Years ago - decades, actually - I found myself at the side of a road, neck bruised from my then-husband's attempts to strangle me and with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and my dog. I was lucky - Alice, a new friend drove 300 miles to pick me up. She helped me find a new place to live, move out of my house and was my very first post-abuse relationship. I have no idea what I would have done without her. Forty eight hours after being stranded at the side of the road, I was in my new apartment with the boxes unpacked, sitting in my one chair and staring at an empty wall, wondering what came next.
I thought I had kept my situation private; that no one knew. If no one knew for sure, plenty of people sure suspected. Most of them were kind. Some of them, it seems, had been or were currently in similar situations to the one I'd left. I lost friendships - all of OUR friends, and many of mine. I wasn't expecting that people would just drop out of my life, but what was worse was the abuse I suffered all over again when those who knew my husband told me over and over again what a nice guy he was. They knew he didn't "mean anything by it", that he would never hurt anyone. I must be lying or stupidly mistaken; he'd never do anything like what I described. Even my own family didn't get it. "I don't know why you'd put up with that," my mother said. "You never saw anything like that at home." (This from the mother who used to hit me until she couldn't lift her arm anymore.) Dad made a "joke" about how "you used to be able to beat your wife as long as you didn't use a stick bigger around than your thumb." It wasn't funny. I never completely trusted them again.
At first, it was very very difficult to get through each day. Until the military transferred my husband 1500 miles away, I worried that he would find me and kill me. One day he dropped by my work "to talk." He was sorry, he'd never do it again, he didn't know what came over him. When I went out to my car after that shift, I found my second dog. He had taken her with him when he left me and the male at the side of the road; now it seemed she was "too much trouble". It scared me spitless that he knew where I parked and could get into my car. As soon as I had the money, I bought a different one so he wouldn't be able to find my car or get into it. I had left in spring with the winter clothes in my closet and the summer ones in storage. Summer came and I had no summer clothes and no money to buy more. Cooking dinner was difficult because I remembered to take the cooking pots and pans when I packed my things, but forgot the measuring cups. I had the rolling pin but no cutting board. Until I saved enough to buy furniture, my apartment was sporificely furnished and there wasn't a comfortable place to watch the television that I didn't have anyway. My self esteem was trashed and I was shocked when I met someone new and it seemed as if they thought I was smart, funny or nice. But I did meet new people, and for that I am grateful.
At least I had my job. He couldn't take that away from me. I knew I was competent. I had an income, health insurance and colleagues. I could support myself. Not everyone who leaves is so fortunate as to start with as much as I had. Even now, I feel guilty complaining about what I didn't have, because I had so much more than many.
It wasn't until six months later that the full enormity of my situation struck me. I'd been living alone for six months, working and going to school. I slowly made new friends, some of them from work who knew of my situation and some from school who knew me only as the person who worked so hard on the group study projects. I bought a new lamp and nightstand from Goodwill and slowly refurnished my home. My dogs thrived, although my female was never the same after her weeks alone with my husband. Alice and I became close friends, bonding over our shared love of golden retrievers, the outdoors and work.
I learned to scuba dive to keep myself busy and because Alice lost her dive partner when she left HER ex-boyfriend. She and I were on a camping and dive trip miles away from where we lived and close to the spot where my marriage ended. It was night time, and Alice and I were sitting around the campfire absently petting our dogs when a noise startled my female retriever. "It's OK," Alice told her. "We're safe here."
That's when it hit me, and I started to shake uncontrollably. I was safe. I never realized how much fear I lived with, day in and day out until that night when I knew I was safe. Six months after leaving, I finally felt safe for the very first time. I remember hanging out in convenience stores just outside the Air Force base at midnight because I was too afraid to go home to my husband. I felt safer in a sketchy place in a bad neighborhood than going home. And now, sitting in front of a campfire in the woods with bear-like noises in the dark beyond our fire, I felt safer than I had for years. That's when I began to recover.
Recovery is a long road, and not everyone makes it. I left my abuser in 1987. I still startle easily and jump out of my skin if someone sneaks up behind me. I freaked out one time when my now-husband innocently grabbed my neck to demonstrate a martial arts move he was learning. It took YEARS before I trusted men or my own judgement enough to begin to date, and when I did begin to date I chose men I knew I would never be tempted to marry. I was sure I'd make a horrible mistake again; my judgment was flawed. I met them at restaurants for the first several dates because I was afraid to get into the car with a man I didn't know well. Some guys saw that as me being independent. Others saw it as freaky.
Thirteen years after leaving, I finally had the courage to remarry. This was a man I had known as a friend for years; someone I trusted to get into a car with. I was afraid to marry him, not trusting myself to make that kind of decision. He persevered, and I learned to trust him. My parents initially refused to come to the wedding because they were so sure I was making another mistake. Many men wouldn't have, but he continued to spend time with and do things for my parents. At the end of their lives, they had accepted him as family. We've been married for 16 years, and I feel safe at home.
Such a little statement, but such a big deal. I DO feel safe at home. I'm so lucky. When I ask my patients if they feel safe at home, I am aware at just how enormous that question really is and how big a can of worms it opens if the answer is negative. And I understand why a woman who is clearly NOT safe at home answers that she is. Domestic violence, not breast cancer, is the worst thing that ever happened to me. But I'm safe now.
For other articles in this series about Domestic Violence, please read:
Domestic Violence: The Elephant in the Room
Domestic Violence: What Leaving Feels Like
