I Should Have Left The First Time He Knocked Me Down

17 Articles; 14,036 Posts

Specializes in CCU, SICU, CVSICU, Precepting & Teaching.

It's October, Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

About seven and a half years ago, or maybe a little more, my husband knocked me down for the very first time. I had just begun to identify his frequent tantrums and rage attacks as verbal abuse, and then made the smaller step toward realizing that it was emotionally abusive as well. No matter how thoroughly "provoked" someone feels, it is never OK to scream at your partner at the top of your lungs or to call them derogatory names, attack their looks, ridicule their body or insist that they have never done anything for you. Since I was accustomed to that sort of treatment from my parents, it took me longer than most to identify it as abusive. It was.

I left my first abusive husband in 1988 after he made a nearly-successful attempt to strangle me to death. The first fight between Tom and two of his brothers immediately before our wedding should have been a red flag to me, but I married him anyway. It was a red flag when, the day after our wedding, he announced, "Now that we're married, I don't have to be on my best behavior any more.” The abuse started with verbal attacks over minor things -- he preferred a different brand of yogurt than the one I'd bought, or I had no business asking if he planned to be home for dinner. Then he was throwing things. When I no longer reacted to that with the same intensity, he began throwing things at me -- a Kleenex box, a sofa pillow and then a cup of hot coffee. (The cup missed me; the contents did not.) One day he threw me down the stairs. We were seeing marriage counselors by then, they thought they could "fix our communication problems and save our marriage.” I opted out after the murder attempt.

Eleven years later, I married a man I had known for ten years, dated for five and who I believed to be the love of my life. I thought he we had a good marriage for the first five or so years; he said he thought we had a good marriage. Looking back, I can see that the seeds of our problems were already sown by the time we got married; something I missed at the time. He treated me far better than my parents or my ex-husband ever had. But he was still selfish and entitled. He honestly believed that he was the main character; I was just a supporting character at best and often only a bit part. The tantrums were "only every few weeks, when he was really tired or stressed" at first. He went on Prozac, the frequency and ferocity of the tantrums waned and my friends convinced me that it was "so romantic that he went on Prozac for you.” (Yeah, I'm apparently abysmal at relationship stuff.) Over the years, he went on Prozac holidays supervised by his PCP, and the tantrums ramped up. He'd go back on Prozac and the tantrums would dwindle again, but they never ever stopped. I was tiptoeing around him, afraid to bring up anything that might "upset" him when he was already upset, and reluctant to bring it up when he was in a good mood because that would "spoil things.” I was groomed, you see. He had been grooming me for years by that point.

For years, I told myself that he treated me better than Tom had. At least he didn't hit me. He might throw tantrums over minor things like the wrong brand of beans in the shopping cart, but at least he didn't hit me. He might ogle other women, pointing out to me how hot they were and wondering aloud why I couldn't look more like them, but at least he didn't hit me. He insulted my body, my hair, my cooking, my housekeeping, my driving and my work but at least he didn't hit me. I was so much better off with him than I had been with Tom or in my family of origin, and at least he didn't hit me.

We had been married almost eighteen years when he knocked me down the first time; I was so shocked that it took me nearly two weeks to realize that after years of verbal and emotional abuse, he had crossed the line to physical abuse. In fact, he crossed that line even before the afternoon he knocked me down. There had been episodes of rage driving when I was in the car, terrified for my life. He threw things at me -- a coiled length of line, a flashlight, a handheld radio and then a Yeti cooler, excusing it by saying "I thought you would catch it" or "You should have been looking.” He blocked me from entering or exiting a room, he loomed over me while he raged like a toddler, face purple, veins popping and spit flying. By then I was just in survival mode. And then a poster on AllNurses.com recommended a book by Patricia Evans called, "The Verbally Abusive Relationship.” And it was like a light bulb went off in my head. He was verbally abusive.

But at least he didn't hit me.

Seven years ago, I walked out of my 18 year marriage with what I could carry and my dog. I didn't have a car, so I rented one and drove a thousand miles or so before I felt safe. My best friend offered to share her home with me, an act of extreme generosity for which I will be forever grateful. I had four LL Bean boat bags with a few changes of clothes, my mother's silver, my grandmother's Bible, my passport, prescription medications and a key ring full of thumb drives with all of my important files from my computer. (The computer I tossed into the ocean for fear he had put some sort of tracking software on it.) One boat bag was filled with dog food, toys and other doggy stuff.

What, you might wonder, does this have with nursing? My husband was a nurse; we worked at the same hospitals and often in the same ICU for a quarter of a century. He was handsome and charming, the life of every party. He was the one you called when you needed help moving, the one who came up with the great ideas for breakfast potlucks at midnight on the night shift, or a unit rafting trip, a nurse's night at the the ball game or an outing to Medieval Times. He cooked the turkey for every Thanksgiving pot luck, was famous for his chili recipe and was known social director of our unit. He was known and liked by the hospital administration, nursing supervisors, the charge nurses of every unit, the respiratory therapists and PTs and of course the medical staff.

Tom -- the man that nearly strangled me to death was also a nurse. He was an ICU float and also well known and well liked by administration, supervisors, nurses in every ICU, ancillary services and medical staff. I've known and worked beside five nurses who were abusers and those were just the ones whose behavior was documented by the legal system. I've known of many, many more. There was the guy who was arrested for threatening his wife and small children with a gun, the guy who went to jail for raping his date and the guy who murdered his whole family.

Abusers come from every walk of life. The director of the recovery program at your church, the pharmacist at your local Walgreen's, your pastor, your plumber or the guy who mows your lawn. The nice old guy who lives upstairs, the farmer who gave you a kitten, the police chief or the circuit court judge.

Do not think that just because he's nice to YOU, he's really "a nice guy; he wouldn't DO that.” When a woman tells you she's not safe at home, believe her. Even if you think you know her abuser. Even if you think he's "too nice" to do that.

And ASK your patients if they feel safe at home. Nobody asked me, and I wasn't safe.

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Bella ' s mimi

24 Posts

Oct 12

Ruby Thank you for sharing this. I'm so sorry you went through this.

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Editorial Team / Admin

dianah, ASN

8 Articles; 4,502 Posts

Specializes in RETIRED Cath Lab/Cardiology/Radiology.

Oct 13

Thank you for summoning the tremendous courage to took to LEAVE your abuser, and the courage to share this with us. I pray you continue to heal, and to love and trust yourself. You are amazing.

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