Five years

Five years ago yesterday something happened. At the time I was angry, confused, and broken. The last straw was long before that time. I held onto those papers for 5 months praying for a miracle. I remember distinctly the rain coming down in sheets as I drove to the courthouse. I was desperately seeking God with hurt and fear and confusion. "Why?! Have not I been faithful? Have I not done everything You have asked of me?" I remember screaming. The rain just got louder as it hit the windshield harder with bigger drops as I drove.

I had been a fool holding onto false hope. It didn't start out badly, wait, yes it did. My ability to gage normal and healthy had never been developed, so I didn't know, until now. Raised by a wolf and treated like prey, it was easy for me to become someone else's. And so it went, as the frog in the pot of heating water, I failed to see the progression of erratic behavior, control, and abuse, but it didn't matter for so long as I was content being that puzzle piece, carrying a cross of sorts.

It began to dawn on me about 14 year mark when the alcohol had stopped. Something I had prayed long and hard for had happened. I felt this was the beginning of change....but it wasn't. The behavior didn't change. In fact, it got weirder as it continued to become more controlling. There were curtains drawn. Hours spent on the computer searching for compromising pictures of himself along with the heightened accusations of conspiracies. One night after an argument with a former boss (he just quit a job), he turned to me and told me he believed that I was in on the plot with his own father to make him look bad to get him fired. The term "freaked out" pretty well describes how I felt. At that moment, I realized that he had a serious psychological problem (to this day, he has not been diagnosed), but not knowing where to turn for help or even if there was help out there, I felt more scared. So, I did what any good health-conscience Christian woman would do, I prayed harder, read more books on the power of prayer, and turned to healthier eating and supplements to try to "fix" his brain. Nothing helped. He began to drink again after 4 years. It was harder stuff than before supplied to him by my neighbors who had no clue what was going on right next door.

Few people could see bits and pieces. My in-laws just saw the drinking part over the years. They didn't see the manipulation, lack of empathy, and the escalation of physical abuse endangering our children and myself. They didn't see the yelling, name calling, paranoia and accusations, and purposeful intimidation. In fact, they encouraged the issues of entitlement that were already at work in destroying our family. They didn't see the isolation I felt. In the end, all they could see was that I stopped coming around, stopped calling, stopped communicating. I was shutting down, only they didn't see it as that. No. Instead, they took it as a sort of personal attack. I believe they thought many things about my behavior as directed toward them, but one thing was for sure, I shut myself off from a lot of people, including members of my own blood-family like my grandmother, mom, and aunt (the closest people to me in my whole life). I was severely depressed and my entire focus in life was just to protect my children. Walking on eggshells was a way of life for the kids and I and connecting closely with anyone was beyond my realm of capability, including the "family" that said I'd always be like a daughter to them. Turns out, their acceptance was conditional. In court, my father-in-law on the stand admitted he did not know what happened to our relationship. He never bothered to ask either.

Six children. Now, judge if you must, I do. All I can say is that intimacy was not in the picture for the majority of our 20 years. I was the good wife who had a wifely duty. I had asked for something to be done long before that time, but concern over the "manhood" had barred anything from being done until after child six. But not to eliminate any responsibility on my part, I admit, my deeply Christian mindset of being the idyllic wife and mother of a happy large Christian family was overwhelmingly appealing though I nearly lost my sanity trying to obtain it.

It took a year and a half for the divorce to finalize. The nine hour trial was on May 18, 2011, but a few loose ends had to be tied up and we went back to discuss our oldest being a "child attending school" and my continued right to educate the children as I saw fit. Everything was wrapped up August 25, 2011. I had full custody and I was in recovery for PTSD caused by both my childhood experiences and the trauma from inside the marriage.

I am thankful for the few friends who loved me and my children, called on me often to check in, held me up when I needed it most. I am thankful for the attorney that fought for my right to continue homeschooling my children. I am thankful for the pastors and advocates who showed me that being of faith didn't have to look like I thought it did. I am thankful for my children who have made every battle worthwhile and often were my deepest source of strength. I am thankful for the wonderful man in our lives now who shows us what a healthy man looks like, who treats us with kindness and respect. I am thankful for ME, who decided to take that step toward freedom that March 12, 2010. It was one of the most painful things I have ever had to do, but I did it!