A Story of Emotional Abuse
“Stop. Just stop assuming you know the answer to fixing a broken relationship. This is not a relationship you could possibly understand. Your judgment only further enslaves a woman and her children.”
Maybe that’s what you feel like saying to those who are trying to “help” you. Here’s what they need to know.
Emotional Abuse
There was no punch on the first date with my ex-husband. That’s not normally how abusive marriages start. In fact, my first date was probably pretty similar to yours: He was charming, he paid attention to me, and he flattered me. He was the picture of the man you know him to be. But that isn’t who he is.
Of course, the red flags were there in the beginning of my relationship. But I was young and naïve, probably much like you were in the beginning of your relationship. Except that my marriage took a different turn than most.
An abusive marriage takes time to build. It heats up slowly - like being placed in a cool oven, heating up so slowly that you can’t even tell it’s on fire you until you’re burning.
It begins like a little heat that you don’t even notice — an off-hand remark that is “just a joke.” I’m told I’m too sensitive and the remark was no big deal. It seems so small and insignificant at the time. I admit to myself that I probably am a little too sensitive.
I need a ride to the doctor and ask if he can take me. He says that gas is too expensive and I should have scheduled it at a time that he’d be out already so I don’t use extra gas. I guess I should think of things like that - I don’t want to be a burden.
My family comes to visit from out of town, but he can’t spend time with them because they’re here during the time he does his exercise workout. It seems odd that he can’t simply change his schedule, but I guess he just doesn’t think the same way I do, and he says I should accept him as he is, so I do.
The kids are little and are excited to see him when he gets home. They run to him, but he walks past them and complains that the toy they were just playing with isn’t put away. I guess he’s had a long day. There’s grace for that. I make sure the kids are quiet and everything is clean when he gets home (although he always finds something to complain about).
Where has he been all night? When I catch him in a lie, he tells me I’m crazy for thinking he would do something like that. Maybe I am crazy … I’m beginning to feel like I’m wrong a lot.
I occasionally notice that maybe the temperature is getting hotter, but it’s no big deal. A public joke made at my expense is just my husband trying to be funny. A night that he doesn't come home is just me assuming the worst.
When he tells me I’m too fat or too thin and what I should wear, it only means he loves me and cares about me.
When he won’t go out of his way to do something for me, it’s just a difference in the way we were raised.
When he tells me I should spend more time with him instead of with friends, I agree. My husband is more important than a friend, so I pull away and don’t continue my friendships.
The heat begins to get uncomfortable, but you don’t sell your house over a broken thermostat. So I try to fix the thermostat. I tell myself that my perception of what’s happening is off, and it’s not as hot as I think it is.
When a sexual request feels a bit uncomfortable, I tell myself it must be normal. So is having sex to relieve stress, anger, illness, tiredness, or to celebrate . . . really, sex must be the answer to everything. And if I’m not in the mood, it doesn’t matter - it’s my job to get in the mood. There must be something wrong with me. He wants me to figure it out and get over it.
Waking me from sleep becomes a regular occurrence. I am no longer allowed restful sleep. I have to be available at his beck and call.
It’s starting to feel normal to be awakened in the middle of the night. I get lectured about how I need to be more respectful. I have to repeat back what he says so that he can be sure that I’m not falling back asleep and that I’ve heard him.
I begin to compensate for the heat in my marriage. I’ll do better. I’ll be a better wife. I’ll make sure the house is clean and dinner is always prepared. And when he doesn’t even come home for dinner, I’ll keep it wrapped and warmed in the oven for him.
I’ll keep the kids quiet when he gets home, and I’ll wait for his cue that he needs something from me. I don’t dare do anything for myself when he’s home.
On a day I’m feeling feisty, I make a decision by myself about something the kids ask for. I regret it later when I’m told I have to undo the decision. How dare I do something without his permission.
When things seem like they are getting better, he comes up with a new rule to stir things up. When I object, he says “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
In the morning, I’ll help the kids get ready so that they don’t have to ask Dad for anything. When they don’t do things the way my husband thinks they should be done and I defend them he says “Shut up! I’m sick of you! You have no right to oppose me!” He’s right. I’m his wife. I should support him. We’re supposed to be “one.”
The temperature is pretty hot now. I’m afraid to look at the thermostat and see what it says the temperature really is. The denial is real.
If I hadn’t said what I did, he wouldn’t have gotten so mad. It’s my fault; I need to just keep quiet. I should know better than to try to suggest anything to him.
He’s right — I really am selfish and arrogant. He goes to work every day so I can stay home with the kids. Of course he needs me to himself when he gets home from work each day.
On the rare occasion I do plan something with a friend on a day that he will be home to stay with the kids, he suddenly has plans, and I have to cancel mine.
Can I have a friend over? Not if it means the kids will be left “unmanaged.”
The kids can’t spend time with friends, either, because we “can’t afford the gas” to drive them to a play date - or any extra-curricular activities for that matter.
We attempt marriage counseling, and I admit that I don’t do enough to support him, and I will try harder. The counselor is satisfied, and so is my husband.
Is it getting hot in here?
I’m working so hard to be the perfect wife and have the perfect family that I don’t take the time to notice the paint is starting to bubble from the heat.
My church mentors tell me to read books and listen to lectures on praying for my husband and understanding his needs. I do everything I’m told. I get so good at it that my husband and I start to teach marriage classes at church to tell others how to have a good marriage like ours, too.
Reality check: I begin to ask others questions about whether something is OK to tolerate in my marriage. Some people say it seems off, but they don’t have any advice other than “don’t assume the worst” and “don’t say anything negative to him” and “pray for him.”
I’m not sure which scares me more: The fear that others will find out that my marriage isn’t that great, or that my husband will find out that I told the truth about our marriage.
My husband is gone for a week and the house cools off. It’s noticeable. When he returns, I become aware that the house is on fire (figuratively, of course). I don’t know what to do, and my husband doesn’t seem to notice.
I also see the fear in my children’s eyes. Who will protect them?
How did we get here? Who have I become?
The evening at the dinner table when he throws his bowl of chili across the kitchen, shattering the bowl to pieces and coating the kitchen with chili, right in front of the kids. I stand in shock.
The day he chases our son with a huge knife as my son tries to get away, and then my husband calls the police on our son for being “disrespectful.”
The night he throws his keys at me and narrowly misses my head, I try to pack the kids in the car to leave, but he blocks the doorway and holds us hostage, yelling and saying how disrespectful we are.
The wee hours of the morning when he charges into the bedroom waving a knife at me and yelling at me as I try to wake up and comprehend what he’s yelling about. He later tells the pastor that “it was a blur.”
The night he stomps around yelling and throwing things for 45 minutes while the kids and I sit there and cry and listen to him demanding that he deserves respect.
The unreasonable things he accuses me of: “Are you cheating on me?” he yells. Me? The one who has been faithful to a fault?
He pushes the kids around and I try to stop him. He says: “If you call the cops I’ll let them know you’re the one abusing me!” He’s a master at deflection. His actions are no longer the focus. I’m the one on trial now.
I’m no longer the woman I was on our first date. I’ve become timid and weak in front of him. I feel confused and defeated. I chose this man. It’s my fault.
With every breath I take, it’s my duty to keep these kids safe and keep my life together. It’s the only life I’ve known for seventeen years. I want my marriage to work out. I stay.
The fire continues to consume our home.
On a typical anger-filled evening, I say enough is enough, and I decide to defend myself and the kids. But he’s stronger than I am. I see the look in his eye as he hovers over me. Who is this man, and why doesn’t he love me? “Go ahead and leave,” he sneers to me. “But the kids stay here.”
My retreat that night is all it takes for the house to burn to the ground. Despite my best attempts, my life has fallen apart.
I have no money - he has always been in charge of the finances. I open a bank account in my name. He finds out and takes my account information, password, debit card, everything. I go back to the bank in tears and they help put security measures on my account so I won’t be left with nothing.
He makes me feel so guilty and ashamed for doing what seemed like reasonable measures to take care of myself and the kids.
I start to wonder why he’d always made us feel so poor. We couldn’t supply the kids' needs. The shower had to be lukewarm to save money on energy costs. We woke up seeing our breath on cold winter mornings (and he clapped and celebrated his success at keeping the heating bill down when we’d mention that we’re cold). Food goes bad in the fridge? We’d have to eat it because we were told we couldn’t afford to waste food. Expensive luxuries like hot cocoa mix were not an option.
I pray for the strength to be the wife I should be “through Christ who strengthens me,” and I hear a still, small voice say, “I’m not going to give you strength for something you shouldn’t be doing.”
I start to wonder what I’m missing, and I go to Scripture to seek God’s will. I add some things to my list of Christ-like behavior:
defending myself and encouraging others to do so as well
name-calling
calling people out on their double standards
accusing people of what they’re doing wrong
telling people not to be so generous that they are no longer taking care of themselves
saying it’s OK to throw people out who aren’t pulling their weight
getting angry at people who were more concerned about the institution of the law than about people
advising his followers to leave where they’re not welcomed
speaking against others
criticizing
escaping persecution
[Get my entire resource on “What Would Jesus REALLY Do?”]
I’m one of the ones who got out. I’m no longer in the marriage, yet scars run deep.
Abuse doesn’t always manifest as a black eye or a bloody wound. The effects of emotional abuse are just as damaging. It keeps people fearful and on edge.
Although many would think that a diagnosis of PTSD is a bit extreme, years later certain situations still trigger trauma responses like fear, fight, flight, or freeze.
When my personal freedom feels threatened, I feel like I’m right back where I was years ago, sitting and cowering on the bedroom floor, trying to placate the anger of a man towering over me.
I worry that not only has my daughter witnessed a man mistreat her and her mother, but that my sons have had a poor example to follow of what it means to be a real man (and have been mistreated as well). My children have never felt protected or cherished by a father. And they have wounds to heal from, too.
Why couldn’t I fix it? Why won’t my grown children have anything to do with him? Because he cannot change. If anyone could have changed him, it would have been me. I knew how to make a relationship work. But it didn’t work. Because one person can’t fix it.
But one person can heal. And one person can leave. And one person can hope for change from a distance. That’s what my children and I are doing.
So don’t think that you have the answers. Don’t think you can tell us what we should have done or what we should do now. You can’t even fathom what we’ve been through. And we’re not going back.
We’ve discovered that . . .
hope isn’t found in our situation changing; it is found in our situation . . .
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