For years, I kept a bag packed in the bottom of my son’s closet – two days of clothes for each of us, some toiletries, identification and a few hundred dollars. The marriage finally ended after more than twenty years, and I haven’t been emotionally abused for the past thirteen nineteen years. During those years, there were 5 times that I left, when I stayed away for weeks or months. But I kept coming back. I didn’t understand why until I was out of it for awhile.
Emotional violence is epidemic. But it’s hidden. While it’s not the same as physical violence, that kind of abuse can lead to similar psychological reactions in the spouse being abused. In an atmosphere filled with intimidation and unpredictability, women may come to feel stressed, depressed and anxious. I did. Self-esteem and self-confidence get beaten down. Mine was. But I couldn’t quite identify that how he treated me was causing those feelings. I grew to doubt my own sense of reality about the marriage.
From the outside it looked fine. My mother and sister sensed how miserable I was but didn’t probe. I was honest with my best friend about how Tony treated me. She listened but didn’t know how else she could help. From the outside, we were two bright, outgoing, hard-working people, devoted to our blended family of kids/stepkids and adopted son. But it was rotten at the core.
The relationship was organized around his interests and activities. The mood of our time together was determined by his moods. I was frustrated by his lack of concern for my feelings. I did most of the work of nurturing the relationship and I felt drained by how hard I worked to try to keep him feeling ok.
Here are some scenes from our life together that illustrate what it was like. If you are in a relationship with someone who is emotionally abusive or if you care about someone in such a relationship, you’ll recognize the dynamics I detail. If not, you’ll be perplexed as to why I “let” it continue. Keep reading.
Scene 1
I love the taste of perfectly ripe avocados. I love the feel of the knife slicing through the flesh of the fruit. I love the smell. I enjoy it most when I sprinkle it with salt and lime and then I bite into a slice. If I had to live with only a few food items, avocados would be one of them.
I went to my doctor for a physical and had blood work done. It said that my cholesterol was high. The doctor said I had to eat less fatty food. I was already vegetarian. What should I cut down on? I cut back on ice cream and cheese. Then my then-husband said that avocados have lots of fat and I should stop eating them. I knew he was wrong. I knew that they have “good” fat. Eating avocados will not increase cholesterol, I objected. He insisted so I relented and until the marriage ended I didn’t eat avocados. At home, anyway.
Scene 2
We were on a short vacation to Montreal. My stepdaughters were 7 and 10. They were a big part of why I stayed married to their dad. I really wanted to be a mom and with Tony I got 2 kids whose other mother was happy to turn them over to us every weekend, most holidays and for plenty of time in the summer. Vacations never went smoothly but I tried, again, to act as if he wasn’t quite openly in a bad mood and get us to enjoy seeing the sights of the city. We stopped at a big plaza and the girls went off to play at the fountain. With some perceived slight on his mind, he yelled at me for either not doing something he wanted me to do or doing something he didn’t want me to do. The girls came back and wanted their picture taken with me. I was miserable. I almost never smiled in photos. This was no exception. I tried to look calm and happy to be with his daughters as he took the picture. When I looked at it later, it was so obvious to me that I had been crying and that I was barely coping as I tried to be a good stepmother.
Scene 3
We were all in the car on a stifling hot August day driving back from somewhere. He wouldn’t use the air conditioning. He offered no explanation. The windows were rolled down and hot air was blowing on us. Finally, it was so hot, I couldn’t stand it any more and I insisted that he turn on the AC. He pulled into a parking lot, told me to get out of the car and started yelling at me. What could the kids have been thinking and saying to each other as this went on? There happened to be a cop car on the other side of the lot. The two officers, one male and one female, came over and asked if I was alright. Of course I wasn’t but I said I was. I felt that they, or at least the female officer, knew that I was being verbally assaulted by an angry man. I wish I had told them I wasn’t OK.
There were so many negative feelings. When it got really bad, I felt what the shrinks call the clinical definition of depression – helpless and hopeless. But I couldn’t let it keep me from functioning. I still had to go to work. I had to keep the house in order and the meals prepared. I had to maintain the facade. The horror had to be concealed.
There were many times when he talked that I looked at him but paid no attention. He yelled at me, “stop fucking around and pay attention”. He asked “where do you go when I talk to you?” ”Anywhere but here” is what I thought but didn’t say. He called it fogging. He was right. To keep from getting overcome, I let a virtual cloud come over me, a screen to keep out the abuse.
Over the years, there were times when I challenged his way of thinking, refusing to let him define me. But I’d get beaten down, emotionally, that is, with occasional pushes, shoves and threats of violence.
And yet, something inside kept getting stronger. Slowly. I did leave five times before it was over. Overnight, a week, a whole summer. I looked for ways to build trust in myself. Similar to stopping smoking cigarettes, advocates for abused women say it takes leaving many times before women break the cycle of abuse. Finally, after more than 20 years, I ended the marriage,
It’s been close to 20 years since then. With the help of a competent therapist, I found my way to who I knew I could be. It has not been easy, but it has been an exciting journey. You can take that journey, too.
