My younger sister got married straight out of college, to the boy she dated during her last two years there. She was married and a homeowner long before I even met my first husband. Soon came two children of her own. They've been married for over twenty years now. They don't have a perfect marriage either. They argue a lot over minor things like my sister needing help with the housework when her husband wants to go watch TV out on the patio instead, or can he please go take their oldest son to soccer practice because she has a meeting at work. I know for a short time a few years ago, things were tense and their line of communication shut down, and they went to counseling. She told my mom that things are much better now. They are still the "fun" couple, hosting BBQ's and taking vacations and making time to go out to dinner sans kids. I see my brother-in-law playfully hug my sister, and while they may still yell at each other (their household is so noisy with two boys I think "yell" is the normal volume level) they also still laugh together.
When I met W, I just assumed things between us would fall into those same lines. I'd had plenty of boyfriends, but he was my first serious adult relationship. At 13, do you really expect to marry that boy who passed you a love note from three rows over? Go to the school dance with him, yes, but marriage? W was the first man I dated that I thought, okay this is a guy I could marry. And I did. And up until that point, I thought an abusive marriage was that story on the news where the guy looks like a derelict as he snarls in his mug shot and she has a face covered in bruises and a busted bloody lip. I was one of those misinformed women who said, geezus why is she still with him, how could she let him put his hands on her that way? That would never happen to me!
I know I've posted before about the verbal abuse and growing physical abuse in my first marriage, and how I can't shake it off and let go of it, even though I'm now married to a wonderful man who adores me. J has more than once told me that if I need to see a therapist about it, he wants me to go. I am not against it, but I really don't think a stranger can offer me the insight that I need. I know logically that none of it was my fault, that whatever happened was about what my ex had going on in his head, and it wasn't anything I said or did, it wasn't how I acted. For a long time, I would tell myself that I provoked W into the fight or pushed the wrong buttons. I knew his triggers, yet I didn't always avoid them. Why was I the one tiptoeing around, couldn't he restrain himself and his anger?
When I look back, I knew probably from the first few weeks that this was not a man I should get involved with. But I also thought that passion and drama somehow just naturally mingled. All the times he ditched me to go get high, all the weekends he acted like he was still single, all the moments he made me cry and didn't feel bad for one second. And that was while we were still just dating. Sometimes that drama made me feel alive and excited, and I confused it with real love. I did truly think that once we were married, he would settle down and grow up, but frankly his behavior just got worse. Maybe things got a little better the first year or two, when work meant wearing a suit and tie and going on interviews at NASA (yes, really). But he fell into a downward spiral at an alarming rate, and he intended to take me down with him. I don't do drugs, I don't drink, I don't party. I just wanted a normal life and a happy marriage, I just wanted my husband to be a responsible, caring partner.
The marriage fell apart over a decade later for all the reasons I've listed in previous posts. But many marriages disintegrate yet stay intact. I overlooked the screaming at me and the poisonous names he called me for a very long time. At that point, I didn't see it as abuse when he told me how fat and stupid and lazy I was. I just thought I was a terrible wife and he was stating facts about me, as painful as they were to hear. How could I be those things when I was working two jobs while he sat on the couch smoking weed? I didn't see it at the time, I just told myself if I tried harder, things would get better.
I don't remember the first time he laid hands on me. It was much much later. His anger and depression and drug use were all out of control. The physical abuse started off with him pushing me into the wall, or throwing me down on the furniture, or grabbing my arm to jerk me around. Usually when he was yelling at me and wanted to make certain I was paying close attention to his every word. It became more frequent during the last two or so years of our marriage, until we couldn't have a rational discussion about anything without him rushing towards me like a bull seeing red. He would raise his fist and shake it in my face. I knew within a short matter of time, if I allowed him to push me around without consequences, that given the next opportunity he would escalate to a slap or punch upside my head. I've posted before about him instead punching the wall or door next to my face as he pinned me against it and screamed at me. I have no doubt whatsoever that he was capable of even more brutality, and I knew that was the road we were headed down. Once he told me for the final time that he would not seek counseling, I knew it was completely my choice. Did I want to continue to stay and hope that things would get better, or was I going to wake up and see him for what he was? Was I going to be that woman on the evening news with the battered face, telling everyone he didn't really mean it, he's really a great guy, I said something that made him mad and it's all my fault.
Now I would never in a million years judge any woman caught up in an abusive relationship. I am unbelievably fortunate to have a solid family support system, who reached out over the miles to help me legally and financially when I was ready to break away from the marriage. And I was even more lucky that I met J at the time I was trying to move forward. Without any of that, I may have taken the path of least resistance and stayed with W, simply because it was familiar and I would have been scared to do otherwise on my own. Add in the fact that there were no children involved either, so I could escape without looking back. I can understand how a young woman with little kids, no job, no other family could give in and overlook the faults of a man who takes care of her yet abuses her at the same time. It was so easy for me to make excuses for W, it was easy to tell myself it wasn't abuse because I didn't have a black eye. But any time a person lays hands on another in anger and intimidation and causes any kind of pain, that is abuse. It doesn't always have to draw blood or leave a visible bruise or warrant the police showing up in the middle of the night.
I know there will be people out there who say what I went through was not true abuse, W was just a dick and I should get over it. I am in a secure happy marriage now, and that other part of my life is best left to the dark shadows of the past. I agree with the getting over it part, but for some reason it's still with me. J of course makes me feel loved and safe and wanted, and when I'm with him I am certainly not brooding over the jackass I divorced nine years ago. I am not for one instant second guessing any of the decisions I made. I did the best that I could, and in the end, it worked out for me. For so many women, it won't. I wish there was a J out there for every woman, but sadly there are way too many W's in the world.
Maybe I dwell on the past because I'm still the same me, and perhaps that scares me. Did I truly save myself back then, or did I flounder and allow my family and J to rescue me? What does that say about my strength, my weakness? If I found myself in another bad situation, would I be able to take care of myself? I can sit around and hope that nothing terrible ever happens to me in the future, but that would be irresponsible and unrealistic. One day my parents will be gone, one day J may not be around for me. It will just be me in a showdown. Do I have enough self-preservation to survive, or do I submit because it's easy?
I don't know what kind of person I really am. W used to tell me all the time "you're fucked up" and who's to say I'm not and I just don't realize it.
MISS GEE
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