Telling About Abuse

Gwen: I Didn't Start the Fire

At first it was unclear to me exactly why I didn't tell for so long. But as my world crumbled around me, a new world was being built: one of truth and love, free from abuse. With the telling came a destruction of perceived reality and the building of true reality which would only grow stronger.

My telling didn't begin by my own work; it began at the hands of my abuser. It certainly was not his intention to reveal that his "dearest" wife was daily used for emotional target practice, but still he did. It was also the farthest thing from my mind to consider that his treatment of me was even wrong and that I might have some recourse against it. Years before I had steeled myself against the harsh perception that I was destined to remain forever bound to the maniac who called himself my husband. So when the day came that I was unable to find a suitable excuse for his outright abuse, I was terrified. How was I to maintain the image of marital peace when I was now being treated the same way in front of others as I was at home? How was I to defend his actions when others were now witnessing the very behavior?

It had been "comfortable" to be abused in the privacy of my own home. No one else saw it, I didn't have to make excuses, and once I left the doors of my home I began the play-acting that I called my life. Because there were never any bruises, it was not too difficult to hide. Being in a new city among people who never knew "me" before, made it easy for my abuse to avoid notice. For them, the absence of bruises meant the absence of any cruelty. They never saw the inside, however. They never saw the disappearance of hobbies, interests, skills, gifts, talents, or other little joys because they had nothing with which to compare me. To them, the real "me" was the one being created in our home, changing ever so slightly each day until I became the person the abuser wanted me to become.

Because of these facts, the telling was only believed by those who knew the original "me" and could recognize the changes. It was those Precious Others who made it possible for me (both the old and new) to begin telling. Once it started I found it impossible to stop. Of course, I still qualified everything, taking as much blame as possible, downplaying the abuse as if I could somehow redeem it. Thankfully those I was telling could quickly recognize when it was the old me or the new who was speaking. Until I was able to make the decision to flee, they helped to slowly strip away the new me, peeling back the layers of protective deceit and false happiness until they found the person they once knew. The real me.

Once I saw the difference in all of its raw glory, the telling spread from those Precious Others to a pastor and some friends. It was their involvement that began the escalation of the abuse and the eventual necessity of my leaving.

So I didn't start the fire (of telling), but I didn't put it out, either. It was that fire that lit the path that led me home.

Gwen: But He Repented

In Christian circles, it is often believed that repentance means there should be no consequences. This is never stated, but for all practical purposes, it is a belief held quite tenaciously. It is also commonly believed in Christian circles, that because a person says he has repented, it must be true. And if that person can then perform his “repentance” in front of others, all the better for his story.

It is when some other person takes this repentance and exposes it for the falsehood that it is, that the uproar begins. No one wants to believe that a man who mourns his condition, apologizes fiercely for his sin, and weeps over the loss of his family has some ulterior motive. Likewise, no one wants to believe the wife who challenges his sincerity and does not immediately obey his command to return.

Something happens, though, when abuse occurs. More than the just physical or emotional maiming of a life, there is the destruction of a relationship that may never be restored. When a man so abuses his wife that she flees and does not even miss the man that she fled, he has caused more damage than the naked eye can see. The common Christian counselors miss it (or ignore it) because they are only looking for change. At the first glimpse of brokenness or sorrow over sin, they jump all over it, inwardly touting their own skill at helping others. For some reason they are never taught that their subjects may be performing a great drama in their office, and returning home to further abuse the family. For the wife who sees this, she feels utterly alone and helpless to do anything. Attempts at revealing the true nature of her husband only cause the counselor to believe she is bitter and hard. And when that wife becomes convinced that the marriage is dissolved, she is in sin and the Bible is used as a weapon to bludgeon her with guilt.

For those who have not experienced this, it is often very hard for them to understand why an abused wife would not return to her repentant husband. Does she not love him? Does she not care about her husband and children? It is somehow not possible for them to view the intricacies of their own marriage and recognize the damage that is caused to all areas when even one is violated. She is supposed to want and desire to immediately return to him, resume physical intimacy with him, and proceed as if nothing ever happened. But for the woman who has had her self stripped barren of all dignity and value, that may never be possible.

I have been, am, and forever will be this woman. While I am not still removed of my me-ness, I am considered by many to be the one in sin, unrepentant, unjustified, unbiblical, and with a seared conscience, unable to acknowledge conviction of sin. What these accusers are unwilling to recognize, is that I am also the one who was told by her “repentant” husband, that she would be better off dead than separated from him. I was told that the children and I should be cast out on the street without any resources. We would then be faced with our need for him and would happily return. My situation was likened to that of a prodigal child and an unwed mother depending on her parents. Yet I was expected to desire a reunion with this man. It became a sin for me to allow the natural consequences of abuse to run their course. Because he was able to produce tears on demand, his acts toward his wife and children were ignored and the attention turned toward his rebellious wife.

While I could ramble on and on about the inconsistencies of so-called Christian counselors and their unwillingness to really see truth, there is more of my story to be told. Through it all there is likely to be a thread of frustration that therapists are not more informed and open-minded. The reader will also notice the reality that just because my husband claimed repentance, the desire for reconciliation is absolutely non-existent. When my entire personality was violated, so was the marriage covenant. My refusal to return is the natural ramification of a broken vow.

It is my hope that someday there will be more understanding in “Christian circles” for wives who feel abuse to protect themselves and their children. Someday I hope they will be seen as whole people who truly hold marriage in highest esteem and in so doing will not submit to its abuse.

Gwen: Never Alone. Always Lonely

It didn’t help that he left for work so early in the morning. He didn’t return home until late afternoon, and that was no real comfort either. Technically, we didn’t spend a lot of time together. But he was always there.

I crawled out of bed by myself each morning, but I was never alone. Oh my, I’ve slept too late. What if he calls and asks what I’ve been doing? Quick! Start doing something “busy”.

Except for the sounds of the children, there was not a lot of noise in the mornings, but still I could hear him. Why are you putting on makeup? Isn’t that expensive? I can’t even tell when you put it on. It’s just a waste of time. You know you don’t need it. You shouldn’t use a blow-dryer; it’s bad for your hair. Why do you take so much time to get ready? Why is the bathmat wet?

During the day, I liked to think I could do as I pleased, but he was always there, making sure I did my job to “please him”. I must remember to run the garbage disposal long enough. I must not forget to bring in the mail today. I must make sure to have supper ready. Did I move anything of his? I must be more careful. There. I’ve been talking on the phone. Now where did he leave it last? Don’t want him to see it’s been moved. I guess I should clean out the refrigerator today. He would want me to. But what if I get it too clean? He’ll say I wasted food.

I had always been very good with children, especially my own, but his “remote presence” was constantly chiding me to do it his way. Don’t put soap on the kids. You’ll just dry out their skin. They don’t need this many baths per week. Why are you putting them in shorts? I always wore jeans when I was growing up. Why is this diaper still out? That was irresponsible. Why isn’t he eating his food? Make him eat. Keep him quiet! Can you take him out of the room? Turn up the fan so I can’t hear him crying. Stop going in there with him. You’re feeding him again?

Even until a few months after I left him, every waking moment of my life with that man was with him. I couldn’t see him or touch him, but his presence hovered around my every move, wafted out in every breath, and often even spoke for me. It challenged every decision, no matter how menial, and caused me to question my own judgment on the simplest of issues. My days became filled with dialogue like the above; plotting the answers for the questions I knew would begin when his body came home.

This is, perhaps, a commonality between good marriages and abusive ones: a constant feeling of the presence of the “other one”. The difference, though, is in the feeling. My image of marriage was always one where I looked forward to my husband coming home, enjoying each other’s company, but respecting each other’s space. My reality? I was a caged animal, pacing back and forth, looking for that safe corner where I could truly be alone.

The concept of marriage itself implies a certain understanding. You are a couple, two people made into one, a single-minded unit, a blending of hearts and hands, a companionship where the strengths and weaknesses of both people are recognized and understood. It also implies a desirable togetherness. So these questions may seem out of place in most contexts, but it may yet be worth asking: Just how alone are you allowed to be? What about your thoughts? Are they yours, or are you forced to change them, for fear of being asked, “What are you thinking about?” Are you you, or are you becoming someone you don’t even know?

Are you lonely, but never alone?

Gwen: Only One Thing Lacking

It is extremely important to be on time for your own wedding—and I was. In fact, I was ridiculously early. Painstakingly applying mascara to every eye-lash, and being certain my lipstick was the exact shade of tawny rose became a matter of national importance. My hair had to be perfect, my nails newly painted. The crinoline under my ivory gown had to be smooth and flawless. There could be no thread out of place, no hair unaccounted for on this day—this Day of All Days.

My shoes were carefully chosen, appealing to my “fun side”. Sure, they came from Target, and tied up with white shoelaces, but who would see them anyway? I took great pleasure in finding ruffly white socks to complement my clunky white sneakers, and waited with great excitement for the day I would wear them.

Jewelry is also important on That Grand Day. My decision was to wear a pearl necklace I had been given at the wedding of a friend, as well as matching pearl earrings I had purchased for my own Special Occasion. The rings would be forthcoming, so my left hand remained bare in anticipation. Shortly before the ceremony I was given a diamond necklace from the groom, bestowed upon me by my future father in law. The chain was a bit long, but with a little creativity and Scotch tape, everything was set. Everything would be perfect.

There were still last minute details, however, and they were given every attention. I remembered my dress still needed a slight alteration on the shoulders. With a flash and a flurry, an attendant had whipped out a needle and thread to make the necessary adjustments. Everyone helped to make this day the most wonderful for me. No one forgot a single minute detail.

As I began the walk downstairs with my friends, I inquired about the location of the groom’s ring. With a quick double-back to the room (that I pretended not to notice), all was set and we made our way to the ceremony.

The girls proceeded to their places in line while I waited in a nearby classroom for my cue. We had worked very hard, and everything was in place. The music was beautiful, the decorations seemed to have an extra shimmer, and the world smiled at me.

My “moment in time” had come, and as I took my father’s arm I tried to remember every second. This day had to be perfect in my memory.

Then that moment in time was over. The closing piano selection accompanied me as I walked from the front of the church holding the hand of my new husband.

No! Wait! This day was going to be perfect! My smile… why did it feel this way? So plastic, so forced. Why did I not look at the photographer when he tried to capture that first moment as a new couple? Why did my heart lurch in embarrassment to be kissed by this man? Why did I feel that rushing panic in my head? It was all so hurried and unexpected. What had I forgotten?

The cake was there and the gifts were piled in gracious abundance. My hairs were all numbered; I had said ‘I do’. There was a kiss, music, laughter. There were flowers, pictures, a smiling audience, my new shoes, and the love of friends and family. I could see nothing out of place.

Lists had been made and checked, double-checked, triple-checked. RSVP’s were received and inventoried; place-cards were in perfect array. We found an affordable caterer, a photographer, a preacher; and a honeymoon was planned. My heart was ready for the giving, my lips for the kissing, and my hand for the holding. A new life would be joining mine, adding to what I lacked, lacking what only I could add. A unit of harmony and care and sheer marital bliss was to be formed on this day. What else could I have forgotten?

It took four and a half years for me to know what was left behind, and no amount of list-making or planning could have made it appear. It wasn’t I who had forgotten anything, it was he.

Yes, he had a tux and a fresh haircut. He was not late. There was a gift for the bride and a ring for her finger. There were tears at the altar when the vows were read. There was that “first kiss” he had been counting on. He said ‘I do’. His faced showed a look of triumph and satisfaction meant to demonstrate his love for his bride. But there! That was the forgotten thing.

He had forgotten to sing to me with his heart, to talk to me with eyes, and to listen to me with his arms. His face forgot to read mine. His hands forgot to hold mine. His body forgot to respect mine. He forgot the cherishing, the adoring, the nurturing, the caring, the hoping, the helping, the guarding, the longing, and the creating of a place in his soul that only I could touch.

He had forgotten but one thing on that Day of All Days, but without that one thing, all else was for naught.

He had forgotten to love me.

Gwen: How to Marry an Abuser 101

It’s really not as simple as you think—this business of marrying an abuser. In fact, it requires the methodic loss of key life skills, and the gain of other “skills”. Of course, to get to the actual marriage of an abuser, you have to first snag them and keep their interest. This is easier said than done, so it is of utmost importance to discuss the techniques necessary for meeting, maintaining, and marrying an abusive man.

I. Meeting the Man of Your Nightmares

This is probably the easiest part of the entire process, as the number of abusive men rises daily. You can find them anywhere: your local bookstore (they’ll be browsing but never buying, creasing the spines and dog-earing the pages), on the internet (they’ll innocently ask if you would let your hair grow long if they “preferred” it), and even at your local church (where they will frequently be found rubbing shoulders with anyone in authority).

At first, though, they may be difficult to spot. Many of them are smooth talkers, clean cut, with nice teeth. (Still, there are others who never bathe and have had the same haircut since 1989.) Because they enjoy the instant gratification of a blushing female, they may shower you with compliments and praises. Just keep listening… this will last only as long as their simple desire to see you blush. As their needs increase, so will the demands. In case you’re afraid you won’t notice this subtle act, remember to look back at the early days and compare. This is the only way you will feel confident of having found the abuser you desire.

II. Maintaining the Ego of a Broken Record

Broken records only say one thing, and they say it over and over and over again. Abusive men are no different, although the uninformed victim might overlook his methods if she is not educated. The average abuser has a mantra that keeps his lifestyle alive. Listen closely and you will hear it: Yourjobistomakemehappy.
InMEyouliveandbreatheandhave yourbeing.
Withoutmeyouhavenootherpurpose.

To maintain a functional relationship with an abuser, it is crucial to understand his life motto and to satisfy it daily. When this does not happen, either the abuse will escalate to far less comfortable proportions, or you will be dropped. To avoid either scenario, you must play your cards right.

Remember these rules for Maniac Maintenance:

1. A “request” is a command. Obey immediately.

2. His wish is your command. Respond appropriately.

3. Your life is his to alter. Do not resist.

4. His faults are your fault. He treats you like a child only because you act like one.

5. Your friends are his to steal. Do not expect to ever have normal friendships again. Hey, the sacrifice is worth it, right?

6. Your family is unimportant and uninvolved, except when they’re over-involved—which is always. Don’t you know what it means to “leave and cleave?"

7. His freely-given “rebukes” are always well-deserved. You really should have known better.

8. What’s yours is his, and what’s his is also his. Stop being so selfish.

9. Forgiving means forgetting—completely. You shouldn’t be so bitter.

10. Your job is to serve him. Isn’t that in the Bible somewhere?

11. These are secret rules. Don’t ask, Don’t tell. Obey them perfectly.

There you have the 11 essential maxims for the proper upkeep and continuance of a perfectly unhealthy abusive relationship.

III. Marrying the Man behind the Mask

Now that you know how to nurture the high needs of your budding relationship, it’s time to examine the issues surrounding marriage to your Commandant (we will cover other “pet names” for your abuser in later classes). Remember not to expect too much romance. For a man with such a single and high-maintenance need, it would be too time-consuming for any great thought to go into, well, anything. Expect utter simplicity and be happy if you get lemon in your water. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the monotony.

When he asks you to marry him, it’s completely normal to feel an obligation to answer “yes” based out of fear rather than love. In fact, you’re likely to think it was your “fault” that he proposed anyway. He probably felt sorry for you, and this is his attempt to provide some stability in your life. Remember, you’ve been unable to cope with much of life since this relationship began, and you know it’s because of your deep-seated needs for affection and approval. At least, that’s what he tells you, and he’s never wrong. Isn’t this exciting?

As the day approaches for your wedding, it is wise for the no-longer-blushing bride to prepare for certain responses to time-honored events. Your abuser will likely be offended that he is not invited to every bridal shower (this will apply to the water kind after you are married), he will pout when the gift registry includes more kitchen items than garage items, and you may be asked to present your vows for approval. I repeat: this is normal, and you will adapt.

Your wedding day will be a blur, and your honeymoon will be the official consummation of your abuse. Now you are alone, and you will be silently ordered to obey rule #11 flawlessly. Only disrespectful wives tell anyone about their husband’s rancid behavior. But you have taken this class and you are prepared to give up everything you have ever known or loved to be the wife you think he wants. Of course, you’ll never get it just right, but that’s half the fun!