1) Free’d my mind! Writing them down somehow purged them from an awful, repetitive recording that played over and over in my mind; burdened my heart and soul. 

2) Made me grateful! I had found myself in a place where all seemed lost.  A broken family unit, displaced homemaker/mother of 2, shattered dreams and a life of fear.  I had to DIG DEEP, but I learned the true meaning of gratitude.  

I will share that blog with you now.

…Over ten years ago I found myself in a more than unpleasant spot in my life. Actually, I was afraid for my life and for the lives of several family members. My marriage was in a place that had turned from years of mental, emotional and physical abuse to sheer terror, fear and literally running for my life.

Years before, upon meeting who I thought was to be my knight in shining armor, my prince charming; we married. I cried on our honeymoon after experiencing the first verbal abuse. Days later, interrogated as to why I locked the door when using the bathroom. Two weeks into the marriage I witnessed him punch a hole in the wall after stubbing his toe. Never in my life had I seen this type of anger, rage or control. It was like a switch; from the person I loved to a barbaric creature.

The Beginning.

The first six months of our marriage were literally HELL. Furniture and household items destroyed, additional holes punch in doors and walls. And then finally, the day I locked myself in my car. No contact lenses in, no shoes; just myself, the keys and an abundance of fear. With verbal threats being shouted at me I planned my escape route. Before I could get out of the parking space my windshield and been punched and shattered. Squinting due to lack of vision, somehow I safely drove to my friends home. Tears were shed and I was in disbelief as to the events that had just taken place. It was then that I filed my first police report.

Soon after, I found out that I was pregnant with our first child. The destruction of property seemed to cease, however the angry temper of my husband would flare on a regular basis. We then had a second child together. Life appeared to be “normal” from the outside looking in, yet the verbal and emotional abuse continued inside the walls of our home. Then… it turned physical. Walking away from an argument to try and diffuse the situation, my husband came up behind me with the intention to slam my head into the ground. I believe my son saved my life that day. Per my husband, he told me later that as he laid his hand on my head he noticed our son watching him, eyes wide open. Thus, he stopped my head from hitting the floor with his other hand. The force of the impact caused hearing loss. A police report was again filed.

I left the next day, packed all belongings and moved hundreds of miles away to be closer to family. Obtaining a job, I tearfully enrolled my boys in daycare and directed my steps toward independence from him and the Hell we had lived.

For days my spouse plead his case, asked for forgiveness and maintained his desire to keep the family together. With high hopes of a “happy family” and not wanting to wear the label of “divorce”, I bought into his promises and dedicated my actions toward trying to “fix” and “rebuild”. Weeks later we were once again living under the same roof. The anger hid its ugly face for several days, its return unfortunately was short lived. Threats were made to destroy my clothes, crash my car, and hide my purse…another hole punched in the wall. Vividly I remember the night I protected my head as I lay underneath the covers of our bed. Due to the hearing loss I had previously received, I laid in the fetal position and braced my head. Ranting and raving, verbal threats were made to again physically harm me. I believe angels protected me that night.

Why did I stay?

The third marriage counselor was obtained. We began building a home. One month after moving into our new home, a broom was thrown, sticking the handle into the wall. Months later, trying to diffuse another argument, with dinner in my hands I headed back to my room. He followed me, threw my dinner at the wall and kicked in shelves next to the tub. He then proceeded to my office and destroyed it.

I can only say that as fast as he could flip the switch ON bringing forth the anger and abuse, the same switch could be flipped OFF bringing forth loving and semi happy days. It were these times that I would cling to, giving me hope as to “saving the family”. Not undermining the received abuse, an additional key turning point was the day my son (probably around 4 at the time) clenched his fist and said to me, “Want me to punch a hole in your wall mommy”? I knew then that I would not sacrifice my children for a man nor did I want them to exhibit his behavior. They had seen too much! My soul ached and I knew the end of our “family” was nigh.

Reluctantly, I agreed to leave that area and our beautiful home with the hopes of decreasing his stress, his anger and his rage with a change in career. One last attempt to save our little family right? However, as I suspected…day 2 in a new town, he threatened to “beat the shit” out of me and then disappeared for hours. Upon his returned home later that night, I informed him that his belongings would be waiting for him to pick up after work the following day and that he needed to find a place to stay. Substance abuse only fueled the fire within him I later learned from a close friend of his.

The Beginning of the End.

The beginning of what was to be the end came days later. My answering machine recorded his voice all too well,…”you just fucked with me for the last time you fucking whore”. When I called the number back, the female voice, laughing on the other end stated, “I think he is on his way to your house”. I grabbed my keys, my boys and ran to the car. Reaching a safe destination, I then learned that he had called my father, saying something to the effect of…”I’m on my way to break your daughters teeth out of her head, on to CA to kill my father and then I will return to take care of you”. Being over 300 miles away and unable to reach me, my father called the police. My husband was found at my apartment by the police and warned to stay away, in which he agreed. Later that evening I wanted to return home with my boys. My friend was adamant that I would be staying at her house. She told me that she would be happy to take me to pick up any belongings we may need, but that I would not be going home that night. Arriving at my home in her vehicle, with my boys present, we spotted my husband’s truck parked back in the corner of the parking lot. He had noticed us; had looked me in the eyes. I cannot describe to you the look on his face, only that it chilled me to the core. I knew that I was in danger, called 911 as instructed earlier by the officer. My husband ended up in jail that night. While there he verbalized what he wanted to do to me when he got out.
Switching him vehicles so I could leave the area for my safety, I found several knives underneath the seat of his truck and a black snow cap with slits cut in it for eyes. I again called the police who met me, picked up the items and advised me further. We left the state for a few days, but had to return in order to obtain a protection order, spent a night in a women’s shelter, and lived moment to moment in fear.

Moving Forward.

There are countless stories I could continue to share regarding the abuse, the damage that was done, the state of our little family. I had to ask myself; What is Next for Me? Where do I go from here?

My oldest son would not leave my side and suffered emotionally from the events he had witnessed. I needed to make a living quick and so I began painting my father’s lumberyard, my boys by my side. It was July, over 100 degrees each day but I accomplished the project. Knowing that my years of being a travel agent would no longer support a family due to the changes in that industry, I made the decision to return to school at the age of 30.

My first semester was painful; adjusting to student life, home work, finalizing my divorce, and juggling the roles of mother, student, and provider. Somehow I survived on less than 5 hours of sleep each night and graduated 2 years later from an LPN program with honors. We moved so I could continue my education. I was able to work as an LPN and support my little family while continuing on, obtaining an associate’s degree in nursing. Since then, I have continued my education on a part-time basis with the end goal being a bachelor degree in the science of nursing. I will obtain that goal this fall, ten years since I first enrolled back in school at the age of 30.

Never Give Up!

The last ten years have not been easy. Most of them I worked 2 jobs while continuing my education. Numerous times I have been asked how I did it. How I raised 2 wonderful boys, obtained an education and supported the three of us (as child support was never received). I believe my success was due to the passion I have for being a mother. Failing in this department was never an option. My boys deserved the very best I could give them in every area of their lives. They were my focus, my reason to get out of bed and the reason to move in a forward direction. I set short term and long term goals and adjusted plans as needed. Somehow I was able to jump hurdles that were put in front of me, even crawl around them at times. Sleep deprivation became my norm as I also attended sporting events and school activities.

There have been stressful days, tearful days, “poor me” days….days when I wondered how I could go on as I was physically, mentally and emotionally spent. I remember the night I laid in my bed with tears rolling down my face, trying to come up with just one thing positive in my life. Minutes later, becoming aware of the rise and fall of my chest, I was finally able to name it. I was still breathing! I knew that I needed to continue in a forward direction and find something else positive. I was physically healthy! My boys were healthy! We were safe! Letting the positive momentum continue, I gathered my strength and again moved in a forward direction. I had to… as I couldn’t fail as a mother.

How many people can proudly say that it took them 10 years to obtain a 4 year degree? I will be able to this Fall with one last class to take. I never lost sight of my long term goals even when the odds were against me (several semesters dropped due to migraines) and I wanted to quit. Never give up!

Jeanette

Written in 2008, updated in 2013.