Original post: 07/19/2014
I reposted my testimony since it's being featured in new, national/international media platforms.
I was dazed. I was also relieved, because I this was the end. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. No more walking on eggshells. I could go home. I started to cry as I grieved over what my past three years had amounted to. I knew this marriage was not going to be redeemed. It had become too dangerous for me and my son.
“I am not done with you,” he had threatened, before leaving for his overnight shift. This gave me plenty of time to prepare for AJ’s and mine’s transition. Earlier, he had me in a choke-hold, while he yelled questions at me, and continuously slammed me into the bed. I was so grateful I chose to sit on the bed. When he ordered me into the room, I intentionally picked the best place to position myself. If I had stood, I would’ve been thrown into the wall and head-banged into that. Instead, aggression was taken out against a mattress, but being choked was painful. I felt my throat. It didn’t hurt as much because my mind was so relieved.
Earlier in the summer, I had prayed that if his ways and relationship (lack thereof) with God didn’t change, and one or two more abusive incidences happened, that I had the go-ahead to leave and be free. Deep inside I knew I had the go-ahead a long time ago, but now I knew for sure.
I called my dad and calmly said, “Dad, are you busy? Can you please come over? I realize that if I feel I can’t be open with you about something I should probably talk to you about it.” He agreed and said he was on his way over. I went into the living room to pick up AJ, who was safely in the pack ‘n play. I started crying as I looked into his precious face. He was about eight months old. AJ looked at me and did this cute smile and laugh to cheer me up. It made me cry more, because he deserved so much better. Then he looked away and started to cry with me. I quickly snapped myself out of it and soothingly said, “It's okay, Baby. We are going to go be with Papa and Nana. It’ll be fun.” I gave a light laugh and smiled the best I could through my tears. I held him tight and he allowed himself to be comforted in my arms. My dad arrived, and I finally told him everything. Tears came down his face and his voice was a bit shaky as he processed a condensed version of what had been going on; he couldn’t believe this was happening to his daughter. He said, “I just don’t understand. Mom and I…we never…you know how you should be treated.”
We packed up as much as we could at the time and went home. We were only about a mile apart.
Dad and I walked in through the door with a bunch of suitcases and AJ. Mom looked up as she was putting together and exersaucer and in a surprised voice said, “Well, hi.”
Dad replied, “He’s been hurting her.”
Mom rolled her eyes and commented, “That turkey!”
My first thoughts were, “That’s it? Wow, I am so relaxed. I am so glad I am home. I am so glad this lie is over!” Why? Because I feared the transition. With all the stress that had gone on between my family, my abusive relationship, his family in opposition with mine, and other people involved in one way or the other, I feared the transition would somehow be worse. I thought it would be harder, more stressful, more hurtful, etc. Instead, that was all I was met with from my parents.
Then she continued, “I just saw him at the store too. He didn’t realize I saw him in my peripheral vision. He straightened his clothes and stature, then he came over and talked to me as though nothing was wrong. I thought it strange, now I know why.”
My parents gave soothing support and a calming atmosphere for me to come home to. I am so grateful for that.
Note: This was hardly the end of the story. The next evening, we had to call the police. But I wanted to write about this specific time frame.
I randomly desire to sit and relax at a campfire with good company on a grey-skied day and a cool breeze. Don't forget the s'mores!