Violence Unsilenced.

Today, on August 15th an excerpt from this blog was shared Here on Violence Unsilenced.  If you are not familiar with the site it is a forum for victims of Violence to share their stories.

What first struck me about this is how many people are featured. There are stories from every life stage, stories like mine. There are also some stories very different from mine, but the outcome is always the same. The decision to leave is a difficult one. For me, my friend and my mother showed up and saved me. Some days I think I wouldn't have done it without them, but I remember the struggle in the days that followed my emancipation. How hard it was not to pick up the phone, to go back to him. How tiring it became being awake, my eyes throbbed as badly as my bruises.

It is in moments of reflection that I know that I needed to be brave to make it through this. It is in moments when I hear the voices or read the words of others who have made it through that I know I am strong. I know we are all strong.

For those of you who left comments,  words of love, understanding, support. Confirmation that violence can happen to any of us, there is no definition or reason. The reaffirmation that all that matters is that I survived, and I am okay, I am out and I get my life after 10 years.

Thank-you.


The excerpt can be read here, alongside the stories from others. It is defiantly worth a visit. I also encourage you to leave a comment. Trust me, it matters.

http://violenceunsilenced.com/

M

Happy Anniversary....

And it was gone, uneventfully, and truly undeserving of the attention and anxiety I had allocated to this day.  Looking back I'm not sure what made me think of it as some sort of ominous being lurking behind me for weeks prior. In truth It came, it went and though the thought passed through my mind for a fleeting moment there were no tears, little anxiety and a surprising feeling of normality that day. 

A lot can be credited to a good friend who swept me off to small town NY for the weekend to keep me as far away from the chatter and the sympathy texts as I could get. I turned off my phone, separated myself from social media and ignored my emails, and even though I anticipated the disconnect would help, I didn't anticipate barely a thought of what would have been my first anniversary. 

I am OKAY.

Today I had a moment walking to the mail room. It seems silly really.

As I took the trek across the office to the printer (which by the way did not print my document) I began to think about something. I began to think about my relationship with Husband. To date I have felt a great many things when he crosses my mind. I have felt angry, I have felt sad, violated, scared, nervous, or fall apart depressed.

Today however my thoughts followed a new path. I thought about how I felt picking myself off the floor when he hit me, how I felt when his face would turn a shade of red only familiar during outbursts. I thought about how I can no longer remember his smell or what it felt like to lie in his arms. And how I no longer care.

I thought about how I know what he did to me was inexplicably WRONG. I felt OKAY.

You see, I always thought that the hardest things to forget were the happy parts. The funny bit is it seems to be as the happiness from my last life begins to fade into the background as I learn to be happy with myself, for myself in my new life. As I begin to understand that my happiness is my responsibility I learn not to to lean on the memories of my former happiness and I am okay.

Nana

On June 8th 2004 I lost one of the most influential people in my life. At the time I was 17,  my relationship with my husband was new and wonderful and not violent, at the time I couldn't imagine what it would have become.

As a child I learned my Nana left my grandfather and moved to an entirely new province with my uncles and mother, she left a man she loved but couldn't be with. As a child I never pressed on about the story of my grandparents. If I had I would have learned that my Nana survived a turbulent relationship with a man that she cared about deeply, a man who was  troubled and she couldn't help. I don't know much else beyond these few stories, i don't know the intricacies or details, but I don't think I need to. The bit that I need to know is that she survived, because she left.

The last couple days my brain has wandered to Nana. It goes without saying that I miss her terribly, but lately my thoughts have been mulling over what my life would be like if Nana was still here. If I had known someone in my life who had gone through a relationship like mine and made it out. If there was someone who could have held my hand or told me to smarten up, perhaps if there was someone who knew what it was like, someone I could have opened up to.

I believe that I now have a stronger tie to Nana, one that I also share with more women and men than I know.  We managed to figure out a way to get out of something, realizing that love is not a reason for hurt. I wish that she was here to tell me it gets better, to tell me that the pain will fade into nothing, that I did the right thing and like she did when I was a girl run her fingers through my hair to ease a bad day. Even though she isn't here to sooth me any longer, knowing that she was able to overcome this, knowing that my decision to leave was the same decision she made 50 years earlier. Nana was always my favourite person on this plane. She was a constant place for love in my life and even 9 years later she is still supporting me and guiding me through one of my hardest passages.

Never a Choice a Man Should Make...

If you haven't seen this check it out. It really is a passionate response to a brave question. What is inspiring is the notion that even someone blessed with fame and a very successful entertainment career began his life in a terrible situation. What is even more powerful is that he came out of it not as someone who struggles with a violent past but who advocates a peaceful and stronger future.

 

 



Why my husband hit me confused me. To be honest, it still confuses me. From what I know about his life he was never abused, his mother or father were not violent with him or eachother. I use to wonder if it was because he was bullied, if it was because his dad would tell him to be a man more times than I can count. If it was because he didn't feel adequate or was struggling with something he couldn't let me see. These were the thoughts I would play in my head as I wondered if it was me, or him and how I could fix it, fix us, fix him.

The more I read about domestic violence the less I understand. I find more scenarios about why a spouse is abusive, yet none of them seem to apply to me.

The overarching theme seems to be that the abuser has in some form learnt the behaviour, been exposed to it, perhaps victimised or abused themselves. Sometimes I think back on what I know about his family, make excuses for his actions. Sometimes I try to accept that he was broken not me, and violence was a choice he made, not one I stimulated.

Mr. Stewart made one hell of a point through this video, no matter the reason violence is never, ever a choice a man (or woman) should make.

And I Blew Take 1...

A year ago today I was sitting in my condo, legs crossed on the floor. A year and a half of work lay in front of me. I sorted through invoices, checking my account balance after studying each one. I checked off lists and crossed off points. Text the girls to ensure all plans were inline.

A Year ago I sat in a home I thought I would share with a man forever. My wedding dress was hanging in the closest, the loveliest thing I had ever owned. I had a count down going on FB, everything was ready.

What the heck was I thinking? I can see you know, yelping at your monitor like a wild woman. How on earth could you marry a man who hit you?

Yea, I know.

In the happiest of moments he was not that man. He  was my true love. That's what I believed anyways.

The last couple days have been rough, really rough. I look back often as the date that would be my first anniversary. The anniversary we promised we would return to Costa Rica where we honeymooned. It would mark the first in many years together.

Instead I am sitting in a Starbucks Grande Green Tea Lemonade beside me as I sit hunched over Pouring my feelings out. Trying not to cry.

It's been six months of healing, and although the notion that my marriage failed hurts like bare feet on hot concrete- a lot of hot concrete. What troubles me the most is the thought that I used my shot. My chance to wear a white dress and walk down an aisle on my daddy's arm, my shot at planning and laughing and fighting through the process. I missed my chance to say that I married the (true)  love of my life.

I was never one for marriage, I probably would have been fine without it. I could have been happy without it.  But now that that shot is gone, I wish I had never cashed it in.

I know I wont be alone forever, I hope anyways. I know one day I will find that man who makes me happy without making a mark. I know I will one day get that happily ever after. And I know this person will love me with or without a ring.

I just cant help but wonder what my life would have been like without the divorce handstamp.

Learning to Forgive, and Move on

Trust has always been easy for me. You wouldn't suspect that. 

I believe that people are inherently good, that there is a fine layer that separates what makes us bad people and the good we are all made from.
I have always believed that if you focus on understanding the person, forgiving faults and believing that individuals are good, that they will be.

Here I am almost 6 months after finally having to give up believing that my Husband would stop hitting me. How do I feel?

My position hasn't changed. 

I still believe that people are good. We are not born or created bad. I don't believe that there is anything inside of any one of us that is preventing us from being a kind, or decent human being.

Growing up I was taught to be compassionate...

Even to those who did not show me kindness. I was taught that when a bully was mean to you it maybe was because someone bullied them. I was taught that when people where angry or upset or mean, you understand that that behaviour is wrong. 

Then, you forgive them...

Forgiving does not make what you went through right, or make negative actions or situations okay. By doing this you expel hatred or upset or disdain from your mind.  You release yourself from the situation, it allows you to continue to grow and move on.

Perhaps, even transcend into understanding....

Wish the person well. Wish that somehow they find their way and rediscover the natural good within them.

And eventually learn to trust...

Even though you might be ready to trust, you must learn balance Trust with wisdom. You can mend a wound, but would you put yourself back in harms way again?

Forgive yourself...
You will make mistakes too. Marry people you shouldn't, try too hard, eat too much desserts, buy expensive jeans. It's okay.

Does any of this mean you go back? No. Is what I went through okay? Not even a little.
But somewhere in my heart can I forgive my Husband for what he did to me and leave him in a distant memory? This I will need to do. One day.

Crazy Love+ Breaking the Silence.

When people know you have been through something they try to understand, they absorb information and share it with you, hoping it will help. In the time since I have shared my story I have received emails, texts and had laptops and tablets with content about domestic violence shoved in my face. I haven't really appreciated it until Best Friend P shared something with me yesterday.

This is Leslie Morgan Steiner. During her Ted Talk on domestic violence.

I will let you watch the video, but this is the most comprehensive and deeply truthful view of the domestic violence I have seen. A story that mirrored mine in ways that I have been thinking about over that last 24 hours. I have repeated this Ted Talk over and over again, studying her words, hearing my own thoughts echoing. It plays on the background of my laptop as I write you this letter.

I have bought Crazy Love and as I flip through the pages I am sure I will share what I find in those words.  On that note, Leslie brings up something in the closing remarks of her video. Abuse affects anyone, everyone, there are likely people within our circles who are battling this fight silently, Leslie states "abuse thrives only in science." this sentiment is wholly and completely true.

It was not until the words "he hits me" left my lips that I was able to leave, without sharing that with my friends, my mother only days before the last attack I am certain I would have soon after November 25th been applying another layer of cover up to new bruises, likely over top the ones that had yet to heal.

Telling them is what saved my life.

This sentiment also struck me for another reason, 1/3 American women or men have or are dealing with violence in a relationship. Somewhere in my circle of friends, someone is going through this hell.

Thus far I have been quiet silent about my ordeal, about what I went through. Select friends know, I write this blog under a pseudonym.

My own silence, even after surviving. My Voice and my story could be helping someone. Someone I love.

So my promise to myself, I will talk about it. I am not weak for experiencing it, I am strong for surviving it. I will share what I went through, with my family, my friends and this blog. Maybe one day someone will use what people like Leslie and myself went through to rewrite the next chapter in their lives and stop their domestic violence story.

On my Way Out of the Storm.

It is easy to be confused when the earth shifts.
It is easy to be scared.

It is easy to lose focus or to focus on the wrong things. To let your priorities fall through the cracks that have appeared. Four months after my world ruptured this is what I am facing. I am facing the challenge of rediscovering my life as it now exists. I am facing my old friends, many of who don't know the whole story. I am slowly looping people back into my world, sharing what I have been through, explaining not making excuses for my absence.

For the first little while my life was a party, I drank and I hid and I tried to forget that my old life had existed at all. I worked until the office was dark, sometimes I would sit there and stare out the window dreading the thought of again going to sleep on my mother's couch.

Drinking wore off, the hangovers mixed with the sleep deprivation and long hours began to wear on me. Slowly I became more and more depressed. I felt fifteen, I felt lost, I felt broken and empty and alone.

I would alternate the friends I would talk to on bad days so they would think I was doing better than I was. I didn't want to see their faces, I reminded me of that old life, the old life I wish would have washed from my memories with one of the blows to the head.

Four months later it is better, much better than before. Not quite okay. I've spent hours curled up on my friends bed as he hugged me until I ran out of tears, as I talked or cried. I've had days where  memories will flash and I will lose my mind in the back of a bus, or in the washroom at a bar. I've had moments where I smile more than I think I could. Finally I am starting to feel whole. I have begun to mend friendships neglected and give back to the people who have helped me. Though I know I am a while away from perfect, I am out of the storm a little more each day.

Home Sweet Homeless

Do you remember when you moved out, when you packed all your things, found an apartment and maybe half a dozen room mates and started on your big girl life.

Perhaps you remember moving in with your partner or spouse, or your goldfish and aunt Rita's hand me down furniture. 

I remember packing up my bedroom, spending $1000 in one go at the local walmart and moving into a small suburban one bedroom, 400 sq feet including closet space condo with my boyfriend. I was 23. 

It had been effortless, finding the place was easy, he wanted to stay out of the city. We had enough income to support most modest existences in the burbs and I wanted in suite laundry. Done. 

Well, Here I am again. Living with Mom and Dad, and 2 younger than myself siblings. Somewhere I thought I would never be again. 

For the last few weeks I have been tirelessly calling building after building, spending every waking moment post 5pm searching for that place. A new home. One that doesn't make me feel like I will die, or get buried by cockroaches fear factor style. 

3 years after my my very first apartment. I make more money, I don't have to consider anyone's preferences other than my own. Still, somehow I find myself 1000 times more overwhelmed that the cumulative total of condo hunting, wedding planning and Christmas Eve shopping. 

Then it hit me, when it always does. I was lying in my bedroom, listening to my father snore through the walls like he was trying to keep wild animals at bay, when I realized. My life is never going to be like it was. I will never have the things I had. It is a trade off. A trade of for my safety, for my happiness, for a fresh start at life. Sure, It can't be the same, but it will be better. 

So, I suppose I should get back to Google street viewing neighbourhoods where I have never been and debating beside Jr. 1 and 1 bedroom or Low rise and Highrise apartments. 

Wish Me Luck.