When I initially separated from my ex I didn't even realize I had been in an "abusive" or toxic relationship.
When the advocate went over the packet "Am I Abused?", all I remember thinking is, "But he doesn't *hit* me ..." In fact, I even told her this.
Now, however, I know even the "minor" physical assaults were serious (he minimized them of course, or blamed them on me -- "She was out of control. I had to restrain her for her safety.")
But, I was in a relationship that was primarily emotionally and psychologically abusive and manipulative. Just because s/he doesn't hit, doesn't mean there isn't abuse. And, here I am talking to both men AND women. Women are just as apt to abuse verbally and/or emotionally. In fact, I've met many divorced men who I would classify as having been in a dysfunctional controlling relationship with their now ex's ...
So, on October 24, 2009 - three years ago now - my entire world changed in an instant. Before I talk about what happened on that day, I need to give you some background; I met my (then) husband at our local Junior College. He was a bit of a bad boy. Musician. At the time, he seemed "strong but silent" (Now, I would say moody and insecure ... I digress.) At first he seemed attentive, said all the things I wanted to hear ... we quickly began to spend much of our time together. Very quickly, within a year of meeting and dating, we marry, move to another town to finish college. I get pregnant between year 2 and 3 of our marriage and give birth to our first son. Graduate college. Move back to my home town. Get a job(s). Have another child. Build a house. Get a Master's Degree. Start my own business. Have two more children (the count is now at 4 for those keeping track).
And, like things in life tend to be, there was good and bad during that second half of our marriage. Challenges and successes. In my professional life, my business was doing well. I was able to keep up with my growing family and do well in my work. It was extremely satisfying. He was working for a local school during this period. Things seemed to be happening according to schedule. The kids were growing, the house was purchased, jobs were going well ... or, so it seemed.
With the birth of my 3rd child, things began to change ... I can't pinpoint the exact moment but it seemed with only 2 kids I could still manage to get everything done. I was able to "keep on top of things". He was still working. Although his job wasn't terribly "demanding" you would think it took everything he had. There was very little help (read no help) with the day-to-day managing of the children or household. Unknowingly I had taken on more and more responsibilities with each addition to our family. And what was he doing? Well, that is a very good question.
Around this same time, my (then) sister-in-law came back into communication with our family. At around the time my 3rd child was 4 months old, she began to disclose to me their family history of violence, extreme physical violence in many cases, along with alcohol abuse. I won't traumatize you with details about the stories she shared. They were stuff you read about in the newspaper. It was appalling. I couldn't believe the kinds of situations she was describing. I had compassion on my husband. I expressed sorrow about his awful childhood experiences. His reply? "I don't remember," he claimed.
I started seeing a counselor. I was exhausted. By now I had 3 young children. As I reasonably expected the other adult - my partner, the person who was always quick to declare his love - to help, his mind games increased. He would be the first to leave the dinner table and not return to help clean. I was doing essentially all the management of the growing needs of 3 children, the household, and myself. When I would make an effort to connect with him by sitting down next to him at the end of the evening, he would get up and immediately leave the room. I was utterly confused. He complained we didn't spend time together. I resolved to spend more time with him, yet he would physically leave anytime I was even in the same room. When I confronted him about this he denied it happening. He pushed back and said I was imagining things. Etc. Etc. Etc. And on ...
I was also feeling more and more isolated. I focused on my business. My kids. Church. My family (which is also dysfunctional by the way, but that's a post for another day ...). It seemed with the information about the family violence in my husband's past, things in our relationship "clicked". I began to get help. I began to observe patterns. I started paying attention to his speech patterns. How he always seemed to have something negative to say. About everything. How he told me I was angry. I was sensitive. (Wait? Didn't he just say I was angry? How can you be angry and sensitive?). He denied his childhood experiences had anything to do with, well, he denied his childhood experiences.
But, for me, I was moving. Growing. Living. Getting information. At the height of our "relationship" difficulties, I became pregnant with my 4th child. Where does a pregnant mother of 3 go for help? How does it look to be suffering "relationship" difficulties when you are having his child?" I'll tell you. It doesn't look pretty. In fact, as I look back, my "partner" (ha! you have to suffer through my extensive use of "quotation marks" in this post!!), so, my "partner" didn't really do much to support me, help with the other children, or take any interest in my pregnancy. I simply chose to focus on myself. Staying healthy for my baby. Taking care of his brothers. Running my business. In essence, I absolutely ignored any marriage problems for that period of time. I couldn't deal with them.
Shortly after the birth of my 4th child with him, I realized I needed help. I was in individual counseling (he claimed I had post-partum depression). My counselor recommended marriage counseling. Well, the marriage counseling worked -- I'm no longer married. Nor am I miserable. Nothing changed. Our "relationship" didn't work. I could no longer keep up with only being a slave for my ex. I had four children who needed me. I needed me. I realize now that he didn't hit me because I would have left. Immediately. Instead, he played games. Denied. Minimized. Blamed. If that didn't work, he outright lied. He would name call. Tell me I was wrong. Tell me I liked to fight. And much more.
So on October 24, 2009 I asked him for a separation. His reply was to barricade himself in the back bedroom with a shotgun. But ... he never hit me.
To be continued ...
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