Unhealthy Relationships: A Personal Journey

[This post was written in response to a fellow-blogger’s post that has since been removed.]

What I am about to share is very painful, and hasn’t been shared in one place, and as a coherent narrative, before. Please bear with me. I’ve not shared this before because it’s so hard, but if it helps someone, then maybe it will be worth it.

When I met the man who was to become my husband, I was 24 years old and committed to a single life. While I hoped some day to marry and have a family, I was too focused on the things I was learning and doing in my life to really seriously consider a relationship. I had not dated for several years, and did not have any intentions to date. The place where I was working (an organizational headquarters that also served as a sort of quasi-college campus) had very strict guidelines about interaction between the genders, and dating/fraternizing was grounds for dismissal.

I met X at a company function, and thought him a strange person. However, as the months went on, we kept discovering mutual interests. A group of people decided to get a choir together; when I went to the first meeting, he was there. A group of people decided to put together a small orchestra or band; when I showed up for the first meeting with my flute, there he was with his clarinet. Different groups of people got together to hold special dinners—those of Irish descent, for example, or those who wanted to experience a Passover Seder—and when the organizational meetings were held, there he was. A few people who played chess got together, and he showed up. It seemed like everything I was interested in, so was he.

And people started to talk. It caused some problems with the administration, but we both denied any special attentions, and things were smoothed over.  Then when I went home for Christmas one year, his family had contacted mine to suggest that we get married. My dad posed the question to me, and I said yes, thinking that we would be compatible, as we had so many things in common. Despite all of the trouble we had been subjected to because of common interests, we had become friends, and he was highly regarded at the organization for his kindness, caring, and character. From all that I had heard, he seemed like a perfect match.

We got married in 1996; I was one month shy of 27 years old. I knew I was in trouble within ten minutes of heading off for the honeymoon. But I was too young and stupid—and stubborn—to admit I’d goofed, turn the car around, and go back to my family. Besides, you always think it will work out … Love conquers all, doesn’t it?

I’m here to tell you, it doesn’t. My husband was a classic narcissist, and his problems were made worse by a cult-like upbringing that he had further twisted to his own means. I didn’t exist except to please him and to meet his needs; he was the head of the house, and if I had a problem, I needed to leave it with God, not confront him with it. My needs, wants, fears, desires, concerns were unimportant in the scheme of his life, and he lost no opportunity to let me know it. All that mattered was his needs, etc., and mine were mocked or ignored. I became pregnant the week after the honeymoon, and I was very sick.

That was when the criticism started. He worked all day, and he had the right to come home to a clean house with a decent meal on the table. He shouldn’t have to help around the house; that was my job, since he was earning the living. Oh, the fights we had. I would scream, and yell, and cry, and get hysterical. I would try to stay calm and reasonable. I started begging him to let us go to counseling. But no, the problems were all mine, not his, and he didn’t need counseling. It’s a wonder, with all the stress, that I didn’t lose the baby.

When I was 8 months pregnant, X was laid off. I had seen it coming; he wasn’t really suited for the work he was doing, and his boss had talked to him about his slowness on several occasions. And the company was going through some difficult times, leading to a couple of previous rounds of layoffs. But, can you believe, his losing his job was my fault. If I had been a better wife, if I had maintained the home so he didn’t have to worry, if I would just be content and not complain and be sick all the time, he wouldn’t have lost his job.

We ended up moving to my hometown because there was work there and it was not too far away. Being near my family was great but scary. I didn’t want them to know just how bad it really was. Just how cruel he was with his words. And how neglectful he was with his actions. At the same time, I desperately needed the close support of my parents as I struggled through the last weeks of pregnancy and fought to heal my marriage. If it had not been for Mom and Dad, I would probably have killed myself. I didn’t see divorce as an option at that time, and I knew that I wasn’t perfect, so how could I point the finger of blame at him?

I began seeing more and more problems after the baby was born. X was impatient and angry, expecting unrealistic behaviour. At one point, he told me to go spank our two-week-old son and make him stop crying. I refused, and he said he would. I threatened to call the police. When the baby was about three months old (and our marriage not quite 12 months old), I actually left him.

We had been through a big argument that day about where we were going to live since the house we were renting had been sold (at that point we had 15 days to find a new home ) and he called me some unforgivable names, and even sicced his family on me to try to bring me around to his point of view. I “went home to mom,” but we had a long conference the next day, with my dad as referee, and I agreed to let him come and live with me at their home until we could find permanent digs. To this day, I kick myself for that.

Over the next few years, we found a home and moved in, had another baby 17 months after the first one; I had major surgery after two years of illness; he found a job, got laid off two years later, and then found another job. Every time something bad happened, it was my fault. We fought incessantly. He completely withdrew from intimacy because I didn’t want to get pregnant again right away and he didn’t believe in using any form of birth control. (The doctor and midwife had told us that I needed at least two years before I even thought about starting another pregnancy.) Our arguments always degenerated into his saying something hateful and slamming the door on his way out of the house. His best friend called me an opprobrious name, and X let him get away with it. Then I discovered the e-mails that they had been passing back and forth discussing what a horrible person I was.

I went to a divorce lawyer to explore my options. X found out, and things got worse. I told him that I had not yet determined what I wanted, but that if things didn’t improve, he would push me too far—so far there would be no turning back.

I hit that point in 2000, when he threatened to spank our son for whining, and, when I told him I wouldn’t let him, he visibly stiffened, clenched his fist, and then stomped out of the room. I cannot tell you how close he came to hitting me. Up to that point, all of the abuse had been verbal or psychological: withdrawal, telling me I was stupid, refusing to speak to me, that kind of thing. But this time was different. I saw him go rigid, and I involuntarily braced for the blow. (It was in no way a conscious thing. Adrenaline took over, and I watched it all happen like I was standing somewhere else. It was the weirdest thing I have ever felt in my life, that visceral reaction to an imminent threat.) My one thought was, “You’re going to hit me. Fine. You may hit me and knock me down right here in front of the kids, but, by all that’s holy, I will bounce off the floor, grab the phone, and dial 9-1-1, and it will be the last thing you do in this house.” But he stalked off before he could follow through on the punch.

I called a divorce lawyer and made an appointment. We got the papers all drawn up, and then I was told that X’s parents were coming to see us from the several thousand miles away, so I told the lawyer to hold off until after their visit. Unfortunately, they were in an accident and his dad was killed on the way. So I put it off for six more weeks, until they buried X’s dad.

One week after the funeral, I took the kids and moved back into my parents’ home. It took nearly three weeks to serve him with the papers, though I told him what was coming the next day. Only now, after four and a half years of my begging for counseling, did he find a counselor and start working on the marriage. But it was too late. I couldn’t trust him anymore. And when I found out that he had been using our home computer to access pornography, that was the icing on the cake, as it were. The vow of faithfulness was the one vow that I thought he had kept. It destroyed everything when I found out that he had not even kept that promise.

So that’s the history of what I have to tell you today.

When is enough enough? Now! No matter what you think, these people do not change. Your passivity, your refusal to take action, only makes them worse. Perversely, it encourages them. They will go from ignoring you to calling you names, and from calling you names to hitting you. And if you don’t get out then, I am here to tell you, they will kill you. And don’t feed me any garbage about “he just can’t control his anger” or “he just forgets about birthdays because he’s so busy.” That’s horse-poo. He doesn’t call you names or hit you when there are people around, does he? He doesn’t ignore you or give you the silent treatment when he’s at your family’s dinner table, does he? And I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut that he doesn’t foget his own birthday, or his mom’s. Of course not, because he knows other people would not let him get away with it. He respects them—or himself—enough to control himself when they are around. So it isn’t a self-control issue. It’s a power issue. He thinks you aren’t strong enough to stand up to him like anyone else would, so he walks all over you. Are you going to lie there and let him?

What to do? Demand counseling. If he refuses, or if he goes but doesn’t really engage in it, leave him. And tell him in no uncertain terms that you will not be back until there are some real, definite, positive changes in him. Not in you. As far as he is concerned, you consider yourself perfect. (You can deal with your own faults in private, with your own counselor, but do not acknowledge them to him. Or to anyone who might tell him.) And then don’t go back. Don’t talk to him on the phone. Refuse to have any contact with him at all except through either a licensed counselor or an attorney. Find a good family law attorney, brief him on what’s going on, and ask him to help you protect yourself and your kids. Have proof. Copies of e-mails, letters, journals, or receipts. Make a list of people to whom you have spoken about the problems, or who may have heard him say something demeaning or abusive.

In any case, the thing is to act now. Because the longer you let him get away with inconsiderate or abusive behaviour, the worse things are going to get. Take it from someone who let it go on for four years before taking action, and whose children suffered because she was too cowardly to make a move.

Tags: abuse, challenges, character, divorce, Family Life, True Stories