—————- I am just another woman, and my story one of many. Not even that bad, but don’t do my mistakes anyway. Don’t wait until what you allowed in the beginning while naive and in love, becomes a daily habit for one to treat you poorly, in a way where even your kids don’t realize that it’s wrong.
I was taken for granted. Taken advantage of. Used as a door mat. I wasn’t a victim. I had allowed this, not knowing that it wasn’t just a bad week, a bad day. Something which happens once or twice, but that’s it. I was very wrong. I was ridiculed in front of my children. Called names. Called fat. Called too skinny. Called too loud. Called a coward for leaving the room when insulted. I was told I was hated. I was promised faithfulness. I was told in the same sentence that that can’t be guaranteed.
I realized that next to my children, I loved Alaska more than him finally. More than his old knife in my back, daily hidden carefully from the world. He asked me in the kitchen why I was making such a big deal about it. His words went on and on, how the sex with her wasn’t that great anyway. Blah Blah Blah. I thought of our dead baby which would have been 10 by then.
There is no cure for being human. I started drinking too much. When I came home from the office I brought home groceries, sometimes a little surprise for the kids from the toy store next to my office, made dinner, and later in the evening, I often drank and forgot he was even there. Forgot to walk on eggshells to avoid his tamper tantrums. That man of mine, which parented from the couch while watching football. But I forget the cruel remarks, the verbal abuse and all the things which never happened in his eyes, but which left deep scars. I never knew if it’s denial or simply lies. I do believe at some point he felt shame. Because I know he knew his own demons from the past very well, and sometimes they win, even if you fight them. —– He became a pro in showing the world a great big smile, someone strong, competent, who has his shit together – inside and out. Just as I became a pro in hiding what wasn’t for the world to see either. I was strong. I always have been. But trust and love sometimes make those you consider family, call you a pushover, and you grow tired of it all while the years go by. ——— It is defeat, the end of strength to take it, or fight back, and it is the end of a family. The grand start of blame. It’s no fertile ground for love of any kind to grow or be nourished. You lose. One way or the other. But there is life, and life goes on.
And it doesn’t matter anymore today. It mattered on so many days. It mattered the day I stood with our baby in my arms in front of the broken baby crib, which he had shredded to pieces in one of his fits. His knuckles bruised. Anger, over her crying that night because she was teething, and I wouldn’t let her cry, but pick her up. One time too often.
It mattered when I woke up 9 months pregnant on the floor in the dining room because he wouldn’t stop screaming, and followed me through the house yelling and yelling before he wore himself out and went to bed. It mattered when one of our girls moved into the laundry room so his mom could live in her room, and she accused me of not being nice. I could hit you right now he said. Then, back then, it mattered. I deserved to be treated like that I thought, I wasn’t perfect either. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Once it was love, and we shouldn’t forget that part. Because love is always a gift no matter the ending.
I finally left; a couple of months later he had an online profile on a dating site.
But we change. We grow and we go on. We love again. Don’t stay in an abusive relationship. Don’t tell yourself you deserve this. No matter how flawed you think you might be. Go. Live again. It is possible. For you. For him. To live good lives. To learn and do better.
And be brave because for some time you have to be. It will tear you to pieces because it isn’t just you you have to think of. And others will blame you. But disregard those people. They will feel uncomfortable. Let them. Grow strong again.
I am just another woman, one of many, and I am a lucky one. And grateful for it. We are better people for leaving after all. Don’t think you are trapped. Ever.