Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Truth-telling


October 30, 2014

I woke up knowing I had to tell the kids.

Too many people knew. Their aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, home teachers, and bishop-- J had spread the word of our divorce, hoping to build a wall of dissenting voices that would tell me how foolish I was and convince me to stay. Instead, I was certain that at any moment, my children were going to discover the demise of our marriage from someone other than me. 

Or worse-- they would notice the piles of papers I was filling out or they would catch a glimpse of the google searches I was doing for divorce lawyers or they would see the haunted look on my face or maybe they would just feel it in the air and know that SOMETHING was off-- the same way I had always known when something was off in my marriage-- and they'd walk around quietly feeling crazy, blaming themselves for an uneasiness and tension they couldn't articulate. 

I had to tell them. 

I woke up with the conviction growing within me; a whisper of peace in my ear nudging, "now, now, now," despite the fear lodged firmly in my belly. I was terrified, for although I knew I had to tell them, I couldn't fathom having J at my side when I did. 


I tried to convince myself that if I were a mature adult acting in the best interests of my children, I'd put aside my own feelings long enough to present a united front for them. I told myself that it was my job to allay J's fury, to brush off the stomach-twisting terror I felt at the thought of his presence in order to preserve our ability to parent together. But no matter how my mind framed my intentions to 'do divorce differently', my body was having absolutely no part of it. 

My physical reaction was both shocking and confusing. I shook uncontrollably--my hands numb, my teeth chattering--and merely speaking of J left me curled in a ball, sick with dread. Once again, I watched helplessly as my body made uncompromising, instinctual decisions for me. I simply would not and could not be in the same room with J.

What I now know is that I was in trauma; but at the time, I was ashamed of the fear I felt. I mistakenly believed that my inability to ignore my feelings about the man that had yelled at, belittled, and blamed me must mean that I was weak and doing something wrong. After all, I was certain that there would be hell to pay if I told the kids without J. I could see the backlash coming, and even so, I couldn't make myself conform to his wishes in order to prevent it. I had been mitigating J's tantrums for years and now when it mattered most, my body was betraying me. I felt like a failure.

But I knew-- I knew-- I had to tell them. That knowledge was the only bright and sure thing in my storm of doubt and chaos. 

So I did what I thought was only respectful-- I emailed J to let him know of my intentions. At least that way, he wouldn't be able to say I'd blindsided him, and perhaps my fears would prove to be completely unfounded. Maybe he would be gentle and empathetic, saying, "I understand. Of course I wish I could be there, but I trust you to do what is best. I'll talk to them later and let them know that I love them." 

I held my breath and pushed send.

Almost instantly, I was barraged by a hailstorm of phone calls and shaming, angry text messages. "That is unfair and mean!" "Stop doing this for you!" and "Now forever they will think of this news every Halloween. Not cool." 

Again, I was overtaken by a massive, physical response to his fury. I began to panic and started to pray, doubting whether I was doing the right thing, but before the words even formed in my mouth I was flooded with a feeling of, "Yes, now." So I left the phone off the hook, silenced my cell, and took a moment to speak to each child individually. 

It was like skydiving with only the promise of a parachute. 


I had hoped that if God ever asked me to announce such a thing to my kids, He'd also put the perfect words in my mouth to soften the blow. But He didn't. My kids were left with just me-- trembling with fear, but speaking with as much faith as I could muster as I testified to them that they were deeply loved by both earthly and heavenly parents and that we would all be okay. Some of the conversations involved questions, others tears, but all were simple and sacred despite how inadequate I felt. 

When at last it was over, I felt relieved and drained. 

I let J know how things had gone; what I'd said, how they'd reacted, and what had concerned them the most. I invited him to come speak with each of the children himself that evening, then left my mom to answer the door while I sought safety outside of the house. It wasn't until that moment, while I sat trembling in a parking lot around the corner, that it occurred to me that it was not my fault that I was afraid of him. He had taught me to fear him. He had earned my inability to trust him. This-- the fact that we couldn't even be in the same room while announcing our divorce-- was a consequence of his choices, not mine. That sudden clarity did not remove my fear, but it did take away my shame.

The next day J took the kids trick-or-treating. 

It was surreal-- several times he approached me, loudly confident and overly charming, trying to strike up casual conversation. His demeanor was arrogant-- it reminded me of the look in his eyes after he'd watched me cry, and as soon as he left, I was in the throes of trauma once more. Mom held me and tried to make sense of it. "If you aren't afraid that he'll hit you, what are you so scared of?" She asked. 

The answer came unbidden from my lips and surprised both of us. "Without sex, I no longer have anything to bargain with. He doesn't love me. There's nothing left to stop him. He has no reason to hold himself back."

"But what does that mean?" She asked, perplexed. "What could he possibly do?"

I shrugged helplessly, certain that punishment was coming, but unable to vocalize the dread I felt. 


The next morning, I found that he'd drained every last penny from our banking accounts.

6 comments:

  1. Dude is a piece of work.
    So glad you are rid of him!

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  2. I have no words. Wrong. I have words but they are bad words.

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  3. Emotional abuse is just as traumatizing, perhaps more so. This is hard to read, but thank you for sharing. I have so much admiration for how you have handled these intense challenges.

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  4. I keep wondering about you and your children---I have faith you have survived this incredible ordeal with grace and strength, but keep thinking about you. Do you have a new blog for your expression? I have so appreciated your honesty and transparency and even though I don't know you, I care for you.
    All the best,
    Joy

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  5. Hi- I am checking in with you to see if you are continuing your journey of expression... I do miss you!
    Can you let me know if I can find your writings elsewhere?
    I hope all is well!
    Joy

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  6. After 9 years in marriage with my hubby with 3 kids, my husband started going out with other ladies and showed me cold love, on several occasions he threatened to divorce me if I dare question him about his affair with other ladies, I was totally devastated and confused until an old friend of mine told me about a spell caster on the internet called DR. Okojie who help people with their relationship and marriage problem by the powers of love spells, at first I doubted if such thing ever exists but decided to give it a try, when I contacted him, he helped me cast a love spell on my husband and within 24hours my husband came back to me and started apologizing, now he has stopped going out with ladies and he is with me for good and for real. Contact this great spell caster for your relationship or marriage problem and all kinds of problem you find difficult to resolve and he will put a lasting solution to it. You can also contact him if you are unable to bear children. Here is his email drokojiespellhome6@gmail.com

    ReplyDelete