longer ashamed of myself.
Life here on the other side is sometimes frightening. Sometimes his words and behaviors still throw me for a loop, and I very anxiously await the next time I must speak to him. Like always, these outbursts are preceeded by days of calm, considered conversation. And as usual, I know the outbursts will not be followed by an apology.
It’s still all my fault in his eyes. I make him mad. I make him say the things he says and do the things he does.
I guess I have power over him, in his mind. I think he thinks I feel entitled to his money and to get everything I want at his expense, and that I lie and manipulate my way through life, blaming him for my wrong-doings and taking all the credit for his success. I suppose I am still a cunt, to use his word.
But Will is not much of any of that to me anymore. He isn’t my world, he isn’t my life, he isn’t my other half. He is the father of my children. He is a volatile force to reckon with for sure, but because we spend so little time together anymore, his eruptions are easier to handle. Despite the fact that I do feel anxious after an outburst, I also have a strong voice in my head that reminds me “This is the pattern. It has little to do with you, Kellie. Some things are his to own, whether he chooses to own them or not.”
I have my own sanctuary, my house. I have my own money, my own job, my own financial plan. I have my own dreams and I’m finding my place in the world. I have my own thoughts, and I can (usually) tell if my thoughts are benefitting me or hurting me.
New to me are my own secrets. I have some wonderful, heart-pounding secrets. There are also some secrets that I can’t wait to tell you, secrets that would shed light on my silence. But I must wait to share them.
Please don’t mistake my silence for pain. Although there is still, at times, plenty of hurt, the hurt is no longer fueled by fear.
For example, although it hurts to not be labelled my boys’ “primary” parent, it is merely a skin-deep wound. It injures my pride and nothing else. I tell myself that the custody situation is only temporary, but this could very well turn into the permanent custody arrangement. I could stay the “secondary” parent in the eyes of the law. Nevertheless, my boys will never see me as a secondary parent. I know that now, in my bones and throughout every cell in my body. I will never “lose” my children to their father. They will never choose one of us over the other.
Will cannot win, even if the law calls him the winner. Our boys are not a prize or a thing; our sons are feeling, thinking, loving beings who are wiser than even I gave them credit for being. They are their own people, their own men. Time will work it’s magic with them, too. Their broken hearts will heal, bit by bit, understanding by understanding. It probably won’t happen as quickly or even in the way I hope, but it will happen. They will probably be angry at me, angry at dad, angry at everyone including themselves at some point, but after the anger, the healing begins.
Eventually, we will all heal. I dearly wished we would heal together, but that is not going to happen. Eventually, all my secrets will be exposed. I am not worried. I am not ashamed. But I can’t tell you all of them yet.
But it is no secret that I am happy. I am truly, through and through, happy.
Today I’m eating a really large beefsteak tomato, grown locally and full of flavor. I thought about having a sandwich, but the bulk of the bread doesn’t sound all that great. Sometimes, eating is a struggle. Still.
But instead of stress causing me to forget to eat, I just don’t feel like eating. I can be STARVING and not want to eat. I kind of like the hungry feeling, but it does absolutely nothing for my mood.
But this tomato, red and cold, hits the spot. I’m glad I took the time to slice it.
I’m struggling with more than my eating habits this week. There is a change going on inside of me, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it’s all about. I’m questioning my habits, good and bad, past and present. I’m wondering which old habits I could fall back into as I create my life, and frankly, although possibly damaging, the old habits sound comforting.
So I struggle with NOT attaching myself to someone, NOT allowing my heart (or libido) to override my good sense. I really miss having “someone” with me. Cats are nice, my boys are great…but there is a void that I’m not accustomed to just yet. I know the loneliness will vanquish itself IN TIME. But I don’t know if I am patient enough, or good enough, to wait and grow.
And then, I think about if I did find someone to spend some time with and I wonder exactly what TIME I have to spend. I fear that time spent not working is wasted; I need the money work provides. I love my job refinishing furniture, but I knew when I took it that I would need something else to supplement the income.
Now I feel torn between web design and writing. And torn between sleeping and eating. Torn between dreaming and doing.
But at least the tomato is delicious.
Woke up this morning with a knot spinning in my gut. It’s the anxiety that comes from analyzing to death conversations with Will. It comes from thinking and loving, wanting to “fix” and regret.
Last Wednesday, Will and I went to custody mediation. This mediation is a free service provided to divorcing parents; the mediator is not connected to the court proceedings and the goal is to come up with a parenting agreement without attorney or court involvement.
I agreed to him keeping the title of “primary” parent. He agreed to me seeing the boys Thursday nights and every weekend.
I wasn’t happy due to the “primary” parent label and having to check with him for any extra overnights, and he wasn’t happy because without the weekends he could not take the boys camping or four-wheeling or, in reality, have much time with them at all. On his days off, the boys would be with me.
Because neither of us were pleased with the terms of the agreement, we reached a truce and promised to return to mediation in May before our court appearance. At the last second, his attorney advised him not to sign the agreement, and he didn’t. Actually, I was glad.
When he first told excitedly told me that his attorney advised him not to sign, I was scared and crushed. Having three overnights a week was “guaranteed” in the agreement. It set precedence for future visitation should the judge eventually be forced to decide. But the agreement also set the precedence of me agreeing to his primary parent status. But Will was excited for good reasons.
He said:
I considered his point of view. I told him that I know he believes I “crawfished” on him initially, and although I didn’t agree with his assessment I was willing to understand his fear and willing to trust that he wouldn’t crawfish on a promise to his boys.
We left without signing a thing, but still he allowed the boys to stay overnight with me Wednesday through Saturday last week.
I allowed him time out at our house to tend to the lawn and work with the boys on Saturday. Will also fixed and repaired a hole in my car’s tire. He spent a lot of time at the house on Saturday, and nothing ugly between us happened at all.
A facebook friend posted this quote: “Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.”
Good advice. But I think my wishbone is coming back. Or maybe it just never left.
I think I am foolish for wishing what I wish. My wish is the same as the day I started this blog: I want the four of us to be a happy, healthy family. I don’t want a divorce, I don’t want to divide my family. Our precious boys deserve so much better than this.
The problem is that I hate myself for wishing what I wish.
I have this idea that somehow, after almost three months, I should be more solid in my resolve to just “end it”. I remember writing somewhere that the HOPE was what was killing me. Unfortunately, I still hope.
On the flip side, I have some ideas about what happened in court last week. I’m not going to share them here because, well, they’re my ideas and I’m going to consider them alone.
I’ve told Will that I’ll work through a financial consent order with him. But I’m not signing it until after we go through custody mediation on the third of May. I want shared custody at least, and if he won’t agree to it, then I’ll put everything on the line for the judge to decide. Finances, custody…everything.
Yes, I know the judge decided in his favor last time. Yes, I know it could happen again. Will doesn’t want to go back to court because of the hurtful things my attorney says on my behalf. Of course he’s hurt now in public – when I told him similar things in private, he didn’t care. It’s the public persona vs. private persona thing.
The things his attorney says piss me off – they do. I’m hopping mad over some of the stuff his attorney has said. But I’m not embarrassed. Why? Because it isn’t true; I know the truth in my heart, and what I hear in court isn’t true. I’m trying very hard to leave it in the court room. What goes on in there is like a 30 second snapshot of an 18 year marriage in which NO ONE looks good. Well, maybe. I don’t know what picture the judge is looking at.
Well, I am embarassed to tell people that the judge gave temporary primary custody to Will. THAT is humiliating beyond words. I cannot tell you how embarassed I am to inform people of the judge’s decision. But that judge’s decision was HIS DECISION. He made it, not me. A judge made the decision, not God.
I know I’ve been the best mother I know how to be. I know I don’t deserve to be sidelined in my children’s lives. I am praying and listening even though God’s voice is muted under the weight of worry and sadness I carry in my heart.
All I can do is keep moving forward. But I’m not going to sign documents with which I do not agree, and I’m not signing anything until Will agrees to shared custody. To me, shared custody means that we both live under the same set of rules. I don’t have to ask him for extra time with our children and he doesn’t have to ask me. (We will, at times, request extra time for special reasons I’m sure.)
I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how ASKING HIM for anything in relation to the boys contributes to his ability to maintain control. If Will doesn’t agree to shared custody, then nothing will be signed and the judge can choose what is to become of us.
I’ve got nothing to lose. The boys are my boys no matter how much time I have to see them. No judge can “take them away” from me, not really. And in about five years, the judge’s decision won’t matter anyway.
I am SO HAPPY to have my boys with me right now. Will is “primary” parent right now, but he allowed me to bring the boys home with me last night and they will stay with me through Sunday. Will swears we’ll do the same cycle over again until we get back into court on May 11th, at least.
Will isn’t happy with the judge’s arrangement either. He gets no weekends under the new temporary order. And he’s not back in the house yet, but seeing that I don’t WANT to stay here, he’ll be back in it soon. The judge already let it be known that the “primary” parent doesn’t necessarily “get” the house, too.
I was wrong in my prior post – the fat lady hasn’t sung YET.
However, while she’s warming up for her final number, I’ll try to not worry about the courts and simply be grateful that my boys are with me as much as they are. It simply cannot stand this way. I have hope and I have fight left in me to see this thing through to the end. And if Will turns out to be manipulating me with his statements about maybe dating me again after all this bullshit is over, I won’t be surprised. I’m not going to let his generous actions concerning visitations and soothing words concerning “our” future woo me away from what is right and just – in my mind.
If he isn’t willing to negotiate fairly with me, I’ll throw myself on the mercy of the court. I’m not giving in on the things I believe in. Namely, the boys need their mother in their lives, and I deserve at LEAST half of the month’s days/overnights with them. Shared custody at the very least. (BTW, I did not lose any “legal” custody of my children; joint legal custody remains in place. What changed was physical custody.)
I have not had the opportunity to speak with the judge. When my attorney requested affidavits attesting to my mothering, I did not write one in my own behalf. I thought it would be silly to write an affidavit for myself; I thought it look like I was attempting to go “behind the scenes” and sway the judge. My attorney didn’t tell me to write one for myself, so I didn’t. I preferred to have those who know me attest to my abilities. Will did write one for himself, but I didn’t read it.
I started reading Will’s father’s affidavit, but when I got to a point in which his dad said something about me that, at the time it happened, never ever left his lips, I quit reading. I am not going to subject myself to any more lies about who I am as interpreted by people who love Will.
[sigh] Unless my attorney requires me to read them.
At the beginning of this post, I related that I was happy the boys are with me, and I am. The delicate “peace” could be taken out from under me tonight, if Will wanted, seeing that he gets to make the call on visitations. So, my happiness is genuine, but so is the unease and distrust in their father. I am able to “be” happy with them despite the undercurrents of doubt running through my heart. My only comfort is that Will told the boys the plan; if he breaks it, then he breaks their hearts.
If nothing else, this experience is teaching me to take NO ONE for granted. I’ve been the primary caregiver of my babies since the day each of them were born. It’s what I do above all other callings. And now I am faced with custody issues that I cannot understand, threatened with having my precious time with them cut short.
I will never ever look at “me time” or any activity that diverts my attention from the faces of my boys EVER again without KNOWING that the diversion is robbing me of precious time with my boys. If I have to sit right beside them watching their programming, watching their game play, watching them watch the cats, or whatever it is they’re doing…I will do so with interest. I will be more available than ever before. NOTHING takes priority over being with my children during every possible moment that they are with me.
I took them for granted in a lot of ways. The comfort of being their mother day in and day out allowed me to believe I would always be with them. I’ll NEVER take them for granted again.
The judge gave Will temporary custody of both of my boys today. He talked to the boys and read the affidavits from both sides of the fence.
And he gave my boys up to Will.
I don’t understand. I made my attorney explain it to me a hundred times. It was like my brain wasn’t working. I didn’t even hear the judge after he said “Primary custody goes to Will…” Didn’t hear a word.
It’s not over. This was “only” a temporary custody hearing. But how likely is it for the judge to change his mind?
It doesn’t matter that the boys have seen Will verbally abuse me, physically abuse me, and possibly intuitively know he mentally and emotionally abused me because Will’s done the same to them. It doesn’t matter that we’ve dealt with Will’s alcoholism and anger as best we could. It doesn’t matter that I am the primary caregiver. Nothing matters. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is real.
I have all kinds of reasons for why the judge may have made this decision today. But you know what? I think it boils down to “Your mother is a lunatic. Your father is sane. You’re better off with the sane one.” I think I’ve lost my job as primary caregiver to my children. I think the fat lady sung today. I think it’s over.
After court, I brought Eddie home so we could pack his things. I was heartbroken, but I did pretty well overall. Yes, I cried with Eddie. It is hard to be stoic when my child is crying.
After we collected ourselves, we went about the business of packing his bags. I hated every second of it, but I got through it matter-of-factly. “Isn’t this shirt too small? … I don’t think this one is good for school, do you want to leave it here? … How about these boxers? … ”
Around 4, I called Will to tell him not to come to the house, that I would take Eddie to him. I had forgotten about my class tonight. No, I didn’t want to go to the class. I wanted to come home and cry and die and cry some more. But I had the feeling God wouldn’t take me to heaven because he’s got so much pain in store for me that I have to stay. I think he wants me to suffer.
I yelled at him tonight. I yelled at God. I told him that even HE couldn’t bear the pain of losing his son, that he brought his son back to life so he wouldn’t feel the pain. I know I’m wrong and that plenty of you out there want to correct my bible learnin’. Please resist the urge. I asked why he would ask something of me that he wasn’t willing to do himself.
No answer. I told you, God is not here.
I hope God’s absence in my home means that he’s doubly present with Eddie. And with Marc. I hope God curled up in bed beside Eddie tonight and is whispering “It’s going to be all right. Everything is going to be okay. Sleep, Eddie Boo, tomorrow is a new day.”
Eddie texted me late tonight, “i wanna go home…” with a crying emoticon beside it.
Dammit, how can I respond to that? I want him to come home too. I cried and choked for air. I wrote back anyway. “Hang in there, Eddie boo. It’s going to be all right. I love you and your brother too. Nothing and no space on the earth will EVER change that.”…”All you have to do is live this minute and then the next”…”Then the next.”…”You can do this, Eddie”…”love yourself”…”be strong”…”have faith”…”I love you more than my own life”…”I will do anything and everything in my power to erase your broken heart”…”And make sure you have two parents who you know beyond a shadow of a doubt”…”Are devoted to you”…”And love you”…”Everything will be okay”…”I love you. Dad loves you.”
I hope I am not lying to him. I hope everything will in fact be okay.
I decided to fight for custody through the legal system. Will has wanted to do a Consent Order in which he and I sit down together and hash out the details of our separation. Whereas this may be possible concerning our financial matters, I am not willing to do it for custody issues.
I am, at this point, very unskilled at negotiation when it comes to my spouse. I give up something I want in hope of creating a mutually satisfying agreement. I see now that I’ve been wrong to do that. He says that he gives me an inch and I take a mile…in hindsight, I do not see how that comes even close to the truth. There was a time when I would second guess myself on that point, causing me to give up even more of what I wanted or needed or thought was right.
So, when I imagine sitting down at a table with him to reach a “fair settlement” via a consent order, I smell bullshit. And I sense that I would give up things that I don’t legally have to give up – at least, not yet.
A few nights ago, Will and I were on the phone talking about our court date on March 17th. It was initiated by my attorney and was a custody hearing. Because Will and I planned to pursue a Consent Order, he did not want to go to court for custody issues, and on that night we spoke, I didn’t see the point in it either.
That was, I didn’t see the point in it until he told me what he wanted. He wanted primary custody of both our boys and for them to live in our house together. He explained that he should be the one to manage their day to day lives and make the final decisions on issues regarding them. I said that I wanted joint custody. He said that was an interesting idea, one he hadn’t heard of, and would be willing to negotiate it.
I smelled bullshit. He knows about primary custody but “hasn’t heard” about joint custody?!
At this point, I have two options: I could negotiate a consent order concerning custody with Will. OR I could go through the legal system and let a judge decide.
I know that I am not yet capable of negotiating a fair agreement with my spouse.
In prior conversations, Will has indicated that I should explain to the boys that when the time comes, they are choosing a residence, not a parent. I initially thought that the boys would be choosing a lifestyle, not a parent. I see now that both Will and I are wrong. In the eyes of a child, any such choice boils down to choosing a parent, one over the other, for some reason.
In Will’s version of a Consent Order, the children would be forced to choose. Not now, but definitely later.
I considered both Marc and Eddie’s positions. Marc has already chosen. He wants to live with his father. Eddie told me that he doesn’t want to “choose a residence” and that he doesn’t want to “choose” at all.
I cannot do anything about Marc. Even if a judge assigns primary custody of Marc to me, Marc cannot be forced to live with me because of his age. When he ran away, the law in this state would not even bring him home if they find him! They would call and tell me where he was, and it would be my prerogative to retrieve him – IF he agreed to come home. It’s screwed up, that law, and I wish someone would do something about it, but that someone isn’t going to be me so I have to live with it.
Therefore, because Marc has already chosen, I have only Eddie to tend to in this decision. By going through the court, it will force both the boys to talk to a judge. The judge will then make a decision in their best interests. Eddie will not be forced to “choose” because the judge will do the choosing for him.
I am fully aware that I may “lose” custody of both of my boys during this proceeding. I am distressed about it, I am worried about it; I am horrified at the thought of losing any of my legal rights as a parent. I know that my spouse (and probably Marc) will say everything possible to convince the judge that I am an unfit mother, a horrible mom, and that I am mentally ill and emotionally unstable. But I am willing to take that risk in order to save the heart of my youngest son. Choosing would absolutely hurt Eddie. But talking to a judge, nervous as he is about that, will not force him to choose anyone or anything over the other.
Eddie asked if the judge would ask him who he wanted to live with and I told him that I didn’t know what the judge would ask. I told him that I’ve never been in his position, but I will do everything in my power to get him in touch with someone who can explain the procedure to him – maybe a kid who’s been through it or an adult in “the system”. I also told Eddie that if a judge point-blank asked him that question, then he could answer, “I don’t want to answer that question.” In fact, he could say that in response to any question asked by anyone at any time (including me).
If I can save Eddie from “choosing” then I will have done the best thing I can do. Now all I have to do is stay the course and prepare my own heart for the worst as I pray for the best.
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.
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.
