My Victory

The worst thing that ever happened to me - worse than breast cancer, worse than ITP - happened to me on a late afternoon in West Virginia.  It was early autumn.  The sun was making ready to disappear for the night.  The now ex-husband and I had uprooted ourselves and our children earlier that summer in order to be a part of an "intentional community."  It is with a great sense of irony that I use the term "intentional" to describe my life at that time.

On this particular early autumn afternoon, the ex-husband and I were arguing.  I don't remember what we were arguing about.  (I don't remember the content of any of the arguments that ended in violence.)  I only remember the last words that left my mouth: "I'm not your mother."

At that point, the ex-husband flew into a rage, pushing me down a staircase, dragging me out into the yard, throwing me down on the ground.  I was laying on my back.  He got down on his knees and straddled my chest. He wrapped his hands around my neck, squeezing it tightly, using it to repeatedly lift my head and bang it on the ground. Over and over he did this, snarling unintelligible words in time with the banging.  So what I heard was a word or two interrupted by my own gasps and grunts as my neck was forcefully pulled upward and as my head hit the ground. I could not breathe. The only thought in my brain was Oh God. This is it. I'm going to die now. 

I vaguely remember my children standing nearby.  I often wonder if they fully took in what was happening.  I wonder how they felt as they observed their father assaulting their mother.  I remember ex-husband guy ushering them inside as I laid on the cold ground with the colors of sunset hovering over me.

Dark orange. Brilliant pink. Deep blue. Midnight blue.

I felt as if I were becoming part of the ground - cold and hard like a rock. I was heavy. Frozen. The vibrancy of my life slowly seeped out of my body as the colors faded from the sky.  I do not know how long I remained on the ground.  I felt the chill and the damp of the autumn night falling onto and into me.  I might have laid there all night under the silent stillness of the crystalline stars. I remember a tear rising to the surface of my eye but not fully manifesting. It never rolled down my cheek.

I do not remember getting up, going into the house and interacting with the ex-husband and the children, which I'm sure I must have done.  Because I'm not lying on the ground now.  I must have gotten up.  I must have pushed myself away from the safety of the cold ground and back into the continued motion of family life.

On that night, I ended.  I died.  Checked out.  I put the requisite time and attention into being the primary monetary provider for the family, into preparing meals for the children, making sure they were dressed for school and the like. But part of my attention remained there on that cold hard ground, staring at the sky, trying to feel alive.

There is absolutely nothing worse than feeling dead inside and trying to pretend like you are living.

Eventually, my awareness returned.  I have memories of events that occurred after that one, including more episodes of violence. A beer bottle nearly hitting me in the head as it was hurled across a room. One of the children's favorite bowls filled with cream of wheat smashed against a wall. Being whipped across the back by a denim dress with brass buttons again and again as I curled up in an attempt to shield myself from attack.

It took a while, but I left the husband, who is now the ex-husband.  I knew that if I didn't, I would end up dead.  Not that he would have murdered me.  I probably would have killed myself.  Thoughts of driving my car at high speed into a tree planted themselves firmly in my brain.  So much so, that I had to actively fight the urge to do this on my way home from work every night.

It occurred to me that I must choose to live or die.  And I must fully commit to whatever choice I made.  For example, if I chose to die, I must stop beating about the bush and off myself.  And if I chose to live, I must really start living.

I chose to live.  At the time, I made this choice for the sake of my children.  I did not want to impose a lifetime of psychological suffering upon them by taking my own life.  Additionally, I wanted to send a very distinct message to them both - but especially to my daughter - that the type of abuse to which I subjected myself was unacceptable.  No one ever needs to be reduced to that degree of humiliation and shame.  I come from a long line of women who married abusive drunks.  It was time to break the chain for future generations.

I am constantly amazed by the number of beautiful, smart and talented women who are or have been physically abused by a man.  Having come out of it, I understand how difficult it is to extract yourself from that scenario.  I stayed with my husband much longer than I needed to. I had to reach a point at which I felt courageous enough to leave.  And I needed the safety of a support network.  This was absolutely crucial.

It is important to note that I did not feel completely empowered to leave the ex-husband until we moved back to North Carolina and I lived in close proximity to my family.  I found a job and began to establish a network of friends again.  I opened my own bank account.  I needed to have a safety net in place.  My family and friends provided a great source of strength to me.  And through their love, I began to realize I needed to take better care of myself and my children.

Initially, I blamed ex-husband guy for the violence perpetrated against me.  Then, I went through a phase in which I owned my share of the responsibility for the dynamics of our relationship.  Now, I have come full circle and realize that no matter what I did to contribute to the fucked up dynamic of our relationship, I never physically assaulted the man to whom I was married, the man whom I professed to love and who professed to love me.

Anger is a volatile emotion.  But there are any number of things one can do with it.  Anger does not need to result in assault.  Period.

Assault is against the law.  This simple frame of reference could have helped me so much had it been present in my psyche back in the day.  But I accepted assault as the norm - as part of the dynamic of my relationship with the ex-husband.  I suppose I accepted assault as the norm because I grew up seeing it in my immediate and extended family.  A certain degree of violence, it seemed, was simply a part of life.

I now reject that attitude. Violence is not a part of my everyday life.  I have no tolerance for it in whatever form it manifests: verbal or physical.  I am quick to call bullshit on any type of bullying.  I walk with growing strength and confidence.  I am grateful for my life.

Not every woman makes it out of a violent relationship alive.  I nearly didn't.  But I accepted the challenge of rescuing myself and making my life count.  This is my Victory.

I wish for all people to believe that they have value. I wish for all people to understand that violence is not an acceptable form of communication. I wish for all people to free themselves from the traps established long ago by a patriarchal belief system - a system that is outdated and destructive in nature. I wish for all women to acknowledge their strength, their power, their absolute wildness and to never, ever, become domesticated.

~In Memory of Sarah Browder~