Our goal is to collect glimpses of the first realization of abuse, and share those stories with others who may be coming to terms with a similar situation. Abuse comes in many forms and while we wish there wasn't a need for such an outlet, we hope to share with others that Once Is Enough.
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I was 25 when I married a man who I had only known for 8 months. He was 11 years older than me. I met him at a Bible Church where the pastor wore jeans, played electric guitar and taught about Jesus like it was comedy night at The Bottom Line. Before I met him, he had led some ministry or other of about 70 people and I got the impression that he was a kind, loving person.
I took life at face value back then… I was naïve and impressionable. In the year to follow, I became much more anxious and confused… beaten down and despondent.
Thank god for my older sister crying, “…then you pack your bags and leave them at the door for him to look at every day!” Thank god that he hadn’t squeezed just a bit harder when his hands were around my neck. Thank god for my parents and my brother who hauled my ass out of there as soon as I called.
Thank god that I left… finally.
The realization that I had been in an abusive relationship was slow to come. He had only gotten physical with me on a few occasions and I really didn’t understand terms like “the cycle of violence.” I had never heard things about “power & control” and I had no knowledge of how damaging psychological & emotional abuse could be.
Well, I learned by experience, and the year of pounding psychological abuse had surely taken its toll on me.
After I left, I had been staying at my parent’s house for about a 6 months when I decided to go to school for massage therapy. Interesting enough, I would learn how the healing power of touch can be a powerful tool in emotional healing.
At some point in the course, the instructor suggested that volunteering services would be a good way to practice, as well as network. And she mentioned a few types of facilities that might allow students. When I heard her say, “…or even a battered woman’s shelter…,” my ears perked up and I knew that was where I wanted to be.
I really didn’t (consciously) understand why. I think I had the kind of, “oh, those poor women” attitude. Foolish girl I was.
Well, I did volunteer at my local women’s shelter and I was fairly impressed with myself for about… a minute! The first day I was there, I set my table up in a quiet, little counseling office, I started looking through some of the literature while waiting on my first client.
“Power & Control,” “The Cycle of Violence,” “When Daddy Hurt Mommy;” as I read through those little pamphlets, I felt like a veil was being lifted. I felt vulnerable and confused... embarrassed even. But in those moments, my journey of healing had begun. In those moments, I understood that I had not failed. Although my sense of commitment, my perseverance, my ability to forgive and my willingness to “take it” had come from my heart, this man that I had trusted had abused me. What he had done to me was not because I was too selfish, too slow, too stupid or too annoying, as I had been told so many times. He was sick and I had been his unsuspecting victim.
Years later, I heard that he had died. Suffering from severe bipolar disorder and abusing drugs for years, he was found dead in a modest apartment, four days after an overdose of prescription medication.
I went to see his mother after I had gotten the news. I hadn’t seen since I had left, 10 years earlier. We talked and had a really nice visit. She was genuinely happy to see that I was doing well in my life, and I’ll never forget what she said to me. She told me that on our wedding day, she had whispered to her sister, “God help that girl!”
If only I had known then, I sometimes think.
But life is full of “if only…” and I’m not sure how much they matter.
“Do what you know,” they say. Today I am a licensed social worker. I work as a therapist with children and women and I’m still involved with the women’s shelter, only now it’s on a clinical level. And I know that I could not do the work that I do, with understanding and true empathy, had I not gone through and survived that abusive relationship.
Some days still, I think back to that small, sunny office, tucked away on the third floor of that old Victorian house, that is the shelter; and I will always remember my moment of realization.
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