"Nurse, Heal Thyself"

anon456, BSN, RN

On January 1, 2016, I drove home after my 13-hour shift as a nurse in a pediatric hospital. I noticed his car was gone. As I entered the house, my daughters rushed forward and embraced me. One took my lunch bag, and the other took my purse. "He's gone," they said. I opened the door to my new bedroom, the one I was reclaiming after leaving it a year earlier for the spare room. It was in chaos. My clothes, removed from a dresser I had agreed to let him have, were piled haphazardly on a bench and spilled over onto the floor. He had apparently changed his mind about the dresser after all that, and it was in the middle of the room with two drawers removed and two others gaping open like a grotesque broken-toothed grimace. The mattress, now absent its frame, was sitting on the floor stripped bare. Trash and dust bunnies littered the floor. The bathroom trashcan and half the towels were missing. He left his soap but took the shampoo. But he was gone. Really gone.

As a critical care nurse, I have seen the aftermath of many chaotic scenes: dirty, bloodied linens thrown into the corner, an abandoned IV pole with a half-used bag of fluid dangling an IV line that is no longer connected to the patient. Syringes littering the floor, and medication doses written in haste in marker on the window of the ICU, to be charted later. As I surveyed the bedroom that was to become mine again, the word "afterbirth" came to mind. As in, this was the remnants of a room where a very traumatic birth had taken place, but in the end, everything was going to be fine. This was the scene of the birth of my new life.

We fell in love in college when I was just becoming an adult. He was a foreign-born grad student. I was an English major. I was strong, having survived a childhood of trauma and abuse. College in another state was my escape and my chance to find myself. I had started to do just that when I fell in love with him. He was gentle, respectful, mild-mannered, and very handsome. He was a good lover and a good friend. I knew he would never hit me or abuse me. But I was wrong.

The person who makes a good lover and friend does not always make a very good husband. The man who was charming, charismatic, and always had a ready smile for strangers slowly became more controlling towards me as I became more dependent on him. It was a slow squeeze, one I didn't start to feel right away. It got much tighter when we had our children and I became a stay at home mom. When I felt the squeeze, I made excuses like, "he's just tired after a long day." I blamed myself by saying if only I was more . . . fill in the blank . . . he would not have gotten so angry. I am a giving person by nature, and I gave my all to try to make the marriage work. I gave it my soul. I lost myself in that process. His co-workers would come up to me and tell me what a nice man he was. And yet at home, he could be incredibly cruel, and then manipulate me to believe it was my fault he was being that way.

When my youngest daughter, who had struggled with a myriad of health issues since birth, turned two, I realized how vulnerable we all were. I could not escape. And even if I found the courage to do so, I had no way to support myself and my two children. Inspired by my daughter's health problems, I started taking pre-requites to nursing school in night classes at the community college. My husband, who saw this an opportunity to increase our family's income, was supportive of my efforts. When that same child with the health issues started Kindergarten, I started nursing school on a full academic scholarship. When that child entered second grade, I was hired as a new grad into the pediatric ICU of a large children's hospital. Over the next four-and-a-half years I built my career. I became a seasoned nurse, a stand-in clinical supervisor, and a leader. But at home, I was still being abused.

Two years ago I had a milestone birthday. I woke up one day and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired. I could not find that young woman that had made her escape from an abusive childhood into a new life. To make things worse my husband was now starting to control our daughters, now ages 12 and 15, in the same way he controlled me. One day my youngest, now a 12-year old, asked me, "Mommy, how can you stand him treating you like that?" I didn't have a good answer. I had decided a few years earlier to just endure for the sake of the kids. I thought I was being brave and doing the right thing, but I was miserable.

Last year an acquaintance called me in tears, saying I was a good listener and she needed a friend. Over the next three hours, she told me about her emotionally abusive partner. After listening to her, I asked her what was the next step. I advised she leave him and started to help her plan it. And then I thought to myself, what a hypocrite I am! I was advising her to leave while I myself was continuing to come home to an abusive partner.

Also last year, a long-time friend who I had not seen in over a decade, one who is a spiritual leader in her community and who once served in that role to me, came to town. She said she was concerned for me, that I was not the free-spirited happy person she remembered. I broke down and told her about the marriage. She hugged me. Then she held my shoulders, looked into my eyes, and said, "Nurse, Heal Thyself."

I took her challenge to heart. Her visit awakened my spirituality that was once so important to me. I joined a spiritual community and surrounded myself with new friends that were loving and supportive, many of whom shared their own stories of survival. I started to meditate nearly every day, and to seek a direct connection to God. I started to value myself more. I reconnected and strengthened bonds with old friends who had seen me through the early days of motherhood and now we were raising our teenagers together. In July 2014 I began my BSN studies so that I could make my career choices stronger. I started to aggressively save money and quietly plan my escape.

In early November of 2015, I told my husband of nearly twenty years that it was time for us to separate. He reacted by rolling his eyes and blowing me off. We had had this talk before. I told him I was serious, that I wanted him to leave by January 1st, 2016. If he refused to go, I would leave instead, and the children would be going with me. As I walked away he said, "This will blow over by tomorrow. It always does." But I was serious this time and I reminded him of that.

He delayed the search for an apartment and packing. I found several for him within his price range, all of which he rejected. When I reiterated that the children and I would be finding a new home if he didn't move, he angrily put down a deposit on an apartment. There were many power games and attempts to control me through this process of untangling our lives, negotiating finances and child visitation agreements. My friends, some of whom had successfully left abusive relationships, helped me to recognize the elements of abuse, and helped me to find and keep my power while still remaining fair. As the move-out date approached, my casual friends and co-workers who I had not shared my news with, frequently commented that I was smiling more, that my step was lighter, and they asked what was going on in my life. My burden was lifting and people could see it.

A few days before Christmas my BSN diploma arrived in the mail. That same week I sat for an interview for a new job. In the year of healing myself, I found the courage to contemplate leaving a good job in order to explore an area of nursing that was calling to my heart.

It's now been nine days since he moved out. My children are starting to relax in our new home environment, no longer controlled by their father. My girls and I sit and watch TV together and snuggle on the couch, rather than them being holed up in their rooms after their dad comes home from work. They are starting to smile more.

And now I step into my new life with arms open wide like a newborn baby. But I am not a newborn baby. I am wise and seasoned and strong. Yesterday I got a phone call offering me the new position I interviewed for. In the next few weeks, I am going to start my training as a hospice and palliative care nurse. I realized through my journey that quality of life is often forgotten and becomes secondary to the goal of surviving at all costs. I have seen miracles in my line of work that make some of the struggles worth it. But I have also seen patients whose lives turn into a long torturous ordeal before they finally let go or are allowed to let go. I am tired of torturing such patients. I want to instead focus on proving comfort and peace for whatever time they have left.

As human beings, we often fight when there is no point to doing so- out of stubbornness, or fear of change, or loyalty. But sometimes the greatest courage is shown in the decision to let go and embrace joy and a greater quality of life.

"Nurse, Heal Thyself"

About anon456, BSN, RN

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