A Public Service Announcement

I don’t know who needs to read this, but —

This is just a reminder that abuse is never okay.

It doesn’t matter if your partner is successful or famous. It doesn’t matter if it only gets physical once or twice a year. It doesn’t matter if he has abuse or trauma in his own past. And it definitely doesn’t matter if he insists he can’t stop the abuse until you fix all that’s wrong with you. That’s some serious bullshit, friend.

These things may seem obvious to anyone who’s never lived with an abusive spouse, but it’s different when you’re in that environment all day, every day. Over time, he’s probably worn you down until a part of you can’t help but believe all the lies he’s told you about yourself — that you’re worthless. Nasty. An asshole. A bitch.

But maybe you stay because you love him. And maybe you love him because when he’s not angry, he’s attentive and charming, and a wonderful father. You’ll actually start to think of him as a real-life Jekyll and Hyde, switching without warning from delightful to monstrous, keeping you constantly off-balance. You may wonder why you seem to be his only target, and spend years trying to be so good and so perfect that Hyde disappears forever — but you’ll eventually realize that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, nothing ever really changes. He simply finds new reasons to be furious with you, reasons that often are beyond your control — like when he locks his keys in the car, or when your hometown team beats his in the World Series. You know in your heart that his behavior is unacceptable, but it won’t be until you see something like this, posted on the back of a church bathroom stall, that you’ll know what to call it:

 

 

You’ll begin reading it with idle curiosity and then realize that almost every example describes your experiences. Your life. And suddenly, it will dawn on you that you’re not simply going through a ‘rough patch’ or navigating someone’s ‘anger management problem.’

You’re being abused.

The time you locked yourself in the bathroom during an argument and he beat the door open with such force that he splintered the frame? Abuse.

The e-mail alerts he put on your charge cards and demands to see your grocery receipts so that he could go through your purchases line by line? Abuse.

The times he called you unspeakable names and mocked your deepest insecurities? Abuse.

The times he hit or physically injured you and later minimized it, or pretended it was an accident, or said it didn’t happen? It did happen. It wasn’t ‘nothing.’ And it definitely wasn’t an accident. It was abuse.

You might make an appointment with a therapist when you come to this realization. And when you sit down for the first time and begin telling her what you’ve never told anyone, don’t be surprised if she says within minutes, “You know you have to leave him, right?”

You’ll probably feel overwhelmed and afraid, but she’ll promise to help you prepare for it, physically, mentally, and emotionally. She’ll tell you that you’ll know when it’s time to go. And she’ll help you find the courage and the words to tell your parents and close friends for the first time what you’ve been experiencing for two decades.

You’ll spend the next year working on yourself, reading helpful books (this one could be invaluable), practicing calming techniques like meditation and breathing exercises, and saving every penny you can in a private bank account.  Don’t be surprised if he begins to sense a change in you that only makes him angrier. You’ll feel his rage start to build yet again toward that tipping point that always culminates in violence, and this time you’ll hide a bag away with all your necessities and important documents and find a friend you can trust who’s ready to take you in the moment she gets your phone call. You’ll tell your teens that you might have to leave suddenly and if that happens, you want them to know you have a safe place to go and they’ll be able to reach you at any time on your phone.

And when the time finally comes to leave, you’ll know.

You’ll know because things will be said and done that night that make staying impossible. Unthinkable. I hate to tell you this, but it will probably be the most awful night of your life.

But I have good news for you.

The worst part is over. 

Make no mistake, the months that follow will be hard. Two weeks after you leave, you’ll somehow manage to get your daughter off to college. You’ll rent a tiny studio apartment and pick up your son every day after school and take him out to dinner each week and live on a shoestring budget while you wait for the divorce to be finalized. You’ll cry a lot. You’ll worry that maybe you really are worthless and unloveable. You’ll wonder where you’re going to find the strength and resources to make it on your own. But you’ll also know there’s no going back. Your teenagers needed to see you leave. And now, they need to see you thrive.

And so you’ll do your best to make that happen. You’ll find work you enjoy. You’ll make amazing new friends who add wisdom and perspective and laughter to your life. You’ll give yourself space to heal and permission to feel your feelings. You’ll cry when you need to, but you’ll also discover that it’s okay to feel happiness and even excitement — because the truth is that from the moment you left, things got better. Almost immediately, you were enveloped by a strange sense of peace that grew stronger each day. Later, you’ll realize that feeling was safety. You hadn’t felt safe in so long that you’d forgotten what it was like.

As the months pass, you’ll start seeing glimpses of yourself again — the confident, silly, wildly optimistic woman you were before you married. The inner critic in your head will slowly grow quiet, and you’ll be surprised to realize that its voice was never even yours. It belonged to your husband.

Nine months after you leave, the divorce will be finalized and your life will keep improving. You’ll buy a place with actual bedrooms, so that your kids can spend nights with you again. You’ll start waking up every morning feeling hope  — actual hope! — about the day’s possibilities. You’ll still have a lot to work through, but you’ll embrace the process and be grateful you’ve surrounded yourself with people who believe in you and your capabilities. The fear and insecurity you lived with for so long will slowly fade into the background.

But even then, the abuse may not stop.

Many months after the divorce is final, your ex-husband might continue sending you texts that feel like gut punches, insults and lies that frighten you and take you back to some of the darkest moments of your life. He might also decide that your extended public silence means he can say and write what he wants about you, regardless of the truth. You might not be ready yet to share what happened. You might feel like you’re still recovering and don’t want to talk about it publicly until you’ve healed just a little more. You’ve worked hard to take the high road from the start, and it feels like it’s really paid off.

But your silence is beginning to feel like shame. And you know now that while you’re far, so very far, from perfect and you’ve made plenty of mistakes in this life, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to hide. Nothing you wouldn’t want your kids to know about you. You’ve worked for more than two decades to build a community and a reputation and make meaningful connections in your city. You’re not willing to let the man who’s already taken so much take these things away, too.  You won’t let him destroy you. Not now. Not ever.

And so you decide that it’s time to be brave and simply tell the truth, because the man you once adored and feared and believed in and were lied to and hurt by and finally left forever, needs to know and understand one thing:

This is where the abuse ends.

If this sounds like your story, I want you to know that you are not worthless. You are not weak. You are not crazy. You deserve a chance to be happy. To be whole. To feel safe.

Do what you have to do to make it happen.

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This is my last post for Suburban Turmoil. Whether you’ve been visiting this site for 9 minutes or 19 years, I want to sincerely thank you for reading this blog. You have all added so much to my life over the years. Please check this space again soon — I’ll still be around, but with so many changes in my life, I think it’s time for something totally different.

Meanwhile, I’ll be writing about divorce, partner abuse, and all that comes afterward in an e-mail newsletter. You can sign up for it here.