But ... he doesn't hit me ... [part two]

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.


[Continued from But ... he doesn't hit me ... [part one]]

October 24, 2009. A day forever etched in my memory. Much like the birth of a child, wedding anniversary, holiday or other important event. Only this day wasn't a day for celebration. At least not in the traditional way. In a way it marks a day of freedom; freedom from confusion, freedom from toxicity, freedom from fear.

So, he didn't hit me. He was in the bedroom with the shotgun, door barricaded. I found myself asking, "What are you going to do?" At least I think I asked that. It's been awhile since I've thought about that day ... He made no reply.

At that point, I ran to the phone in the kitchen and dialed 9-1-1. I was hysterical. I calmed down enough to explain to the operator, "My husband is in the back bedroom with a shotgun. I don't know what he plans to do."

Operator: "Where is your husband now?"

Me: "In the bedroom with a shotgun."

Operator: "Where exactly in the house is he? Do you know what he's planning to do?"

Me: "He's in the back bedroom. No. I have four children under 10."

Operator: "Do you have a cell phone?"

Me: "Yes."

Operator: "Get your children, your cell phone and call me back when you're safely on the road."

Of course, in that moment there was fear, lots and lots of fear. To date, the experience I'm describing is the most fearful, terrifying moment I have ever experienced. If I ever had any doubt of my ability to react to a challenging situation it has been erased by the memory of this event.

I gathered up my children. I had my keys. My cell phone.

We left.

Reviewing the incident report several months later I became aware of some serious grace. First, from the moment I dialed 9-1-1 and the time I contacted the operator on the road again was between 4 and 5 minutes. Who buckles 4 children, 2 under the age of 2, into a vehicle and drives several miles in less than 5 minutes??? Miracle.

I'll be honest. It's hard to even think back to that day. It's almost easier to forget. To brush it off as a bad dream ... but it was real. It is real.

So, my ex never hit me with fists. But his "punches" with words and attitude where and are designed to destroy, attacking your very soul. In the 4 years since separating, I've felt like I've been on a roller coaster or a yo-yo of emotions. Anger, sadness, pity, grief, rage, joy. And around again. Currently, I have minimal (as little as possible) contact with my ex. I do struggle with the ongoing challenges of visitation and transition issues. The verbal, emotional, and psychological abuse continues with my children. I focus on helping us all get through this. The court issues are "final" - meaning, I believe that unless or until a recognized criminal abuse is perpetrated and charges filed, this is our "new normal" - breaking the chains of a legacy of family dysfunction and violence. The court system will not save us. The police will not save us. CPS will not save us.

I'm not a superhero. I just play one in real life.

Some days it feels like we are a "normal" family - whatever that is - the teasing, the loving, the bonding, being together, laughter, enjoying each other's company. Other days, I'm consciously aware of our brokenness. I recognize this is part of the grieving process. Part of accepting what is and letting go of how I thought  or think things should be. Most of the time, I feel like something's missing. I long for healthy partnership. For comfort. I feel like I'm not good enough. I worry I won't ever be good enough. I think about how maybe I could have done something different ...

But then I remember, I'm only responsible for my attitudes, actions, behavior, beliefs ... I tell my children I wish it were different. I make room for me, for us, for healing, for growth. I focus on healthy relationships, building community, asking for help, risking rejection.

And then I look at the beauty that is my family. The brokenness. The healing. The laughter. The screaming. The tears. The anger. The joy. The sadness.

The grace.

And, I cling to the belief, no to the knowledge, that what I am doing is worth it. It's worth every tear, every fear, every struggle, every hardship and challenge. For me. For them. For us.

I am worth it.

But ... he doesn't hit me ... [part one]

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 ...