Going Green - When It Doesn't Leave A Mark You Can See

I finally got out of 2008, opting for a post I wrote in October of 2009. By this time, it was pretty clear that there was nothing I could do to save my marriage, and that I should really focus on saving myself and my son.

Although at the time this post was written, I was still with my husband, the situation would continue to escalate, and 2 months later my son and I would be moving into an apartment of our own.

It's been 3-1/2 years since I made that move. Husband and I attempted to reconcile at one point, however I knew there was no way I could ever go back to living the way I did when I was with him.

We've been separated since I moved out, but remain married (in the eyes of the law). That decision is one that stemmed from financial need - a house in both of our names - insurance coverage. We have both agreed to move on with our lives and will complete the divorce process in 2014.

I am also happy to say that I am in a new relationship now. One that is filled with what good relationships need to grow. Mike has been, and continues to be, patient with the scars that were left from being with husband as long as I was. I couldn't ask for more!

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Yesterday, Veronica over at Another Suburban Mom posted a reminder that in addition to October being National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, it is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

I've been with husband for six years now, married for three and a half years. He was married when we got together. It wasn't until we had been living together for 6 months that his ex-wife filed for divorce. 18 months later, their divorce was final.

Husband wasn't always on his best behavior when we dated. There were warning signs. The battering, the abuse, started long before we said "I do" ... and I ignored it. I am not a bad person. I have a lot of good qualities. Yet I'm always thinking "If I could only be a better wife," "If only I were more attractive," "If only I could fulfill his sexual desires" ... if only ... if only ...

Yesterday, as I was reading Veronica's post and clicking on some of the resources, I came across the Domestic Violence Wheel. It's funny, I actually used this very graphic in one of my posts, but didn't really consider its validity in my own relationship. Of the eight pieces of this wheel, I am currently living each and every one of them to varying degrees.

USING INTIMIDATION: Yelling - and I mean at the top of his lungs yelling - is husband's preferred method of intimidation, but he has also used throwing things, punching walls, faking a punch, etc. He intentionally interferes with my sleep, making sure I am awake any time and every time he is.

USING EMOTIONAL ABUSE: I am often told how I waste my life, how I'm not living up to husband's expectations thus making him work harder. I don't keep the house clean enough. The laundry isn't done quickly enough. I didn't get his clothes to the cleaners soon enough. I don't make enough money. I need to do everything around the house to make up for my lack of financial contribution. Nothing I do is ever enough. I can always do better.

Husband often withholds "love", affection and recognition as punishment when I've done something unacceptable or something that makes him mad. There are many days (sometimes strung together into a week) when he never speaks to me, refusing to acknowledge my presence in the home.

USING ISOLATION: Husband has insisted I not talk about our relationship to anyone in our families or in the community. He distances himself from our families and "demands" the same of Cam and I, mocking and belittling us when we are so weak we must rely on family. He offered to pay the airfare for Cam and I to visit Washington this summer, then changed his mind at the last minute, making it almost impossible for us to get there.

MINIMIZING, DENYING & BLAMING: This is one of the bigger ones. It is always my actions that cause husband to act the way he does. All couples fight, but I push him and make him say things he doesn't mean. His favorite? This isn't an abusive relationship, I'm just over-sensitive due to the dysfunction of my own family growing up.

USING CHILDREN: This was the one piece of the wheel I thought I was exempt from because husband has no claims to Cam, but the truth is he often tells me how I screwed up Cam's life, how my own selfishness in becoming a single parent has destroyed any potential Cam might have, how I've ruined Cam. Attacking my parenting is a common theme.

USING MALE PRIVILEGE: Husband makes all of the major decisions without any input. If he does tell me and I disagree with his plan, my input is dismissed without consideration, usually to the tune of an eye roll. He often makes decisions that impact the family, the safety and security of the household, without allowing any input from me.

USING ECONOMIC ABUSE: This is another big one in our home. Husband puts the mortgage payment into the joint account - the account I "control" I am responsible for providing EVERYTHING else for the household and for Cam, on a salary 1/4 of his. Husband has at his disposal, $2,500 in discretionary spending each month. I have $400. In addition to scrutinizing grocery receipts, he also double checks deposits to the joint account to insure I'm not "stealing" from him. I must ask for money and justify the need should we run short in any month. He then decides if I (or Cam) am worthy.

USING COERCION & THREATS: Any time there is a disagreement, husband tells me he is going to leave and take all of his money with him, leaving me in a house that will be foreclosed on. He threatens to take Cam and me off the health insurance. Tells me to call the police because they'll never see a mark on me and will know I'm lying to them.

When I look at all of these things, I cannot deny that I am in an abusive relationship, nor can I shake the notion that this is somehow my fault. Logically, I cannot explain why I am still in this marriage, yet emotionally I am paralyzed with anxiety and fear. I can't tell you why I stay (although this guide offers some insight), just as I can't tell you why husband continues to batter and abuse.

I'd love to end this post by telling you all that I am leaving, that I have a plan, but all that I can tell you is that I am closer to leaving now than I ever have been before. I have reached out for help - in more than one direction - but the response has been one of "just do this next", and I've been unable to tackle that next step. All that I can manage right now is to ask for support. Chasing it down? Having to call one more person? Tell my story one more time? It's overwhelming.

I feel crazy. Embarrassed. Humiliated. What is so wrong with me? Why can't I just walk away? How can it be battering? Abuse? If there isn't a black eye? Bruises on my arms? Broken bones? How can it be domestic violence when it doesn't leave a mark you can see?

364 Days Ago

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Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the day I walked out of a half-million dollar home to live in an earwig and spider infested (depending on the season) apartment in the "ghetto" of Podunk.

I have no regrets about my decision, other than I wish I'd made it sooner - before the damage became so severe. But I didn't.

I wish I could tell you it's been all glitter and unicorns. But it hasn't.

Sometimes life just doesn't sparkle.

You can read my reflections on the year here:

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Purple, not Pink

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October is traditionally a very pink month. Breast cancer awareness takes center stage and it's easy to overlook that October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, 1 in 4 women, and 1 in 10 men, will experience domestic violence in their lifetime.

I am one of the 25% of women who have experienced domestic violence in my lifetime.

It was this time last year that I came to accept that I had put myself - and my son - in an abusive relationship (you can read the longer story [HERE]).

I wanted to think that it wasn't a pattern. I wanted to think I was just a bad person and deserved exactly what I was getting. I wanted to think that if I just tried harder I would be worthy of love. I wanted to think that somehow this was under my control - that I could fix it - that I could be lovable.

Thinking that way was easier than believing someone who claimed to love me would hurt me with such methodical intent ... again ...

The first time it happened it was my father, a functional alcoholic, working in construction to support my mom and me by day, and turning into a violent drunk at night.

No one and nothing was spared. Holes were punched in walls. The dog was kicked and beaten. My mom was hit. Objects were thrown randomly and with great force. Furniture was broken. A loaded shotgun was held to my head.

I was usually spared his physical violence, but not his words ...

I was told I was fat, lazy, worthless - that I was an embarrassment to my father and to my family. I was grounded for bringing home an A- on a straight A report card because I wasn't working up to my potential. I wanted nothing more than to be good enough to be loved but was constantly reminded that I didn't deserve the love I so craved.

When my mother had no one else she could lash out at, she took her turn too. In public, and from the time I was 9, I had to call her by her first name so that people wouldn't know the fat, ugly girl was her daughter. She used to tell me if I'd just lose weight - if I'd just do better in school - if I'd just [fill in the blank] better, my dad would stop drinking and our family would be happy.

I still wrestle with the bouts of insomnia that have plagued me since childhood. Nothing says interrupted sleep quite like forcing yourself to stay awake until midnight to make sure your father makes it home alive from the bar, and then pretending to sleep through that same man tearing down your house around you.

Domestic violence doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t know ethnicity, income level, religion or gender.

I do believe my mother did everything she knew how to do to keep me safe. It was a different time. Women were not easily able to support themselves. Divorce was relatively unheard of. She tried desperately to fix my father.

It never worked. It never does. Loving someone isn’t enough to stop their violence.

My life was one woven with lie after lie. Smiling family photos, mirrors and a large plaque with the words of Desiderata covered holes punched into walls. Broken furniture was hidden in the garage and taken to the dump under a tarp. Both my mother and I became very adept at putting the house back together each morning. Day after day I was forced to act like we had a normal, happy family. The price I would pay if I let something slip was steep.

I'm not sharing this story because I want sympathy. I don't deserve sympathy. I put my son in much the same place that my mom put me. I shoulder a great deal of guilt for those years and the struggles he now faces because of my choice to do so.

It's been 40+ years since my first memories of my drunken, violent father, yet I still don't believe I deserve better. Logically, I know I do, but I don't believe it in my heart. I don't know that I ever will.

Some of you give me far too much credit. I didn't get myself out of an abusive relationship last year, I got my son out because I know, and believe, that he deserves better.

I hope he believes that too.

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The National Domestic Violence Hotline
www.thehotline.org
1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

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Friday Wrap-Up

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I think I've really hit the blogging big time now! Not only do I attract a troll or two on the blog, but the blog gossip and nastiness has carried over to Facebook! I thought about "monitoring" it - following people around to see what other nastiness they might spew - then realized just how totally creepy that process is. It made far more sense to just remove blogs from my reader and "unfriend" the Facebook offenders.

Now ... if I could just get a little hate mail I'd really know I hit the big time!

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Some of you may have noticed that I turned off comments on my Sunday Secret last week. I'll likely do that every week. It seems my secrets are an invitation for some folks to lose all common sense and common courtesy. I figure if anyone feels a strong urge to comment on a secret, my email is easy enough to find.

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I want to thank you all for the support on my Domestic Violence Awareness Month post on Tuesday. I know that many of you who left supportive comments still shake your head at times. Don't feel bad - I do too!

There were a couple of positive, and unexpected, side-effects of that post. First, I realized that I often do the very thing that a few of my commenters did - I read a blog daily and don't comment until I have something biting or controversial to say. That's just not the kind of person I want to be and I've taken steps to correct that.

Second, and far more important, I moved forward in my struggle with the domestic violence circle. I'm not yet where I need to be, but I can see that I stepped off that comfortable, but destructive circle just enough that the next steps might be a little easier to take. This process won't move forward quickly enough for many of you, but I can honestly say that it is moving forward.

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Can someone tell me when the Nobel Peace Prize started being awarded for intentions rather than results? Seriously, the nomination came two weeks - TWO WEEKS - after Obama took office. It's not like he made " ... extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples" during his first two weeks in office.

One has to wonder what the motivation was in nominating Obama. I think it's a bit unfortunate that he was given this award so early as he will likely be far more deserving of it in the future (bet that statement caught a few of you off guard).

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Plans this weekend include serving at the food bank Saturday morning, Cam's first football playoff game on Sunday and the prediction of our first hard freeze (lows in the 20's) Sunday night. Let's just hope we are lucky enough to have a winter as mild as our summer was.

Yeah ... right ...

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When It Doesn't Leave A Mark You Can See

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Yesterday, Veronica over at Another Suburban Mom posted a reminder that in addition to October being National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, it is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

Although I've seen several posts on Breast Cancer Awareness Month, hers was the first I've seen on Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I'm guessing that has something to do with the fact that boobies are so much fun to talk about (and even more fun to look at).

But today? There will be no pink brimmed hats, no pink football gloves, no little pink twibbon on my Twitter avatar. Nope! Today it's going to be all about purple. Today I'm going to be "brave" and speak a little more about Domestic Violence and how it has been a part of my life for 40+ years.

Some of you will chime in with how disgusting it is that I play the victim. Some will say that if it is really as bad as I claim, I'd just walk out, therefor I must be attempting to garner sympathy or maybe I actually enjoy the abuse. Some will accuse me of being ungrateful for the "high life" I live, feeling I'm nothing more than a selfish snob. Some will wonder how a woman who is well educated could possibly be so stupid as to find herself in this situation, and continue to keep herself, and her child, in an abusive environment. But hopefully, some of you will understand. Some of you will feel the heat of the tears that fall down your cheeks as you read this and relive your own tales.

The best place to start this story is at the beginning - my earliest childhood memories. The most vivid one was when I was probably 4 or 5. You see, although my parents marriage was explosive, the physically abusive part of it was well hidden for many years. But on this particular night it wasn't.

My mom woke me up in the middle of the night - told me we had to leave - we were going to visit some family friends of ours. I remember thinking it was really strange that we were visiting someone in the dark, but I was still at that age where I believed whatever my parents told me.

As we walked through the living room to head out the door, I noticed that the dining room table was upside down and two of the wooden chairs were broken into pieces and scattered across the orange, shag carpeting. When I asked my mom what happened, she told me she and my dad were just using furniture to build an indoor fort. The naivety of a 4 year old didn't even see a need to question that explanation.

That was the only time we ever left, and the next day we were right back home - my mom trying to clean up the mess from the previous night and me on my hands and knees next to her, trying to help. With the exception of leaving the house, this scene would replay itself many, many more times over the course of my life. First it was me kneeling next to my mom, trying to help. As I got older, it was me cleaning up the mess left by my father while my parents continued to yell and scream in the background. Years later - as an adult - it would be me cleaning up the mess I had forced my boyfriend or husband to create - the one that occurred when I got out of line, unreasonable, emotional, hysterical, etc. It's what I know and I know it too well.

Growing up, the physical violence - the stuff that leave marks - was doled out primarily to my mother. Sure, I was on the receiving end of the beatings (they were never spankings) with the leather belt - the ones that left welts and bruises - but I always deserved them and no one was ever the wiser. They remained covered, far beneath the layers of clothing that were never removed anywhere that might lack privacy.

Then there was the one time my father threw a set of keys at me, hitting me in the mouth and giving me a bloodied and fat lip, because I had been "flirting" with the older man in the seat next to me on a flight we were on (the older gentleman was an engineer, helping me with my geometry homework).

No, most of the time, the abuse I received at the hands of my father was abuse that no one ever saw and therefor, it didn't exist. It was the late night, drunken driving fests where he put both my mother and I in grave danger. It was having a loaded shotgun held to my head and being told that if I spoke another word he would blow my head off. It was being told I was fat, lazy, worthless - that I was an embarrassment to my father - to my family. It was being grounded for bringing home an A- on a straight A report card because I wasn't working up to my potential. It was wanting to be loved and never being good enough to be loved the way I wanted, then realizing I didn't deserve the love I wanted.

And it didn't just come from my father. My mother made me call her by her first name from the time I was 9 whenever we were in public because she didn't want people to know I was her daughter. She used to tell me if I'd just lose weight - if I'd just do better in school - if I'd just [fill in the blank] better, my dad would stop drinking and our family would be happy.

When I finally started dating at 19, my first "serious" relationship was with a 24 year old alcoholic, single father. We were together for 2 years, and the relationship mirrored my parents marriage in every way. I spent the next 6 years in very similar relationships, marrying twice. My first husband was emotionally abusive and my second - Alan (who I wrote about [HERE]) - was an addict and alcoholic who would eventually take his own life, and part of mine.

After Alan's death, I dated, but only unavailable men. Men who were in relationships. Men who were married. In my mind, they always treated me very well, heaping compliments and gifts my way, often telling me how much more they cared about me than they did their own wives. Somehow I was able to deny that these too, were abusive and destructive relationships. Never was a derogatory comment hurled my direction. Never was I hit or coerced into doing things to make someone else happy. No, I was able to believe that this was what real love was all about, and if I could just be a little bit better, be nicer, be thinner and prettier, these men would see that I was the one they should be with. It never happened, but that didn't mean I would give up.

I've been with husband for six years now, married for three and a half years. This relationship has been no different than the rest. He was married when we got together. It wasn't until we had been living together for six months that his ex-wife filed for divorce and it was 18 months after that, that the divorce was finalized.

It isn't as if husband was on his best behavior while we dated. ALL of the signs were there. The battering, the abuse, started long before we said "I do" ... and I ignored it. I'm not a bad person. I have a lot of good qualities. If I can only be a better wife, be more attractive, fulfill his sexual desires ... if only ... if only ...

Yesterday, as I was reading Veronica's post and clicking on some of the resources, I came across the Domestic Violence Wheel. It's funny, I actually used this very graphic in one of my posts, but didn't really consider its validity in my own relationship. Of the eight pieces of this wheel, I am currently living each and every one of them to varying degrees (in Veronica's comments I claimed only seven of them).

USING INTIMIDATION: Yelling - and I mean at the top of his lungs yelling - is husband's preferred method of intimidation, but he has also used throwing things, punching walls, faking a punch, etc. He intentionally interferes with my sleep, making sure I am awake any time and every time he is.

USING EMOTIONAL ABUSE: I am often told how I waste my life, how I'm not living up to expectations thus making husband work harder. I don't keep the house clean enough. The laundry isn't done quickly enough. I didn't get his clothes to the cleaners soon enough. I don't make enough money. I need to do everything around the house to make up for my lack of financial contribution, Nothing I do is ever enough. I can always do better.

Husband often withholds "love", affection and recognition as punishment when I've done something unacceptable or something that makes him mad. There are frequently days when he never speaks to me, refuses to acknowledge my presence in the home.

USING ISOLATION: Husband has insisted that I not talk about our relationship to anyone in the family or in the community. He distances himself from the families and "demands" the same of Cam and I, mocking and belittling us when we are so weak we must rely on family. He offered to pay the airfare for Cam and I to visit Washington this summer, then changed his mind at the last minute making it almost impossible for us to get there.

MINIMIZING, DENYING & BLAMING: This is one of the bigger ones. It is always the result of my actions that causes husband to act the way he does. All couples fight, but I push him and make him say things he doesn't mean. His favorite? This isn't an abusive relationship, I'm just over-sensitive due to the dysfunction of my family growing up.

USING CHILDREN: This was the one piece of the wheel I thought I was exempt from because husband has no claims to Cam, but the truth is he often tells me how I screwed up Cam's life, how my own selfishness in becoming a single parent has destroyed any potential Cam might have, how I've ruined Cam. Attacking my parenting is a common theme.

USING MALE PRIVILEGE: Husband makes all of the major decisions without any input. If he does tell me and I disagree with his plan, my input is dismissed without consideration, usually to the tune of an eye roll. He often makes decisions that impact the family, the safety and security of the household, without allowing any input from me.

USING ECONOMIC ABUSE: This is another big one in our home. Husband puts the mortgage payment into the joint account - the account I "control" I am responsible for providing EVERYTHING else for the household and for Cam. Husband has at least $2,500 in discretionary spending money each month to my $400. In addition to scrutinizing grocery receipts, he also double checks deposits to the joint account to insure I'm not "stealing" from him. I must ask for money and justify the need should we run short in any month. He then decides if I (or Cam) am worthy.

USING COERCION & THREATS: Any time there is a disagreement, husband tells me he is going to leave and take all of his money with him, leaving me in a house that will be foreclosed on. He threatens to take Cam and me off the health insurance. Tells me to call the police because they'll never see a mark on me and will know I'm lying to them.

When I look at these things, I cannot deny that I am in an abusive relationship, nor can I shake the notion that this is somehow my fault. Logically, I cannot explain why I am still in this marriage, yet emotionally I am paralyzed with anxiety and fear. I can't tell you why I stay (although this guide offers some insight), just as I can't tell you why husband continues to batter and abuse.

I'd love to end this post by telling you all that I am leaving, that I have a plan, but all that I can tell you is that I am closer to leaving now than I ever have been before. I have reached out for help - in more than one direction - but the response has been one of "just do this next", and I've been unable to tackle that next step. All that I can manage right now is to ask for support. Chasing it down? Having to call one more person? Tell my story one more time? It's overwhelming.

I feel crazy. Embarrassed. Humiliated. What is so wrong with me? Why can't I just walk away? How can it be battering? Abuse? If there isn't a black eye? Bruises on my arms? Broken bones? How can it be domestic violence when it doesn't leave a mark you can see?

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