The sun had barely risen to the horizon that morning when I woke up in my daughter’s bed. As I turned around, I realized that during the night my neck and shoulders had been turned to stone. I got up slowly and began massaging my neck to release some of the tension and was immediately overwhelmed by an emotional exhaustion too intense for words. The horror of the night came to life again in full force.
Fortunately, none of our four children were home: three had spent the night at their grandparents’ house and one was at a sleepover. The timing could not have been better, as the events of the night encompassed a full gamut of terror and tears that ended without resolution long after midnight. I had confronted my husband about the relationship he was obviously pursuing with another woman, and he was infuriated with me for having the audacity to eavesdrop on the late-night phone conversation I overheard he had with her from our bedroom.
Having told him that I wanted him out, he flatly refused, insisting that he was not going anywhere and that I had no right to tell him what to do. Then he kicked me out of our bedroom, something I had regrettably got used to. I had no intention of sleeping in the same bed with him anyway, and I snuggled into our daughter’s bed and cried until exhaustion finally gained, offering me a few hours of respite.
After trying to restore blood flow to my sore muscles, I wearily got to my feet and tried to orient myself, to avoid confusion while standing among our six-year-old son’s toys and belongings. I barely heard myself whisper “What should I do, Lord? “
In the silence, I immediately heard the words.
“You must go.”
The voice was crystal clear and the directive absolutely convincing. In an instant my mind went from anguish and confusion to a sure purpose: to get out. Now. Adrenaline began to flow through my veins, and where physical strength was lacking, a sense of urgency washed over me.
John was still asleep. Without daring to face him, I knew I had to act quickly. I went to the garage and collected half a dozen large plastic garden bags and returned to the children’s rooms, where I began to fill the bags with T-shirts, jeans, pajamas, socks, underwear, school books, and toiletries. As the minutes passed, the fear of waking my husband sleeping behind the closed door just a few feet away grew, and I cringed inside imagining how he would respond when he realized that I had left with our children.
It was only a few minutes before he felt he had gathered enough needs to meet the immediate need. I threw my bags into my truck but wasn’t sure where to go. It was still early, I grabbed my cell phone and went outside, not daring to speak out loud in the house. Our neighbors’ houses were quiet and dark as I walked and prayed, then I called my mother and stepfather’s house where my children had spent the night. Even early in the morning, my stepfather replied cheerfully.
“Hello,” he replied in his usual friendly manner.
“Hi Gordon,” I replied stoically.
“Hello, beautiful,” he chimed in, as was his way. “What can I do for you this beautiful morning?”
“We need a place to stay,” was all I could muster, and her voice immediately deepened, as if she knew how dire the situation was. He didn’t even hesitate, didn’t communicate with my mother, just said the words I desperately needed to hear.
“Come quickly,” he said.
“Thank you,” was all I said when my voice broke and we hung up.
I hurried back to the house, got into my truck, turned the key, and pulled out of the driveway. Arriving at Mom and Gordon’s house a few minutes later, my stepfather met me halfway. He wrapped his arms around me and held me while I cried, then he warmly walked me home. My children were at the dining room table, chatting over donuts and milk in their pajamas, innocently unaware of the drastic turn of events. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I told them.
But I knew in that moment that our lives would never be the same again, that when I walked out that door, I walked straight into the Great Unknown, a world of a thousand unanswered questions. I didn’t know anything about what it all meant, what to do next, what to say to the people in my circle, or how John might respond to the note I left on the kitchen table explaining that he would no longer live like he used to.
I didn’t know if there was any hope for our marriage or how the children would cope with the cataclysmic change. I left with no plan, no answers, and no idea what the next day or the next month or year would be like. In fact, there was only one thing I was sure of: I had to go.
For the next several weeks, my life turned into chaos of he-said-she-said phone conversations, one-on-one counseling appointments, and compromise efforts that soon faded into screams. For almost a month the children and I lived with my parents, until John finally agreed to live somewhere else so that the children and I could return home.
I would like to be able to encourage the reader by sharing that things have softened and settled over the days. (They didn’t). Either you suddenly had a workable plan, or you knew what to expect and how to handle the drastic lifestyle change. (Je n’ai pas.)
The day I left, John called me in disbelief. He told me that he couldn’t believe he had gone to that extreme; he was exaggerating as usual. A few days later, when my resolve held up and I brought up some of his patently unacceptable offenses, he decided to get clean and sober, go to therapy, break up with his girlfriend, and promised me and the kids that “it would never happen.” again. “For a few weeks, it actually seemed like his changes might be the real deal.
Even though I lacked peace, I felt compelled to give it another chance, and after three months of separation, it moved again. That was one of the worst decisions I have ever made. It wasn’t long before I heard the sarcastic and biting tone in his voice return as did all of his other nasty little habits and addictions.
When confronted, he argued that he needed to give her room to fail. I reverted to my role as facilitator while calling it “patience”, and after three months, any favorable changes in their behavior had completely disappeared. I told him to leave as we had agreed before we reconciled, and he left, grumbling all the time about my unrealistic expectations and my terrible lack of faith.
Her absence from home altered the type of stress we were living under, but in no way did it end it. For me, there was still no solid foundation to lean on. I felt stuck and confused, unable to make firm or final decisions. As incredible as it is, I was still hopeful that our relationship could be restored.
Although separated, John would try to push the boundaries at every opportunity. We had an agreed after school schedule so that I could have time with the kids, but I would find it at home even after I got back from work, in violation of our agreement. He complained that I was hindering his efforts to be a “good father”, and would often come home with him waiting for me to make dinner and then ask if he could stay and eat with us, and many times I was forced to tell him to go out. . Now I know that John created the stage not only to shed his weight, but also to make me look like the “bad boy” to the kids. Actually, I think the kids appreciated it when I insisted that he leave.
Shortly after the second separation, our thirteen-year-old daughter begged me to file for divorce. John, on the other hand, asked me if I would wait a few more months before making a decision to give him time to change. In no rush to divorce, I agreed to wait, much to my daughter’s disappointment. But just a few days later, after he lied to me for the umpteenth time over the phone, I found myself suddenly, peacefully certain of the fate of our marriage, our marriage bond permanently broken by John’s continued and deliberate moral failures, and shortly thereafter. .
Surely that cleared things up, right? No, that decision only brought with it a new realm of uncertainty.
- How would the children respond to divorce and what kind of emotional support would they need?
- Will I be able to do it financially?
- How much would the divorce cost?
- Would the children and I have to move?
- Would they have to change schools?
- What would the custody arrangements look like?
- Who would take care of the children after school?
- How could you balance full-time work with single motherhood?
- Would my friends and family support my decision?
Each question alone was intimidating, and taken together, it seemed that no aspect of our lives would remain intact.
“Difficult” is an inappropriate word to describe the long months of instability that pass slowly. “Atrocious” is probably more accurate. I cried a lot and prayed a lot and told the Lord how tired and desperate I was for it to all end. I prayed continually for strength, patience, peace and wisdom, for His divine provision and for closure. I prayed for my children, the lawyers, the mediators, and the judges. And I also thanked God every morning when I woke up in my bed, happily alone, and I praised Him every night for giving me the strength to spend one … more … day.
And even when the divorce papers were signed 16 months later, and the children and I were able to stay in the house they called home, and people faithfully reached out to help us, it was still very difficult. My work days were long and hard, and getting home for meals, housework, schoolwork, bills, car repairs, yard work, grocery shopping, and hurt kids was very , very difficult.
But it was so much easier than living with an abuser.
Yes, God made a way for us, and I have never regretted my decision to go out that day.
I know that many victims of abuse want to know what to expect if they leave. Certainly, it is ideal to be able to establish a support network and define an overall legal and financial landscape prior to separation, to limit the unknowns. But sometimes there is no way to know the answers to all the questions and possible scenarios beforehand. And there may come a point where the only thing you know for sure is that you simply have no choice but to walk out that door and into The Great Unknown.
Although I walk in the midst of anguish, You will revive me; You will stretch out your hand against the wrath of my enemies, and your right hand will save me. Psalm 138: 7