I woke in the middle of the night with such clarity. Clarity about things I’ve dreamt of, cried about, raged about. Things I’ve wrestled with especially during the last 15 years.
I was holding my infant daughter the first time he hit me. Closed fist, in the head, because I wouldn’t let him hold her as he was drunk. That was in the beginning, before I married him, 33 years ago. The beginning of years of restraining orders, police reports, assaults, court mandated “men against violence classes”, arrests, and civil standbys from law enforcement so I could leave the house with my kids, taking them to relatives, or motel rooms where we would stay until he came to his senses. Which he always did. Until the next time, and the next…
I thought I was doing the right thing, the best for my children. I believed if I was strong enough, pretty enough, a good wife, a good mother, smart enough, kept the house clean, good in bed, etc I could fix it! But what if everything was my fault? If only I didn’t make him so mad! I could work on that, right?
I became the barrier between him and the children. I took the anger, the assaults, the blame, the shame, the rage, the name calling, the disrespect. I thought if I took it, the children wouldn’t. That backfired. My children picked up his behaviors, which seemed to be the norm. If dad says mom is a bitch and she doesn’t disagree, it must be true. My children learned how to treat me from their father. And I let them, still believing I could somehow make it right, fix it. And again, maybe it was my fault.
I stayed at home for 7 years and raised my kids. I went on their field trips, volunteered at their schools, became President of the PTA. I managed/coached their baseball. I did daycare out of our home. Usually 5 additional children, with mine that was 8 that I had daily. I loved raising children, not just mine, but for family members, friends, and through DHHS. I took child development courses at our community college and was state certified. We always had activities, going to the summer movies festival, movies in the park in the evening, to The Museum of Natural History, to the library for books, story time and puppet shows, to the water parks, etc. We did crafts, and were always making something for everyone to give to their parents, my children made gifts for their father. When ours were all in elementary school I was hired at their school, I worked there for an additional 7 years.
People thought we were the “All American Family.” From the outside it looked like we were.
Now step into my home with me.
Making dinner, if he disliked it or was “in a mood”, he would dump it all in the sink and take the kids out to eat or go buy steak and cook it for him and the children. I cleaned up the mess.
I had no access to money for bills, food, etc. He worked, he made the money. When he got angry at me I ran to the bedroom, crawled out the window and hid until it was safe to come back. I’ve slept in the bushes, and in the back yard of neighbors that I knew were gone. I’ve slept in our backyard tool shed with the cats. I’ve snuck into the basement listening from below as they made popcorn and watched movies. These times were called, “adventures.” I still cringe at that word! When I had a car, I would lock my purse in it and slept fully clothed with my keys in my pocket. I never knew when he would drag me out of bed and throw me out of the house. My son, at age 10, told me that he’d leave his window unlocked and I could sneak inside and sleep with him instead of in the gutter which is where his dad told him I’d be. I’ve slept in my car. There were times I walked to the bus stop, pleading for a ride so I could get to work when I had no money. My mom took me to supper for my birthday one year. When I got home he wanted to know where I was and wouldn’t accept my answer. He tore my jeans off me, destroyed my purse, ransacking them, looking for a receipt or some clue that I wasn’t where I said I was. Then he threw me out of the house in a T-shirt and panties. I walked in the middle of the night to a 7-11 a couple miles away and with no money called his father. He wouldn’t accept the collect call. It still surprised me but now, in the context of things, it made sense. When my ex and I fought he would take my purse, keys, money, phone, etc and drive my car to his dads for him to watch over and not release to me. His dad would bring him back home where he had his own truck to drive. I was called a squatter in “his house”. He decided if I could shower, do laundry, eat. I always hid a ball cap and deodorant in case I was locked out all night. I could cover my hair with a hat and not smell like I hadn’t showered. I borrowed shoes from a co-worker when I was thrown outside with only one. When I did shower I wasn’t allowed to lock the door. If I did he would pick the lock and taught my son to do it as well.
He disapproved of any friends or potential friends. I couldn’t go anywhere without coming home and telling him exactly who I saw, what I said, etc. I could never stay in good standing at my work as he called constantly, came to my work, etc which was against policy. So I was disciplined.
I was estranged from friends, my family, my mom, sister, brother, because he told me they didn’t like me and what horrible things they said about me. Any friends I had were “our” friends, (his friends). I was told what I could and couldn’t wear. Whether I could cut my hair, wear makeup, etc. If I “wasn’t nice”, he’d kick me out of the car, no matter where we were, -ie the mountains if we were hunting/camping, anywhere around town, at sporting events with the children, etc. During hunting season he wouldn’t pay the bills so he could hunt. That meant no groceries in the house, no power, no heat. To bathe he would heat up pots of water on our gas stove to put in the tub. He bathed 1st, heated more water adding it to the tub. The kids bathed next, using the same water. I was allowed to bathe last in the dirty water 4 people left for me. After out of town sporting events I’ve had to stay in the car on the drive home while he and the children ate in a restaurant, waving at me thru the window.
Things came to a head, as they always do, after 20 years of abuse. He went with me to all my doctor appointments, would even call my doctors to ask for prescriptions, “for me”. All except one doctor who told him he’d have to wait in the waiting room. I was petrified, would he think I planned it, to be alone with a male doctor? For the first time ever, the doctor asked me about abuse. He had picked up on something. I burst into tears, glad that maybe I had someone who cared what happened to me, but also terrified of what was going to happen when we got home. I downplayed everything as I’d done for so many years. I’ll never forget his words to me. He said I needed to get out of that relationship before he killed me or I killed myself.? He asked me what the most important thing in the world was to me? Easy, my kids meant the world to me! He said if I didn’t leave, I’d never see my children graduate high school. Not long after, my ex was arrested, again, on a felony assault charge as a minor child, our daughter, was in the house, given a no-contact order for me and all the kids, and another restraining order. I filed for divorce. I found out then that my children had made an escape plans for themselves. They always left a window unlocked to go out of and had made arrangements to go to friends houses. That broke my heart. But children do learn what they live. My son told me that he used to pretend to be asleep when my ex was on a late night rampage. He told me he knows he should of protected me but he was just a little boy and he was afraid too. He told me he had dreams of waking during the night with the police there, rolling out 2 body bags. Said either his dad had killed me, then himself. Or I had killed his dad then myself.
This was a confusing time for my family members, my parents, brother, sister, as I never had a bad word to say about him. I defended him and his treatment of me saying I was to blame. When I used to go to their house to hide with the kids, or to ask for money for a motel, I said the argument was my fault. I would of been humiliated for them to know the truth. As far as anyone outside our home knew, he was a doting, loving father. The stories he told of me were vastly different and for the most part, untrue.
Flash forward 16 years post-divorce, to today.
I don’t have any contact, their choice, with 1 daughter and my son. They both have just had babies, my grandchildren, and I haven’t seen them. They’re very close with their father and his 3rd wife. My ex is social with my siblings, and their children, the ones that took the kids and I into their homes for safety, and/or paid for a motel room for us over the years. My mom and step-dad, and my oldest daughter and I are close. And for that, being close with me, they have limited or no contact with my son and other daughter. Neither I nor their grandparents, my parents, have seen the babies, now 9 and 10 months, respectively. They’re both boys and their names bear witness to their paternal grandfather and their father.
I’ve been in counseling for 15 years. Trying to make sense of something that makes no sense.
I pray for my children, their families and my grand babies. I know that I birthed 3 children. I will always have 3 children, not death nor my ex can take that away from me! I surprised myself at Mass recently when I prayed for my ex. I prayed for him to be a good father to our children and a good grandfather to their children. I never thought I’d see the day that I would pray for him, it’s usually about him, so I think that was a huge step in the right direction! I know nothing will change and have zero expectations, but I do feel that by forgiving him, I set myself free.
Now for that clarity I started with. I, for so many years tried to make sense of all the senselessness, not making much progress. My children don’t remember so much of the growing up IN OUR household. They’ve hung on to the good memories and hidden the bad. I used to want so badly for them to remember, to see what we, I, went through. But as a mother, how could I want my children to remember, and suffer as I have for so many years! Maybe time has healed their wounds. As envious as I am that they can forget the past, I can’t. I remember every single day, every single hurt, every single lie, every little thing. All the good, bad and the ugly!
So the clarity that came to me last night was the gift I could give them. The gift of buried memories. I no longer want them to remember. I want them to believe the fairytale they’ve surrounded themselves with. I want them only to remember the good. In doing so I pray that they can/will remember the good memories of me. Especially with children of their own now it’s no longer about me. How I’ve been hurt, how I’ve been wronged, how I suffer every moment, how I want them to know the truth, not the stories I’m sure they hear. I want them to live happy, healthy lives and love those babies as only a parent can! I don’t want them stuck in the past where I am, reliving every day like it’s on a looped tape. The last and most important thing I can do for my kids is to pray that they forget.
Terri
Notice: The names in this story are fictitious to protect the request for anonymity.
