(JUST STICK THROUGH TO THE END, I PROMISE IT’S GOOD!)
We’re not all blessed enough to reconnect with that one person we wished never got away. Some who do learn the unfortunate truth that life didn’t stop for them with good-bye. That they moved on and continued to change with each cycle of day shifting to night and then back again and became a different person in their absence, perhaps almost to the point of being unrecognizable. This is an unavoidable fact of life, that we are constantly undergoing change, adaptation, and find ourselves caught in an incessant metamorphosis into the person we wish to be. Some of us are carried into our circumstances by a gently drifting tide that caresses the shores with subtle grace as we are left behind on the warm sands in the sun, and some of us are chaotically thrown about and heaved onto a destroyed landscape by a massive tidal wave that churns us into a shell of ourselves resigned on figuring out how to survive.
During the days, weeks, months, and years we are trapped as victims in abusive relationships, we ourselves undergo unavoidable and drastic amounts of change. Not only do we become in many cases unrecognizable to ourselves, those who we were forced to leave behind through imposed isolation and dictatorial control over who we are allowed to see and communicate with would face the same obstacles. Once we are able to leave, we are no longer the same person we were before the abusive relationship began. Even the smallest things, down to music we listen to, books we read, movies we watch, and foods we eat can be starkly opposed to our tastes before we were changed into carbon copies of our abusers. Many of us, habitually trapped with the switch on autopilot have not even the capability to make the smallest of decisions.
Combined with the shame and stigma we carry when we first leave, trying to identify with others from the past when we no longer even have the slightest idea of who we were, because we no longer have someone standing over us telling us who we are, becomes frustrating and tedious. What do we talk about once leaving? How do we answer the “how have you beens” or respond to “Oh, I haven’t heard from you in forever, I thought you fell off the face of the earth!” or “What have you been doing with yourself?” “When’s the last time you did XXXX? Remember we used to go all the time? What kinds of things are you into now?” Even worse, “What are your plans for this weekend, next month, or next year?”
How then do you reconnect with these people from your past? Where do you find common ground and repair the bonds that were torn apart against your will? How can you pick up where you left off when that version of you no longer exists and you have no idea how to get any of your old self back again? Many of us have found that rift in some cases is impossible to bridge, and others, even if we manage to MacGuyer some semblance of connection back together soon feel the discomfort as misunderstandings and failed communication threaten to break the fragile threads holding it together.
The lack of those in our past being able to fully grasp the amount of chaos and change we were subjected to may begin to respond with impatience and indifference to our metamorphosis. Further, because who we are is so new, different, and distinct from the person they once knew, they may actually dread reviving that connection out of fear they no longer can understand or like the person we are. Some are even more unsettled by the fact that from that point we attempt to bring the relationship back to the forefront, we still continue to undergo change. This is unavoidable, because as the person they knew us as no longer exists, and we lost ourselves on the battlegrounds, we must begin the arduous and initially tedious process of figuring out who we are. That instability causes fear in many who prefer the old standby when given a choice of something markedly new.
My fear? What if their responses go beyond the initial impatience or indifference, to the point of shunning and criticism? This is a very real fear that many survivors share. Some of us, maybe more than I would expect, worry that we would face cruelty, judgment, overwhelming shock, and a pulling away followed by silence. For me, repairing severed connections is panic-inducing trigger. The fact that they remember how carefree I once was, how fearless I appeared, how strong and able to withstand bullying and the push and pull of ridiculous demands and expectations became a thought that would bury me in shame and lead me to pelt and punish myself with the questions and statements we cringe upon hearing:
“I never thought anyone like you would be a victim of domestic violence!” Define “someone like me.” I take this as an insult, a judgmental way to say that I was stubborn, bullish, and obstinate without really having the pair to come out and just say it to my face. The simple fact is that I am woman who used to always first look for the good in others, a woman who, when she loved, gave herself unconditionally. A woman willing to look past some things, because sometimes things happen in our lives. We all make mistakes. We are all imperfect.
In the beginning, he wasn’t actively abusing, because he was in the wooing phase setting his trap. And when things started to change, it was almost entirely imperceptible. We ALL have bad days from time to time. We ALL say stupid things out of hurt, frustration, stress, and anger that we wish we could take back. And in the beginning this is how it is offered up to us. It usually (for me it wasn’t initially) isn’t an immediate tirade. No one in the their right mind would stick around for that. So they sugar-coat the lie to be sweet when it’s really filled with arsenic. We only know something’s wrong when the candy coating is gone and along with an odd, bitter aftertaste, we begin to feel ill in our heart and in our mind.
“How could you let a man hit on you like that?” Well, you know, I figured being treated in a loving way wasn’t what I really wanted in my life. I thought long and hard about it, and I just made up my mind one morning to just push him until he snapped and threw my ungrateful, nasty, selfish body against the wall and choked me. It’s every girl’s dream. Seriously? What really happened is he took me by surprise, threw me against the wall when he knew I was distracted from getting ready for work and KNEW I wouldn’t see it coming, and choked me, and then for added effect, for emphasis, he punched me in the chest for my transgression.
“The Amy I knew would never put up with that!” Yeah, I decided that I wanted to try on the role of punching bag for a few years and see how it fit. You know, give it a go. I had nothing better to do with my life. What I hear when you say this to me is that I am a pushover, weak, inferior, and stupid. And I totally NOT ANY OF THOSE THINGS. I was over-powered by force by a man who has far more physical strength than I could ever have. But thank for you acknowledging the fact that I held my own and fought back. And that was not without consequence.
“It must not have been all that bad if you took it for four years.” Yeah, you’re right! I adored being abused. It was the best time of my life, and looking in the mirror and seeing the bruises, red marks, swelling…. gosh it made my heart melt! The reality is simple. When he DID work, he worked from home. He was always there, and he had me on lock down. He had people watching the house, watching me if I was out, and he monitored all email, texts, and phone usage, and kept me away from everyone I knew before I met him. I was a prisoner of his, and when I left, it was because he left me a small two-minute window of opportunity, and I took that and R-A-N. With nothing but what I was wearing and my purse.
“Maybe you did something for him to act like that.” Well, you know how women be, always talking back, running our mouths, burning your dinner because we sit on the couch all day watching soaps and devouring bonbons by the barrel! When I put that makeup on, I was just asking for it. You’re right. I deserved it with every fiber of my being. Really, there is NOTHING ON THIS EARTH I could have said that would deserved the abuse I suffered and endured. NOTHING justifies living in that kind of terror. I don’t care if the punishment is an angry word, a shove, a finger in the face, being dragged out into the woods and being lunged at with a tire iron. No act or word justifies it. Ever. EVER.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get over it!” Well, you know, I just gush at the attention I get from recounting the terror I lived through. It makes me feel important and cared for. Just because there are no longer bruises and cuts and welts polluting the integrity and beauty of my skin, it does not mean there is not still damage lingering behind that you cannot see. Damage of the most heinous kind. Insults. Obscenities. Threats. Dehumanizing, hateful, cruel, demeaning, dignity-robbing, soul-crushing words stabbing my heart. Scars from emotional abuse endure for months and years after we leave and take tremendous amounts of work to reverse. So I will get over it… when I have been able to reverse the hateful garbage I spew at myself when I make a mistake, drop something, trip…. When I can stop that, I will be over it. Until then, why don’t YOU get over it? It’s there, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it, unless you’d like to try some compassion and kindness.
“I don’t want to hear it!” Interesting, because when he was saying all those hateful things to me, I didn’t want to hear it either, but I did. Day in and day out, until it wore me out and emptied me, making him free to fill the void with whatever hateful thing he desired. What you really say to me when you tell me this is that hearing about something so hateful, dangerous, and prominent being reality causes you to have to acknowledge that this hateful thing happened to someone you know. As though you are somehow marred by its stigma. What you are saying to me is that you want me to be quiet, because if I’m quiet, then it didn’t happen to me, and if it didn’t happen to me, then really can it happen to anyone? Then it moves to the realm of the improbable, if non-existent, and allows you to forever live the rest of your life with your head stuck in the sand and ignoring the angry camel kicking you in the butt. And this girl cannot comply, and I am not sorry.
I speak of the preceding, because I have had to cut out a lot of people from my past. Repeatedly hearing things like this being said itself is cruel, but when it’s being uttered by those who claim to care about you… it is absolutely inexcusable. So I needed to act with kindness and love for myself and choose to let them go. Did I really hear things like this from people I used to know? Yes, and far worse. It follows, then, that you can clearly see where my hesitation from letting those in my past back in lies. Where it begins and festers. And surely you can also acknowledge the courage I must muster to put those nagging fears away long enough to open the door to let people back in.
Alas, a curse of mine is that I am a sentimental fool of the sickly sweet kind. Once someone has worked their way in (which is not an easy task at all), getting them out is not possible. Not if all the pieces were in the right place. Some of you may recall the anniversary posts I wrote beginning on December 14, 2013. One in particular came to mind as I wrote the early paragraphs, and I apologize for taking the long way around, but in my mind it was necessary. In Finding Friendship and Love: Overcoming Lack of Faith and Trust After Domestic Violence, I let you all in on a very important someone in my past. Someone who was not even really aware of how much he meant to me or the obstacles I was able to overcome as a result of the changes I underwent during the time I was with him.
I was extremely fearful to make that call to Kerwyn, but as the story goes, I needed who I needed. And it was him. A number of things could have happened as a result of that call. He could have told me he never wanted to hear from me again, he could have been with someone, or he could have been indifferent. Any of the preceding would have spelled disaster for me in those early days. It probably wasn’t a logical idea to act on, but if I had the choice again, I would do it in an instant. Still, knowing his personality and character from before didn’t do much to soothe my fears that I would hear the above statements fly out of his mouth. I also worried to the point of obsession that maybe once he learned who I was, or worse, who I wasn’t any longer, he wouldn’t be interested in talking to me anymore.
We had become different people in the several years we were apart, me far more so than he. Kerwyn’s never been what I would call inconsistent or flighty in his character, so on his end, most of the differences lie in the circumstances he could be in when I made the initial call that upended everything and turned life upside down on him. Again. (I’m a woman, I do these things.)
Once I revealed my set of circumstances to him, his view of me could have changed. Drastically so. Taking on a relationship of any sort with someone who had that much baggage dragging behind them can be daunting and threatening. At best considering my initial emotional state, it was a challenge. Would he judge me? Criticize how I handled things? Would he perhaps lower his view of my character, feel pity, loathing, annoyance, impatience? By my estimation, the possibility of any of these things happening filled me with terror. How would I navigate these conversations or mitigate and soften the images he may conjure up in his mind of as he pictured things I endured? Would he see me as a shadow of myself, my worth now belittled and destroyed?
I knew in my heart none of these things would happen, but who wants someone from their past seeing them in the shape I found myself? Less than? I have read over the past several months pieces written by survivors in various points in their lives, some only a few years out, single, navigating their first relationship since their abuse, married with family, a few decades out. Quite a few them mentioned relief at the fact that those they dated before they were abused could not see them in their new form, because they wouldn’t want to see or feel their disappoint at how low they fell. But what I see when I read those words is that hateful self-criticism, judgment, and under-estimation rearing its ugly head. I see lack of confidence in who they are now simply because they are not an inferior version of themselves, just a different one. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with being who we are now after the abuse. Imagine all we have overcome to get back to where we are now, wherever we find ourselves at the time you read this!
For myself, knowing that Kerwyn saw me both before and after Kevin’s horrendous acts of abuse gives me some peace. Why could this be when I am so different? When even the smallest things like music and hobbies have changed? My friends, he may see the things that I have lost, things that have changed about me. But the most wonderful thing about the before and after in this case is that he can look at me and see how I have grown. He can see the strength and courage it took not only for me to get through everything Kevin put me though for so long, but also the bravery and boldness it took for me to pick myself back up and find stability, face the aftermath, roll up my sleeves and work my way through. He can see my resilience, fortitude, and my amazing ability to have faith after a situation that threatened to take that faith and trust away. And that is a blessing no one should be without. The before and after.
wow – powerful stuff – I can’t believe how selfish some people are – you went through Hell and THEY are annoyed? See ya, losers.
Hope you are finding some peace in your life. You are loved, yes even by strangers.
I think part of the problem (that definitely doesn’t excuse it in anyway) is that it’s an uncomfortable, painful thing to have to look at someone you cared so much about and have to acknowledge that they were brutalized and violated. Since it’s so hard and uncomfortable, they would rather not talk about it, because avoiding it makes it better, easier FOR THEM. Then it means it didn’t happen. This is exactly the problem with violence in intimate partner relationships.. the silence. OF the abuser who you (unless he/she is so cocky and arrogant as Kevin) know isn’t going to reveal their true nature to anyone else so they can be punished and then be alone. Of the victim who does so out of fear or retaliation (even death) and shame and humiliation that they’ve “allowed” this (because this is what society tells them). Of the family of the abuser who may know but feels fear to be silent to avoid reprisal (as long as the victim is getting the abusive behavior they aren’t). Of the family and friends of the victim who think it’s private business and shouldn’t be aired publicly (keep your degradation to yourself no on needs to know). Of strangers who may see it and turn away because it isn’t any of their business (don’t do that out in public, keep it at home). Even of some law enforcement who try to tell the victim they were just having an argument.
At what point does this cycle ever stop? If I go the way of those I cut off, I would be miserable and definitely in not such a good place emotionally right now. I opt not be silent, and if this makes anyone uncomfortable, so be it. The world is not all fluffy kitties and wispy white clouds and sunshine. It just isn’t. And thinking that camel is going to stop kicking you in the butt with your head in the sand is going to go away isn’t either. Because I’m the camel kicking.
I ask sometimes how should I handle the what have you been up to questions instead of my honesty…. Tell them I took up boxing but couldn’t handle the duck-and-bob concept? It’s hard to please someone who insists they don’t want to be lied to and takes offense when you can’t tell them truth of what really happened, but when you do tell them, they say many of the things I included in the post. And worse. Because they want to avoid the discomfort and hurt and having to realize that even someone “like me” — intelligent, talented, someone who doesn’t get bullied easily, strong, steady, responsible… Even someone like me CAN and HAS BEEN abused. I wish they would instead wake up and change their focus, because the CAN change their focus… and put it on the fact that while this DID happen to me, I also GOT OUT. If I were to see that happen with someone I cared about, I would be too worried about their well-being, if they needed anything, and how I could help comfort them and make things easier for them instead of my own comfort.
But I have to remind myself that the world, even those closest to me, don’t always like the views in Amy-land. I live here 24/7 and from my point-of-view, things look pretty darn good. I get encouraged to hear stories (even if it does hurt) of what someone endured and HOW they got out. I endure the discomfort because sometimes life just goes horribly wrong. It’s how you handle it and what you choose to do with it that counts. So silent, me? Never, ever again.
Ironically, with all the bad that happened over the four years and five months I was being abused, the past fourteen months I have been away from, though filled with an enormous mountain of debt, being homeless and having to live with family, just now getting a car over a year later (because it was a GIFT) that isn’t on the road because I have to budget it out, to the PTSD I still struggle with, the triggers, the things I wish I could forget, and pretty much having to start over from zero… It’s been the best ever.
Thank you for your comment.
I wish you could have those responses printed out on business cards and pass them out when asked or stated. Perfect description of dealing with others in the aftermath of DV. Thank you for posting this. If you figure out a way to print it on cards let me know, I need to order some. It’ll save air and precious time.
Yeah, but you’d have to carry around a suitcase all the time… but what’s one more when you already have so much baggage! LOL
I generally try to be respectful at all times no matter how someone is speaking to me, but I have found if I get continually pushed in any way that might remind me of how Kevin used to act… The poor person on the receiving end gets a sarcastic, rude response. I have said some of those things to others in response to them, and even though many would say it was deserved, I definitely don’t feel they are my better moments. There are more intelligent ways to reply. Usually I can muster the control to give them, but sometimes….
For the most part, I have weeded out my circle fairly well. None of those I CHOOSE (yes they must meet my approval requirements LOL) to have around me would ever dare to say those things to me because they just don’t think that way. I have had to cut off people I have known since childhood. Some think it’s sad, but I think that not everyone can handle the strength of a survivor. And the rest just don’t care. If you can’t be kind, you have no place in my life and my circle just isn’t for you.
LOLOLOLOL….perfect pic. 🙂
I have been just dying for a chance to use that somewhere…. and lo and behold you opened the door and I felt compelled to walk through it. LOL
I’m glad opportunity knocked so to speak….lol
And I’m glad I had my hearing aid on to hear it LOL
🙂
🙂 🙂 🙂
As difficult as this is to read, it must have been so much harder for you to write. I can only imagine how long it took you (and no, I’m not referring to the word count). You raised some deep issues, not the least of which is this: DV survivors change. You have to. There is no way you can be the same person you were before, and it’s unfair for us to expect that of you, or for you to expect it of yourself. So I’m glad you embrace the fact of your difference, and use that as the foundation upon which to build relationships anew, particularly with people you knew before Kevin (or as you say, “Pre-K.”
I’m always amazed at your ability to deal with the aftermath of your experiences. You’re both stronger than you were and more vulnerable at the same time. That paradox makes life interesting, to say the least – but enjoyable all the same. I’m proud of who you are and what you’ve accomplished! 😉
First I love that you made a joke about my tendency to be verbose in my posts on the sly. That was smooth. I like that! LOL
A few months ago, that “V” word would have made me cringe. Vulnerable to me before was a word I’d use only to describe what I saw as weakness within me. But along with so many other things I misunderstood about myself, vulnerability is not a bad thing. During my Pre-K days, I mistakenly thought I was stronger if I managed to keep everything inside and still function without too many people being able to pick up on the fact that something was amiss. Don’t misunderstand.. I never thought that way of anyone else. I had an odd quirk with my personality that thought of myself talking about very personal things and letting others see my pain as weak. And all the while, when I saw others doing that very thing, sharing their most personal experiences with others, made them incredibly brave and strong.
I have learned that I was always cruel to myself, in a way. Now, I have somehow managed to re-work a few crossed wires in my head so I also apply that thought to myself. It takes tremendous amounts of faith and trust and confidence, and strength to be able to open up and let others see the things that maybe aren’t so pretty, polite, or pleasant. That you have suffered and have emotions and very real consequences to living through those circumstances — both positive and negative. I have learned that not only am I human, I have a right to be, and I deserve to treat myself with the same compassion, kindness, love, and forgiveness that I have always given to everyone else. It’s a shame I learned it the way I did, but I wouldn’t change any of it if I were given the opportunity. It’s a part of me, and I have come to love myself.
Sometimes out of love for not only yourself but others, it is necessary and often times urgent to display that vulnerability so publicly to others. And I think the strength you see actually comes from the vulnerability, not the way around. I think first before you can be strong you have to allow yourself to be feel and share your scars with the world. They are a true mark of beauty, as they show you have risen above and healed. And in seeing others’ scars, we get hope, and this is what causes us to be bold enough to stand. This is where we get our strength. From each other.
I also love your humor. It drives me crazy when people say things like “Why didn’t she just leave?” or “How could you let him treat you like that? “. Next time, I will try to remember your line, “Well, you know, I figured being treated in a loving way wasn’t what I really wanted in my life. I thought long and hard about it, and I just made up my mind one morning to just push him until he snapped and threw my ungrateful, nasty, selfish body against the wall and choked me. It’s every girl’s dream.” People who have never experienced DV really have no idea what they are talking about when they ask questions like this. I don’t fault them, they aren’t trying to be mean, they are really just ignorant of the subject. I like your post because it educates in a humorous way. Great job!
I keep forgetting that when I am here, even over and above the fact that this is my blog, I can say things the way I mean them and still have people understand that this is what I am trying to do… put some humor in to lighten up the darkness of what we are talking about. Quite a few people have raised objection to my use of humor about the abuse I endured, and they get so frustrated that I don’t see it as a weight to forever carry on my shoulders. Unless they missed the memo that everyone else in the office has read, I carried that for over four years. Until I was weighed down so heavily by it that I just wished I would die or he would kill me so that it would be over. I can’t go back to that ever again. And if I didn’t have that twisted little sense of humor, I’d be miserable.
I think some of them have the misguided notion that I am doing it out of disrespect. But really… I just so prefer laughing and smiling over moping and dragging myself through my life. So I make off-color jokes here and there about Sammy Sosa and Mike Tyson, having a trainer, etc…. and it will happen… It’s my way of saying I made it through, and I am happy so move on.
The questions…. I mean you can only answer them seriously so many times before your eyes start rolling around in your head like marbles. Especially when it’s the same person saying it. It’s like they forget that I have been asked all those questions like ten thousand times a piece by now… and more. The self control definitely gets hard to keep in line…. and then when I am asked “Didn’t you think you deserved more for yourself?” And I look at them all bewildered, desperately trying not to the let the “I thought you knew it was every girl’s dream to have her head slammed into the doorframe six times as her proper ‘Good morning’ greeting….” or “There’s just something about a guy who shoves bullets in my face that I find incredibly sexy.”
*sigh* I guess it’s a thing only those of us who have been through it can understand. Thank you so much for your comment and your understanding. It’s a relief. 🙂
You’re right, it IS your blog! I find myself being too serious at times. It is refreshing to laugh about it. Keep up the good work!
Reblogged this on Ladywithatruck's Blog and commented:
I think many of you can relate to this post by Sweetmarie so I am sharing. If you haven’t been to her site before, it is well worth sticking around and reading some of her other posts. You can’t help but be inspired by her fortitude and determination to not let abuse destroy her and her strength to share her experiences in an effort to help others. I really admire this lady and have immense respect for her; I think you will too.