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Some
will keep a silent vigil with their pain until it
erupts into a headline. Some will slowly wilt in the
sunless world of disrespect and degradation. And
maybe some will remember the way back home . . .
By all
accounts, I am an unlikely victim of domestic abuse.
A child of privilege, lavished with attention and
opportunity, well-educated and professionally
successful as a musician and artist with advanced
degrees, commissions, awards, publications and
performances - in short, I've always appeared to be
“the girl most likely” to succeed. I was raised to
expect a golden life of overachievement and applause
. . . until my first serious relationship in college
changed everything. My boyfriend criticized and
controlled me, emotionally and verbally abused me,
isolated me from my friends, sexually intimidated
and degraded me. My first sexual experience was a
date rape. All of my academic and musical
accomplishments paled in comparison to my desperate
desire for this man’s unattainable approval. And
after 2 years of living in that emotional minefield,
it ended suddenly one night when he slapped me
across the face.
That
single act of physical violence allowed me, for the
moment, to awaken from what seemed a post-hypnotic
suggestion, and walk away from the abuse. I never
looked back. But I acquired a startling capacity to
detach from people, and completely lost the ability
to trust them. I also acquired a deep capacity for
depression and self-loathing that played out over
the years as I danced with several other demons,
including anorexia and alcoholism. But I ultimately
prevailed over those challenges, too, and went on
with my seemingly successful life.
In my
early 30’s, I revisited that ugly drama, and it cost
me dearly. This time, the leading man was the
quintessential “bad boy” – a young,
motorcycle-riding, social renegade, lost soul,
martial arts instructor. At first, all of his
neediness made me feel resourceful and valued, and
the romance was intoxicating. But after we married,
the cycle of abuse began to spin my world out of
control. His betrayal of my trust – the trust and
intimacy I had guarded so carefully for so many
years – was devastatingly complete. He isolated me
from my friends and alienated my entire family
(including my parents, both of whom passed away
before I got free). His menacing behavior interfered
with my employment and threatened my ability to earn
a living and support my children – he contributed no
money to our household but spent my earnings
capriciously – of course he was unfaithful – and he
assaulted my very spirit with his terrifying tirades
of verbal and emotional abuse. He screamed at me in
front of my young children, calling me names and
making threats to destroy personal belongings, on
which he often made good. For 5 years, my life was a
lonely nightmare. There were doors kicked in and
furniture broken. There were calls to the police and
orders of protection. There were violations and
stalking and break-ins. There were arrests and
convictions. And ultimately, there was a divorce.
There
were, however, no broken bones, no split lips, no
bruises and no trips to the emergency room. My
ex-husband was extremely skilled at containing his
behavior just short of full out physical violence.
And with that small amount of self-control, he
maintained his total control over me, because, you
see, I didn’t think I really was the victim of
domestic violence. I used to pray that he would hit
me, really beat me up, so I could experience that
wake-up call that had saved me once before – so I
could justify to myself and the world that I really
was a victim. Absent the physical wounds, I
minimized the wounds he was leaving on my heart and
soul.
It
wasn't until a devoted friend finally helped me find
my way to a Vera House advocate, that I began to see
things differently. She listened to my stories and
reassured me of that most basic truth I had
forgotten about myself: I don’t deserve to be
abused. How simple that sounds – but how
challenging it is to really hear when the person who
professes to love you, degrades, humiliates and
frightens you every day. I began to read and learn
more about the issue, I grieved mightily for the
loss of a romance and my dream of marriage. My
progress was slow and faltering. But while I came to
accept that I truly was a victim, I also learned
that I could become a survivor. For all the
privileges I’ve enjoyed in my life, being a survivor
is the most challenging.
I hold
myself accountable for the poor choices I made and
the suffering my innocent children endured while I
struggled to find the courage to get free. My
fondest hope is that the unconditional love I strove
to give my children throughout our ordeal, will
sustain their own sense of self-worth in the face of
life‘s challenges, and that they can forgive me.
I will
always be grateful for the patient support of my
Vera House advocate, and those few loyal friends who
never lost faith in me. The legal assistance I
received from Susan Griffith at Hiscock Legal Aid
not only helped me to extricate myself and my
children from our nightmare, it surely earned her
sainthood! And now I am honored to come to work
every day at Vera House, where I have been blessed
with the opportunity to translate the sorrows of my
past into a positive message for the future.
Abuse
casts a long shadow across your life, a shadow that
no amount of sunlight can totally erase. But I try
every day to remember the truth none of us dare
forget: No mother’s child deserves to be abused,
ever! And I am inspired by the hopefulness of
author Paul Ferrini’s words in his beautiful book
Love without Conditions : “Ultimately the end of human
suffering comes when we decide together that we have
suffered enough.” |
