Taking the High Road

"Two road diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller..."

I led a double life...one most people either didn't realize or never really acknowledged. By day, I was a successful and happy computer professional and super parent. By night, and behind closed doors, I was a human shield to my littles and someone who was constantly depressed and miserable. I lived most of my adult life in active domestic abuse, though

I was married to my abuser for twenty-six years total. He abused me for twenty-three plus of those years. The abuse was always looming in the background, no matter what was going on with us as a family. It was mostly verbal and emotional, but physical abuse would and could come out of nowhere...literally, like a freight train of fists...

Throw into the marriage mix, three children. I would intervene constantly, between he and they, afraid of what he could do in anger. On numerous occasions, too many to count, really, I would get in between father and child(ren), sooth the argument or disagreement, and take a beating for it later.

Everything had to be about him: how his day went, how he was wronged, how the world did not understand nor care for him, what he hoped, what he dreamed -- and all of that had to be as if it happened to me also. I had to take on his mantle. Nothing of my life, of how I felt and dreamed and hoped, mattered. At all. My whole being was being assimilated.

Prior to meeting him, I had a happy, loving childhood, raised by two parents who were in love and still are. It wasn't until I was sixteen, did I see how evil and vile a place the world could be. When I was sixteen, I was raped by a boyfriend, when I said "no thank you" to sex. I was saving myself, at least for college. It was then when I learned what I wanted didn't matter. After I got home that night, I told NO ONE. I was ashamed. Apparently, I was a whore and was "asking for it," simply by looking pretty and wearing a form fitting outfit. I withdrew into myself and focused only on my studies.

I met my abuser two years later when I was on the verge of high school graduation. He was funny and independent and thought EVERYTHING I did and said was wonderful. He was gentle and caring and seemed to want everything I wanted. He supported my goals and thoughts and dreams -- I thought I had found my soulmate!

We were young and in-love and talked about the future, which was grandly exciting. I had just started college, but started not feeling well. After visiting the campus clinic, I found out I was pregnant with his child! He assured me that everything would be okay and he would support me and the baby while I attended school. I was going after a journalism degree, because I wanted to become a great writer and phenomenal photographer.

I come from a very old-fashioned family who wanted us to marry right away, so the baby would be legitimate. He seemed delighted with the prospect, so we married a few months before I was due. For those few months, I was completely in heaven! I had my own apartment, I was going to school for something that I loved, and was a wife and mother. It just didn't get better than that!

After I gave birth, I, of course, had to stop working to be with our new baby boy. I previously worked two jobs and went to college full-time. I was only planning on being off with the baby for about six weeks and we streamlined all of our expenses; however, my now-husband wanted to take over the finances. I agreed, being the compliant, laid-back wife that I was. I had no idea how badly he would screw up our finances, nor how quickly!

We went from "doing okay" to "evicted" in less than two months. Our baby also had a genetic issue that required surgery, not to mention that my husband had to change jobs twice. Meanwhile, I had medical issues that kept pushing out my going back to work, so eventually I had to let it go. We moved in with his grandmother temporarily, but eventually had to move from Tennessee to Indiana, in to live with his mother. That winter, I moved 450 miles away from my parents and siblings.

We lived with his mother for four years and eventually saved up enough to get an apartment on our own. Since we had moved in with his mother, he started changing in his demeanor. We had our disagreements and differences and would argue, but I thought it was just a part of being young and in-love. I could not have predicted how things would change.

Everything up to this point had been verbal or guilt-driven, so I really did not think anything of it. I hated fighting, but realized that disagreements were normal so I tried to make amends quickly; however, I seemed to be the only one in the partnership to do so. I did also start to notice he was playing his mother and I against each other, more and more, especially where our child's care was concerned. I did not realize how different my life was to become until my firstborn was about eighteen months old.

At this time his brother and brother's new fiancee had arrived in town for a visit. When his family came for a periodic visit, he and his brother would disappear for hours, coming back giggling and staggering, well after dark. You couldn't plan dinner, because you didn't know where they were or when they would return. It annoyed me often, but I was not allowed to say anything. On one visit, we decided to eat before they left on their "adventures." He was planning to leave with his brother, while my future-sister-in-law, our toddler and I would go walking and window shopping.

We were putting on shoes and coats in the bedroom when I quietly asked him not to be gone "all day." No sooner than I had said that, he grabbed me by my throat and pushed me to the wall. He then went to grab my shirt and also got a hold of some of my chest and breasts, picking me up and slamming me into the wall a few times. "I don't like your smart mouth!" he hissed, dropping me in a crumpled heap to the floor. Once he left the room, I balled like a baby until my future-sister-in-law came into the room.

She and I talked things over, while we walked, and thankfully while my son slept in his stroller. She hugged me and told me to stand my ground. When the men returned home, I was silent. I did not wish to make a stand and everything was smoothed over. I was convinced it was an isolated incident.

Sadly, that was not the only incident. Once we got into our own place, the verbal and emotional and physical abuse got worse. Nothing was good enough. The house wasn't clean enough. I didn't make enough at work. I wasn't pretty enough. I didn't cook what he wanted or well enough. I constantly kept trying to improve, because I thought I was the problem.

We were eventually able to buy our own home and welcomed two more children. I wish I could say there was happiness in the entirety of that time. There were periods of happiness. More often, there were periods of confusion, of anger, and of chaos. I worked one full-time job and a part-time job, constantly. I did as much with my kids as I could. I took them to events, cleaned the house on a schedule -- everything a good wife should. I also completed college in my spare time, taking classes when and where I could. Working, taking care of my kids, and school were my only saving graces. While I tried working on my marriage, I felt like a miserable failure.

My marriage, as much as I wanted it to succeed, seemed doomed no matter how much effort I put into it. We separated four times, but always ended up getting back together. I was always the one that extended the olive branch, because I didn't want to raise my children all by myself or be destitute and single.

No matter how great it was when we got back together, it always would go back to the way that it was previously -- only WORSE. If I dressed up or spent an extended period concentrating on my health, he was sure I was cheating on him. If I worked overtime to help pay our bills, I was neglecting him and the children. If I stayed home and read, being short on money, I was being boring and mundane. I was supposed to be the glue that held the family together. I was desperately trying and it was exhausting. I was losing myself!

The longer we were married, the more he drank. I never thought about him as an alcoholic, until close to the very end. I kept so busy, I tried not to notice. I was told that everything was in my head. However, after twenty years of marriage, I had to own just how much he did drink. The realization hit when we, as a family, came home on Christmas Eve from a friend's party, with him passing out in between the living room and the kitchen. I could NOT lift him. I could not rouse him, so I had to leave him in the position he fell, covering him with a blanket and propping his head up with a pillow. I also had to clean up where he had vomited in his sleep. I didn't sleep much, as I kept getting up to check on him. Another inspection revealed he had wet on himself, so I took off his pants and put a towel underneath him. Yeah, this had turned in to a problem and I was clearly in denial...meanwhile, I set out my kids' holiday presents. Thank heavens they were asleep for most of this!

That Christmas morning greeted me with a black eye. I was punched in the face for leaving him on the floor, once he woke up. I had to do a terrific, movie-worthy makeup job on my face, before my kids woke up. How did I get to this pathetic point? Would he continue to hurt me or eventually turn on the kids? I rarely left the house, to protect the kids, and had isolated so much I had no friends to do things with.

I was at home sick one day when I saw an early afternoon talk show talking about domestic abuse. I had woken up to the start of it and could not stop watching. They went over what domestic abuse was and talked about the horrors of abuse, such as the bride burning horror that was still going on in India. It was in that moment I realized I was being abused. I am not sure how I didn't see that, but it all became blazingly clear. I had never thought of myself as a battered woman, but it wasn't always physical. However, it feels like a fly being trapped in a spider's web and being unable to stop the inevitable.

The final incident, 24 years into our marriage, started off with him being annoyed with me, sure that I was cheating on him, but with us having a family cookout. As the evening progressed, he became drunker and drunker. He beat me in front of my then-ten-year-old son, when he called my best friend and accused her of lying for me. My middle adult daughter took her little brother to one of her friend's houses and promptly called my oldest son, who was out with friends in another town. While they were gone, my husband trapped me in my bedroom, beat me, and choked me until I passed out, then continuing to beat my head on the floor. He had shot at me, with his personal handgun the day prior, so our bedroom was still a mess from that struggle. While I was unconcious, he tore the house apart to the point that it looked like a tornado had gone through it.

My oldest sped home to help me, but called the police on the way. I regained consciousness in time to get in between father and son, talking my oldest into coming outside with me. I grabbed my two small dogs and sat in my car, sobbing. My husband decided to run out the door and into the woods behind our house. When police arrived (five officers to be exact) they finally caught up with him. During the course of the hunt and chase, my daughter slipped and fell. I had refused treatment at the ambulance that had arrived, but decided to take myself and my hurt daughter to our local hospital. We were there most of the night. She had torn a ligament and I had a concussion and traumatic brain injury, not to mention bruises and contusions. I never noticed the strangulation marks that his fingers made around my throat until the next day.

I went to court the next day, reluctantly but defiantly, with my daughter. He was in the last group of the day, naturally. While we were waiting outside the courtroom, I met my domestic violence advocate, who offered to sit with us. When finally getting a seat in the courtroom, my daughter's and I's phones started lighting up. Apparently the local news had filmed in front of my home, showing my address and all, without my permission.

The judge called me up to the front to ask me come questions. I could feel my abuser's steely glare on me, burning through me like a laser beam. I shakily walked up front, and sat down. "Ma'am," he asked me, matter-of-factly. "In light of this attack and the arrest, do you fear for your life?"

I swallowed hard. "I do, Your Honor. I fear for my life and for the lives and well-being of my children."

The judge nodded. "Understood. Thank you, ma'am. You may step down." Little did that Judge know, that was the scariest thing that I have ever had to do.

An emergency protective order (EPO) was issued. He would make bond and was to live in his mother's home. He was not to contact me or the children, not even by third-party, or he would violate that protective order and go back to jail. If he found himself in the same vicinity as me, he was to leave immediately. He was issued a tracking bracelet, that notified his probation officer if he got near my work, the youngest child's school, my fitness club, or our family's home, both probation and the police would be alerted. I was to report any violations.

My Abuser violated the EPO four times, going back to jail twice. He got into a few situations where we were at the same place at the same time, but he didn't bother to leave. He strutted around as if he was making a bold statement and was trying, on purpose, to intimidate me. In one situation, he had another woman with him, whom he kept an arm around, as if to make a point. I reluctantly called the police after each incident, along with an associated anxiety attack.

Along the same time, I also found out the my job was closing AND that my mother found out that she had Stage IV ovarian cancer. I was very down and anxious at this time. I was having a hard time paying my bills. Everything seemed to be crumbling.

I struggled and struggled, having to move twice, begging social services organizations to assist me, all the while working one and two jobs and caring for children and trying to wrap my head around what all I survived. I secretly worried constantly could happen if my Abuser violated and tried to hurt me or my family. When I actually had free time, I barely left my bed or my room.

Six months later, I met someone great and started dating him. It was the medicine my soul needed! He was kind and respectful. He was genuinely interested in me and what I was doing, not to mention what I liked. We liked the same music. Our first date was a dinner and a concert. He's very understanding and gentle with my anxiety. We have been together ever since! Honestly, I had no idea men could be this wonderful!

Approximately a year after my Abuser and I's final episode, I was staying with and caring for my boyfriend after a surgery he had to have. I received an early morning phone call from my adult children stating that their father had been in a motorcycle wreck and had nearly died. I consoled my kids, but found that I wasn't upset by the situation AT ALL. I was more upset for my children's sake.

My Abuser was a in a coma for a while, before waking to find out how lucky he had been. He seemed a changed man, according to my children. I was still under the EPO, so I just supported my children, taking them to the hospital, while I stayed in the car or the waiting rooms away from him. Eventually, it was determined that the wreck was so bad, that they had to amputate his leg above the knee, because the tissue was dying. Once he was out of the hospital, three months later, I kept urging my children to help him and take care of him, but I stayed away. I just couldn't, despite his injuries, see him yet. He had done too much damage.

Also, during this time, the domestic violence trial kept getting pushed back, as did our divorce. I felt like I had to make a stand. I petitioned the court to deal with the domestic situation. It went from a felony or two and a trial, to the judge finally having the hearing and giving him a misdemeanor and six months of in-home incarceration. I was enraged that my life and well-being meant so little, but I pushed on. I petitioned the court to remove the EPO, because I didn't feel that a one-legged man could chase me down and harm me any longer. I also fired my attorney and petitioned the court to set the hearing for the final divorce decree. They ironically set the final hearing date for twenty-six years to the day we were married. I was taking charge and making things happen, not the other way around.

I cancelled the EPO so my youngest could see his Dad and help out with him. I also did this so I could talk to him about settling financial matters and becoming two individuals. I didn't like being in his presence, but I also wanted to get things accomplished. He now had no job and was physically handicapped, so he was a pathetic sight. All he wanted to talk about was how he was horrible and that he was being punished. It was at this moment that I had a major-shift in my soul: I was angry with this man, but I didn't want to see him fail. He had to succeed for himself and his children. I didn't hate him, but I was not going to show him the meanness and anger he'd always offered to me. I was not stooping to that level, to his level!

He was living in his mother's house, until it sold, but had no money. Since I now worked for a social services organization, I made him a list of whom he was going to call and apply for things -- the keyword being he, not me. He applied for Social Security disability, he applied for food stamps and Medicaid, he applied for energy assistance. He visited the unemployment office and got signed up for adult education classes. The list I had given him had specific instructions, with my own personal contacts specific to his need. I told them I was sending him, so they were prepared.

A few weeks day I was bringing my son to stay the weekend with his Dad, when my son told me that his Dad had no food and no household supplies. I stopped by my local dollar store and purchased enough food, toiletries, and household supplies to last a few weeks. I know I spent around $120, that I didn't really have to spend, but I spent it anyway. When we came in the back door, we had armloads of bags. I immediately started putting food in the refrigerator, to avoid talking to him.

"What on earth is all that?" my Ex asked.

"Mom bought you supplies," my son proclaimed.

"Why?"

"Because you have nothing, Dad."

My Ex shook his head. "I don't know why she'd do that."

My son said, "Because she's awesome like that, Dad." I stopped and sucked in my breath, as I was in the kitchen and they were around the corner in the living room. Even my son knew I couldn't see anyone hungry or needing, not even the man he watched beat me. I made sure I did not cry until I left.

Despite trying to start over as a physically disabled person, the Ex still had not given up drinking. One evening I received a panicked call from my daughter, saying that her Dad was drunk and was getting violent, despite being in a wheelchair. The drinking establishment he was at was trying to calm him down, but he was getting more beligerent. They also knew not to call the police because he would be in violation of his probation. They called my daughter, who could not get him calmed down. So, my daughter decided to call me. Great...

I knew he would be undoing everything by getting arrested for something so stupid, so I arrived at the bar and went in the door. I could hear him yelling. However, as I rounded the corner, I saw him sitting in his wheelchair, surrounded by bar patrons who were trying to calm him down. Hearing that booming voice startled me, but I set my jaw and walked up. I saw where he had partially destroyed an expensive handicap-accessible door and remembered all the things he destroyed in my home. Wow.

His face fell, when he locked eyes with me. "Um, what are you doing here?

"I came to pick up your drunk ass. I heard you were making a scene. You're too drunk to drive home. My car's outside, let's go."

He tilted his head. "Am I going home with you?"

I laughed, "Uh, no. I'm taking you to your house."

"Oh."

The people surrounding him were looking at me with complete astonishment. One guy said, "Aren't you the crazy Ex?"

I smiled and winked. "That's me!"

"Now," I said, looking back at the Ex. "You need to apologize for your behavior and let's go."

"WHAT? No, I'm n--"

I looked at him with my best Mom glare. "LET'S. GO."

"What about my Jeep?" he whined. I explained to him that our daughter would drive it to his home and hide the keys, only texting him the next morning to let him know where they were. He hung his head and started rolling out the door and across the parking lot. He didn't say anything on the ride to his house.

My daughter helped me get him into his bed, placing a bucket next to the bed, and a bottle water on the bed-side table. "You staying with me?" he slurred.

I laughed. "Nope. Not a chance."

He was snoring before we left the room. We locked everything behind us the best we could and I drove my daughter back to the bar to get her car so we could go home.

If the tables were turned, would he have shown me the same courtesy? Probably not, but it's not about keeping score. I did not use my anger or resentment for everything that he put me through, to justify my actions. I wish no ill will on anyone. I want to be better for me and my children, simple as that. I am putting positive vibes out into the universe. I choose kindness and took the high road, which was not easy, but was peaceful in the end. I think I am on the true 'road to healing'...and according to Robert Frost, "that, that has made all the difference."