November 25, 2012

There was knocking-- my heart pounded with each tap at my door. Police I thought.  Images of my husband in handcuffs darted through my head.

I covered my half naked body with a blanket. My clothes had been torn off hours before; his hand had grasped around the collar of my shirt as I tried to get away, tearing it clean off my body. I was thankful it wasn't my hair. Eventually it would be that too.

My pants came off as he dragged me backwards towards the bedroom by the leg of my pajamas. Later he would use them to shove into my face. Nearly suffocating me; the smell of that laundry detergent still prompts flashbacks.

The knocking continued. Four or five more times.  He answered.

I lied there wearing some scraps of clothing and fresh, swollen bruises. Hand prints stained my skin--it looked like dye. Fake.

I heard my mother. "Where is she"  she entered without needing a response. I pulled my cover tighter around me. The light wisp of the blanket against my skin stung.

I saw K. Parka and boots were all I seem to remember now. My head spun and buzzed and I realized how disoriented I was. Before this moment it felt like a wild dream. My imagination. But here I was.

As I sat upright my knee shot with pain. Tight like an elastic stretched too far.

I remember little. A last scared glance at his face.  He was scared too.  Grabbing my blue bag. The one I kept for emergencies.  K hugging me as she put me in the front seat of her Pontiac.  The ice. The bandaids.  The cover up...

Last thing I'd say

Once in a while I wonder what I would say to my husband if he gave me five minutes of his time. What I could say to him, if for a short while I could unload. The truth is the answer to this has evolved over the past year. Morphed and changed, growing and shrinking as I too evolved.

Several nights ago this scenario danced through my head again. This time only a single thought crossed my mind.

There was no anger; I didn't fantasize about lashing out with a furious tongue. Using all those words my friends had used a year ago.

There was no regret; I didn't feel sorry or sad or hate either the marriage, the ten years, the pain I endured 

both pre and post.

There were no explanations. No questions. There were no long winded speeches plump full of tangents about how I'm better of or why nothing will ever feel the same.

There was no apologies. No guilt.

There was no I miss you or I hate you. No I loved you.

All I have left to say to him was please figure you out. Please understand what makes you hurt, understand who you are.

Be emotionally intelligent.

Realize that tough doesn't make you a man. You may hurt, curse the world and break down. Its okay. It doesn't make you less valuable to anyone. You may even become more connected.

Maybe this has nothing to do with why you got angry. Why you hit me and yelled instead of talking to me. Just remember that you may have lost something because the only way you knew to show hurt was to make someone else hurt too.

If you find someone better for you.  And you might.  Treat her well. Talk to her. Tell her she's disappointed you. Or you parents upset you. Tell her you're scared.

I sincerely wish you nothing but the best in life. Goodbye.

Reflecting, a year later.

It's been a year since everything begun to change. Here I am and I can barely recall the time before this chapter began. Its like looking down a dark hallway, squinting, trying to make out shapes of figures in the distance. Everything is blurry.

As much as I aknowledge the path that brought me here I am okay with the fading details. Unlike my last life, when I hopelessly grasped at the past, the memories, the things I missed. I use to struggle to remember the most intricate details of a happy life. Now I'm content and excited for my future, my focus is on this instead. 

Once and I while I will come across something that makes me feel nostalgic, and I miss that life. For a fleeting moment and then it is gone.

In the last year I have found myself traveling, taking risks, making friends. I have found myself with bigger aspirations, more meaningful and attainable dreams.

In the last year I have shed more tears than the 25 years prior, though I have also taken to smiling more; and laughing. Laughing happens a lot now. 

12 months ago, I said no a lot.  I turned down experience and opportunity. I lived by rules that I didn't make. Now, I live only by the guidance of myself; and I say Yes more often than not. 

The last year is one that I may remember in vivid detail for the rest of my life. The year I walked away, the year I threw out my cover up and began my life. The past year might also disappear down that hallway...

But that is alright by me.

Thank-you Best Friend P

A year ago you were one of my friends who bled into the background of my world. One of many. We would laugh or chat or go for a pint after work. A year ago I couldn't have fathomed that you would help me through one of the hardest times of my life. That you would become my best friend. That you would accompany me though dreams I never thought I would see.

It was you who taught me that packing my feelings into little orange boxes and sliding them back to my subconscious was not dealing with my hurt, or a way of moving on from it. It was to you that I shared my first tears after I left.

It was you who taught me that no matter how damaged I felt, I could be loved. I was loved.

We did Iceland, this might be one of the most important string of moments in my life. You stayed up for hours through 4am texts; when I couldn't sleep you wouldn't either.

My world feels lighter, happier and brighter with you in it, and I never want to know a moment without you again. You're my Rock Best Friend P, my partner in crime. And one Heck of a Bestie.

Iceland

I have taken some time to reflect.

On what my life is now. How I handle freedom without being careless. How I protect myself without caging my heart away forever. How I find Balance.

I mentioned a post or two ago that I was planing a trip, a trip I had been planning for years. 5 years to be exact.

Well, I took that trip. It was in Iceland that I finally found my center. Sneaking away for mere moments from my travel companion I sat on the shoreline of a glacial lake alone. The water a pristine reflection of the sky.

Ten thousand year old ice floated past me and seals played in the distance, uninterrupted by the presence of people. A few other tourists whisked past me, tripods out or the crunching of their boots in the distance, the disturbances faded the longer I sat there. If it weren't for Best Friend Pete at the top of the hill I may have stayed there all day.

What brought me total clarity as I took in the crisp Arctic air. The realization that all those days I dreamed about this place, Imagined this moment. When it was all I wanted. The moments when I thought "if I ever get to go...". Every play of the Icelandic tourism DVD, even though my husband told me it was stupid.  Those moments were not for nothing.

You see Iceland embodied every dream I had. It was the last one standing; the last thing I held on to. It was the only thing I thought about some days before I fell asleep from exhaustion after I ran out of tears.

It was the only place I ever felt that I NEEDED to go.

And right there at that moment it was real. Not only was it real so was everything in the last year. I sacrificed everything I had ever known for something that was better and exactly then, sitting on the pebbles at the shore of this amazing place I realized that moving past all of this hurt is going to bring me extraordinary things.

Iceland is just the beginning.

Thank-you's (L and K)

It is almost a year later. In this year I have made more changes in my life than ever. Some days it feels as if I am going light speed, I cannot stop moving forward, even if I tried. 

While this light speed has allowed me to achieve many things in the last 11 months, sometimes I feel I haven't taken a moment to address things. I haven't taken the time to stop and say thank you to those who have helped me. To those who I owe my life. This life. 

While I don't know who has come across or commuted to reading these pages the next couple of posts I will say the thank you's I need to say. I know all of them know, through conversations, emails or intuition. 

But, I've always been one to need to write the important stuff down.

Best Friend L

 

You are the first person I told. Though by mistake. You had the guts to interrupt the situation. When I have been  the stupidest I have ever been, you knew I needed help and acted. I know you think you were doing what you were suppose to as a friend, you were fulfilling obligation. But there is no obligation. You could have walked away, gone to Best friend A's shower and not bothered with it. Turned a blind eye, like so many people do so often. Even now, you meet me only with support and love. You accept me faults and all. From the bottom of my heart you are one of the Kindest, most devoted people I know. Thank-you

Best Friend K

"You need to leave" is what you told me as we sat in your car in the driveway of my condo. I had just confessed why I could no longer stay. "Accidents happen, he could throw something..." You said as you gave me the same look you give your son. I knew everything you said was true.

I was you who came with my Mother, who put me in your car and took me somewhere safe. I don't know the conversations that happened that Morning. I don't know what you were feeling as you knocked on my apartment door. If you were afraid, or if you were facing it with the same focus that you approach motherhood. I can't imagine being there, the other side of the story. But I will never forget the feeling of seeing to people I love come in. At that moment, I wasn't alone in the story anymore. 

In the 10 years I've know you you have never judged me, you support my decisions even when I cannot. You are amazing and I cannot imagine my life without you. My life that is even better because of you. 

Thank-you. 

M

Las Vegas. Part I

A year ago I walked along Las Vegas Boulevard I had been married for less than four months. In those four months I had struggled to understand my new role, my expectations as a wife. I held my breath often knowing the frequency that I now met my Husband's rage. Something after the vows had changed. It went from bad to worse and for the first time standing there outside the MGM in the desert heat I realized it wouldn't get better.

The next day my girlfriends and I drove from Vegas to LA. Through Primm across the miles of sand and past the mountains. My face leaving makeup marks on the glass as I sat there in awe of a place I have always wanted to be.

I spent years of my life thinking I would grow up, move to LA without any other plan. It might not have been a reasonable dream. But I would have thought somewhere in my 25 years I would have taken time to see it. He didn't travel, especially not to a place like LA. There was nothing there for him so there was no need for us to go.

The mountains took my breath away, the palm trees swayed in the breeze and I sat there. We finally started seeing the city. Me still in the back seat. Face still pressed to the glass.

I always wanted someone who would take me to my dreams, or at very least join me. Someone who could be part of my adventure and I could be part of their's. I wanted to see these places, know what they were like. I didn't care if at the end of the day I hated it, I had to know. But to my Husband they were always stupid. A waste of money he worked too hard to spend on something like that. It didn't matter how many Icelandic tourism videos I watched alone in my room, we would never go.

In 2012 I decided I would go alone, wrangle the friends I could and go. So, I did. As I explored he became angrier.

I can pinpoint the moment, staring at the luxury homes build atop the mountain. Furious with myself that it had taken me this long to come. Knowing that for the first time in a long time I was having fun, without being afraid of what happened when my front door would close.

On Saturday we flew back. I knew I would go. I had no idea how to make it happen. The days after that trip I couldn't stand him, his voice made my hands shiver. The way he spoke to me made my gut wrench. Convinced that my withdrawn behaviour after my return was an indicator that I was cheating on him he grew angrier.

Eventually, the fighting became nightly. I went through cover up faster than a 13 year old girl. I cried when I was alone, staring out my window knowing that I couldn't do it anymore. That the decision I had made in Vegas had to stand and I had to ensure that I would never go back....

Looking Forward

It's been just over nine months. Sometimes I still dream about him. Ocassionally he is just present; a character in a story. Other times I dream of the hurt. But most often now my dreams are of me, the person I never thought I would know.  The woman the last nine months have carved, tumbled and twisted, finally smoothing.

I look forward more often than I look back. Often I catch myself struggling to remember the intricacies of my life with my Husband. The day to day life we shared has begun to fade into the background.

I'm excited for too many things to name in the coming months.  A new home, a vacation to somewhere I never thought I would get to see, tighter closer friendships with people I've missed.

I use to fuss over dreams I had. They were rare and I polished them in my mind until they were perfect. They seemed unattainable, like fairytales.  Now dreams pass through my head and become reality with such frequency that I need to write them down. Sometimes I fear this will stop, I will go back to living without purpose.

I know this won't happen. The last nine months have taught me to live for yourself. Love who you are. Push to achieve what you want and never stop believing in better. And that is just what I will do.

M

Understanding

This weekend I was at an elderly relative's funeral. In attendance was an extended part of the family I hadn't had the opportunity to see since my wedding. After the service the families gathered in my great aunt's apartment. One of my older relitives struck up a conversation and asked me how married life was.

I froze. Not normal deer in headlights freeze either. I sat ther staring like a child who just saw Santa,  and Santa had a flamethrower and a tiger. I actually had no idea how to react.

After what seemed like 2 hours of silence my Mother interrupted and politely told her Uncle I was seporated.

He looked at her bewildered than at me. Laughed and said "everyone needs to adjust"

If only I could have told him why.

I know I advocate telling everyone. That breaking silence is the solution to violence but sometime s telling your 88 year old great uncle your husband hit you isn't a great plan.

And there will always be those cases. Cases where you can't tell the whole truth. Instances where one story would justify your decision to leave, to make someone understand.

There will also always be those instances where you come clean and they still can't understand.

The important part for me is to know I made the right choice. To know safety is ultimately what matters. There will be  the handfull of people who can't understand. Often I feel the isolation of not knowing anyone else who has a story like me. Some days I find it impossible to believe that anyone but a survivour of this sort of life can understand.

Recently I had a conversation with Best Friend P about this. I had been frustrated and told him he couldn't understand. It took me a couple weeks to realize why this comment hurt him.

It is clear that in our lives we have all delt with hurt. Some physical, emotional, mental. Some lingering still. Everyone has that one path that hurt more than anything, some of us have lots. What I didn't understand is that just because Best Friend P had never been beaten he still understood.

He understands what it is like to hurt and not be able to make it stop. What it is like to not be okay.  How unfair the world feels and how alone, isolated and confused I feel, even on a good day.

He like my other friends understand the power of a hug. The benifit of a ear or a shoulder.

And even though my 88 year old uncle doesn't meed to know why my marriage ended. I know that when I make the decision to tell someone, to share details that even though they haven't walked my path somewhere along thier's is something that allows them to understand.

 

A View from the Other Side

A month ago I was in Cuba. A vacation from a crazy 8 months. Along with one of my best friends Lor we had taken the opportunity to lie in the sun, eat bad food and get away from everything.

It was Tuesday Night, I had already been asleep for some time when I heard the thumping, followed by the yelling. One way yelling, all I could hear was his voice filling our room like he was standing there. 

Suddenly my chest felt tight, I couldn't breathe or move. I sat there in the humid darkness not knowing what to do.

Do I call 911? Is there 911 in Cuba? Do I call the front desk?

Do I exit my room and interrupt the confrontation hoping that the presence of a stranger stops it?

But I couldn't move.

I wasn't sure if he was yelling at a woman, or a man. His Wife, Son, Daughter, Stranger?

So I laid there, paralyzed. My mind racing through scenarios. Still, I couldn't move.

I lied there awake listening, thinking that maybe if I heard a "help me", or a scream it would provide me the courage to act. I never heard a thing.

At some point I heard a second man's voice, stern and calm. Then there was silence. And I understood. Those times when I wondered why no one knocked on my door, why no one called the police it's not as easy as it seems.

Even now I feel guilty, I feel sorry for that person who was on the receiving end of that man's words. I feel for her/him as objects flew at them or fists punched the wall.

I'm sure my neighbors felt like I did, helpless, and confused at what was going on.

Violence Unsilenced.

Today, on August 15th an excerpt from this blog was shared Here on Violence Unsilenced.  If you are not familiar with the site it is a forum for victims of Violence to share their stories.

What first struck me about this is how many people are featured. There are stories from every life stage, stories like mine. There are also some stories very different from mine, but the outcome is always the same. The decision to leave is a difficult one. For me, my friend and my mother showed up and saved me. Some days I think I wouldn't have done it without them, but I remember the struggle in the days that followed my emancipation. How hard it was not to pick up the phone, to go back to him. How tiring it became being awake, my eyes throbbed as badly as my bruises.

It is in moments of reflection that I know that I needed to be brave to make it through this. It is in moments when I hear the voices or read the words of others who have made it through that I know I am strong. I know we are all strong.

For those of you who left comments,  words of love, understanding, support. Confirmation that violence can happen to any of us, there is no definition or reason. The reaffirmation that all that matters is that I survived, and I am okay, I am out and I get my life after 10 years.

Thank-you.


The excerpt can be read here, alongside the stories from others. It is defiantly worth a visit. I also encourage you to leave a comment. Trust me, it matters.

http://violenceunsilenced.com/

M

The Wisdom of the Paper Bag Princess

If you are familiar with the story of Elizabeth, The Paper Bag Princess you know that this chick gets her clothing burnt off, her home and castle goes up in smoke. She chases down and defeats a bad-ass dragon to try to save a D-Bag Prince Roland.

Sounds familiar to me.

In the end she has nothing left, she essentially gives Princey-poo the finger and takes her Shabby Chic paper bag back to her burn out life, with nothing left but her pride.

I spent a lot of time chasing down that dragon. Maybe in my head at the time a prince was a prince. I didn't realize that like anything there are important variables that make your prince a Roland or Charming.

I had used my journey to save my husband as a method of distraction from my burnt out castle, my falling-apart-at-the-seams life. Hoped that by saving him it would make everything okay.  In the end, no matter how hard I tried all I could have done is taken what I had left, and found a new kingdom.

If you are not familiar with the story, here you go:

The Numbers Behind the Stories

Yesterday I read something. There were 94,000 reported violent crimes against family members in Canada in 2011, 50% were spouses, 18% children.  This accounted for 26% of all police investigated crimes that year. The statistical Profile from Stats Canada can be read here. 

I also learned that the rate of women assaulted by a current intimate partner is 542 per 100,000 Canadians. 

The GSS also found that police were less likely to find out about spousal violence against women in 2009 than in 2004. The percentage of female victims indicating that the incident was reported to police, either by themselves or someone else, dropped from 36% to 30%.Reporting to police was more likely when women had sustained an injury, when they feared for their lives, or when the abuse had gone on for some time.  (GSS, Violence against women, 2011)

I waited almost six years to tell anyone, looking back I never thought I could call the police, I couldn't have done that to him. Even after I sat sprawled out on the floor, covered in bruises, my blood and his spit I don't think I ever could have picked up the phone. 

The reports all go on to say the same thing. Women. Young women are more likely to be assaulted by their significant other. Violence affects entire families. Daters are more likely than Married people to experience violence and Family related Homicides occur and account for 6 percent of solved murders. 

The conclusions I can draw are simple domestic violence happens, it can happen to anyone, it doesn't get better and people die. When I read these articles I thought a lot about my husbands hands around my throat, his raspy voice telling me that I was going to die that night. I don't know if he would have been able to do it, if his threats were backed by intent. I do know that if I had stayed there is a real possibility I could have been like one of the 419 Canadians in 2011 who died at the hands of someone they loved. 

Sources: 
1. http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/130625/dq130625b-eng.htm
2. http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/081009/dq081009b-eng.htm

Happy Anniversary....

And it was gone, uneventfully, and truly undeserving of the attention and anxiety I had allocated to this day.  Looking back I'm not sure what made me think of it as some sort of ominous being lurking behind me for weeks prior. In truth It came, it went and though the thought passed through my mind for a fleeting moment there were no tears, little anxiety and a surprising feeling of normality that day. 

A lot can be credited to a good friend who swept me off to small town NY for the weekend to keep me as far away from the chatter and the sympathy texts as I could get. I turned off my phone, separated myself from social media and ignored my emails, and even though I anticipated the disconnect would help, I didn't anticipate barely a thought of what would have been my first anniversary. 

I am OKAY.

Today I had a moment walking to the mail room. It seems silly really.

As I took the trek across the office to the printer (which by the way did not print my document) I began to think about something. I began to think about my relationship with Husband. To date I have felt a great many things when he crosses my mind. I have felt angry, I have felt sad, violated, scared, nervous, or fall apart depressed.

Today however my thoughts followed a new path. I thought about how I felt picking myself off the floor when he hit me, how I felt when his face would turn a shade of red only familiar during outbursts. I thought about how I can no longer remember his smell or what it felt like to lie in his arms. And how I no longer care.

I thought about how I know what he did to me was inexplicably WRONG. I felt OKAY.

You see, I always thought that the hardest things to forget were the happy parts. The funny bit is it seems to be as the happiness from my last life begins to fade into the background as I learn to be happy with myself, for myself in my new life. As I begin to understand that my happiness is my responsibility I learn not to to lean on the memories of my former happiness and I am okay.

Nana

On June 8th 2004 I lost one of the most influential people in my life. At the time I was 17,  my relationship with my husband was new and wonderful and not violent, at the time I couldn't imagine what it would have become.

As a child I learned my Nana left my grandfather and moved to an entirely new province with my uncles and mother, she left a man she loved but couldn't be with. As a child I never pressed on about the story of my grandparents. If I had I would have learned that my Nana survived a turbulent relationship with a man that she cared about deeply, a man who was  troubled and she couldn't help. I don't know much else beyond these few stories, i don't know the intricacies or details, but I don't think I need to. The bit that I need to know is that she survived, because she left.

The last couple days my brain has wandered to Nana. It goes without saying that I miss her terribly, but lately my thoughts have been mulling over what my life would be like if Nana was still here. If I had known someone in my life who had gone through a relationship like mine and made it out. If there was someone who could have held my hand or told me to smarten up, perhaps if there was someone who knew what it was like, someone I could have opened up to.

I believe that I now have a stronger tie to Nana, one that I also share with more women and men than I know.  We managed to figure out a way to get out of something, realizing that love is not a reason for hurt. I wish that she was here to tell me it gets better, to tell me that the pain will fade into nothing, that I did the right thing and like she did when I was a girl run her fingers through my hair to ease a bad day. Even though she isn't here to sooth me any longer, knowing that she was able to overcome this, knowing that my decision to leave was the same decision she made 50 years earlier. Nana was always my favourite person on this plane. She was a constant place for love in my life and even 9 years later she is still supporting me and guiding me through one of my hardest passages.

Today's Thoughts

Today I am falling to pieces. A year ago I was embarking on single digit countdown to my wedding. prepping and preening. Today I am sitting in my box typing, remembering how good it felt to be dreaming of a future where I was happy. The ironic bit is, now that I have one I am finding it difficult, near impossible to accept it. Instead, I just want to go back. I want someone to take care of me when I am sick, I want to stop feeling alone no matter where I am, I want to stop feeling irreparably broken.

What is worse is I have become bitter and reclusive, the hours I have adapted to working don't help. They allow me to hide behind something, to play my role and offer me the longest reprieve from myself.

I find myself getting angry at people I love, no matter what they do. If they want to talk about it I am angry for them not minding their business, if they don't call I am upset that they don't care. The best part is I know it is me.

I can't figure out my brain, it feels like ping pong balls are loose inside my head. Every time they connect with my brain a new thought is triggered, I can't keep up, I can't make sense of anything.

Never a Choice a Man Should Make...

If you haven't seen this check it out. It really is a passionate response to a brave question. What is inspiring is the notion that even someone blessed with fame and a very successful entertainment career began his life in a terrible situation. What is even more powerful is that he came out of it not as someone who struggles with a violent past but who advocates a peaceful and stronger future.

 

 



Why my husband hit me confused me. To be honest, it still confuses me. From what I know about his life he was never abused, his mother or father were not violent with him or eachother. I use to wonder if it was because he was bullied, if it was because his dad would tell him to be a man more times than I can count. If it was because he didn't feel adequate or was struggling with something he couldn't let me see. These were the thoughts I would play in my head as I wondered if it was me, or him and how I could fix it, fix us, fix him.

The more I read about domestic violence the less I understand. I find more scenarios about why a spouse is abusive, yet none of them seem to apply to me.

The overarching theme seems to be that the abuser has in some form learnt the behaviour, been exposed to it, perhaps victimised or abused themselves. Sometimes I think back on what I know about his family, make excuses for his actions. Sometimes I try to accept that he was broken not me, and violence was a choice he made, not one I stimulated.

Mr. Stewart made one hell of a point through this video, no matter the reason violence is never, ever a choice a man (or woman) should make.

And I Blew Take 1...

A year ago today I was sitting in my condo, legs crossed on the floor. A year and a half of work lay in front of me. I sorted through invoices, checking my account balance after studying each one. I checked off lists and crossed off points. Text the girls to ensure all plans were inline.

A Year ago I sat in a home I thought I would share with a man forever. My wedding dress was hanging in the closest, the loveliest thing I had ever owned. I had a count down going on FB, everything was ready.

What the heck was I thinking? I can see you know, yelping at your monitor like a wild woman. How on earth could you marry a man who hit you?

Yea, I know.

In the happiest of moments he was not that man. He  was my true love. That's what I believed anyways.

The last couple days have been rough, really rough. I look back often as the date that would be my first anniversary. The anniversary we promised we would return to Costa Rica where we honeymooned. It would mark the first in many years together.

Instead I am sitting in a Starbucks Grande Green Tea Lemonade beside me as I sit hunched over Pouring my feelings out. Trying not to cry.

It's been six months of healing, and although the notion that my marriage failed hurts like bare feet on hot concrete- a lot of hot concrete. What troubles me the most is the thought that I used my shot. My chance to wear a white dress and walk down an aisle on my daddy's arm, my shot at planning and laughing and fighting through the process. I missed my chance to say that I married the (true)  love of my life.

I was never one for marriage, I probably would have been fine without it. I could have been happy without it.  But now that that shot is gone, I wish I had never cashed it in.

I know I wont be alone forever, I hope anyways. I know one day I will find that man who makes me happy without making a mark. I know I will one day get that happily ever after. And I know this person will love me with or without a ring.

I just cant help but wonder what my life would have been like without the divorce handstamp.

Learning to Forgive, and Move on

Trust has always been easy for me. You wouldn't suspect that. 

I believe that people are inherently good, that there is a fine layer that separates what makes us bad people and the good we are all made from.
I have always believed that if you focus on understanding the person, forgiving faults and believing that individuals are good, that they will be.

Here I am almost 6 months after finally having to give up believing that my Husband would stop hitting me. How do I feel?

My position hasn't changed. 

I still believe that people are good. We are not born or created bad. I don't believe that there is anything inside of any one of us that is preventing us from being a kind, or decent human being.

Growing up I was taught to be compassionate...

Even to those who did not show me kindness. I was taught that when a bully was mean to you it maybe was because someone bullied them. I was taught that when people where angry or upset or mean, you understand that that behaviour is wrong. 

Then, you forgive them...

Forgiving does not make what you went through right, or make negative actions or situations okay. By doing this you expel hatred or upset or disdain from your mind.  You release yourself from the situation, it allows you to continue to grow and move on.

Perhaps, even transcend into understanding....

Wish the person well. Wish that somehow they find their way and rediscover the natural good within them.

And eventually learn to trust...

Even though you might be ready to trust, you must learn balance Trust with wisdom. You can mend a wound, but would you put yourself back in harms way again?

Forgive yourself...
You will make mistakes too. Marry people you shouldn't, try too hard, eat too much desserts, buy expensive jeans. It's okay.

Does any of this mean you go back? No. Is what I went through okay? Not even a little.
But somewhere in my heart can I forgive my Husband for what he did to me and leave him in a distant memory? This I will need to do. One day.

Reflection

At the end of yoga practice you meditate. 10 minutes of peaceful reflection.
I cry every time.

No matter how good my week has gone or what I've accomplished my mind wanders to him. It is like a shadow you don't notice until you are alone, until you are vulnerable.  When it doesn't matter how reasonable or rational or tough you are. It is the shadow that always manages to get inside your head and terrify you.

Today my mind wandered, I thought about how my husband felt the day I left. What happened the moments after the door to my condo shut. What happened to him as Kay and my mother loaded me into the Pontiac. Did he cry? Did he get up and clean the broken glass from the floor. Wash the spit and blood from the 800 thread count cotton sheets. Did he have a cigarette and absorb what has unfolded.

My head ran through a thousand different scenarios each one of them amplified my silent tears as I lay there on my mat. Each taking me back to last Tuesday.

Last week I spoke to him on the telephone, for the first time since Christmas. If you read the post from that morning you are already aware that it was not a conversation I would chose to have again.

When I hung up after 43 minutes and 28 seconds I was alternating between sobs and gasps, by chest hurt my head pounded. It was 4am and I couldn't call anyone, my texts went unanswered as I sat alone grasping at the teddy bear he had gotten me for my 17th birthday.

I was scared, the first time in five months I remembered what it was like to not have anything to hide myself in, no one to talk to. Suddenly, I was back in the world I lived for six years, alone.

I feel for him, I really do. He has lost more than I have. He has lost someone who took care of him, who loved him despite flaws, who tried to fix him, tried to help him. I understand what it feels like to be alone, I was there- a lot.

As the clock hit 5am I wished I could just slide my rings back on and go back to how it was, so all the hurt I was feeling would end. I can't, those rings should have never been on at all.

At 6am I wrote that post, I was hurting.

It took me a couple days of fighting to get back to where I am, it took some hard truths from my best friends and some good ol' fashioned hugs but I am back. I am back on my way to my new life. I know I will have lots of moments where I am flat on my back quietly crying during meditation-

I will be okay.

I'll Tell You About Edward

I would like to tell you about Edward. 

If you lived through the 90's you likely remember Puppy Surprise. When I was about 8 years old I received one for Christmas, She was a pink and white dog with a swollen Velcro sealed tummy, she had a litter of five. A fact that I was very proud of since the toy could also come with 3 or 4 pups. Of the five, one was named Edward.

One day our real puppy, a black lab decided that my toys resembled his and chewed Edward. His face mangled and twisted. His small rubber head opened to a smooth hollow mess.

He was broken A few times my mother suggested that we throw him out and she purchase me a new puppy (you could buy them independently  in case you needed 12 like I did.) Still every day I would play with him along side his brothers and sisters hoping eventually I would figure out a way to fix him, to make him whole. For years I held onto his mangled body, he was broken beyond repair but I held on. 

At one point I hot glued his face together, filling in the gaps with clear plastic mess that ran down his face and enhanced the franken-puppy look. 

Eventually I grew older and the Puppy Surprise made their way back into the closet with the My Little Pony and Cabbage Patch Dolls.I didn't think about them for years.

 Ironically I found Edward as I was moving out of my Condo a couple months ago. His tiny rubber face mended, as meticulously as a 12 year old with a glue gun could. His bean bag body stained, beaded fabric from 18 years of existence. 

You know what I did with Edward? I put him back in the bin with his brothers and sisters, now a reminder of who I am. You see, I did this again, 14 years after Edwards mangled face graced my toy box. I kept a relationship, a mangled, disfigured, irreparable relationship with a person I couldn't hot glue gun back together.  I hoped that one day, some how I would figure out how to fasten him back together, make him whole and not have to say goodbye.

How will I even Make it Through Today.

I've had bad days. This is a very bad day.

I woke up 15 minutes ago and looked at my swollen puffy eyes, my raw nose and messy hair. I look like shit. Today all I want more than anything is to walk into my office this way. Broken. To not have to hide it.

I Know I can't, I know I will finish this short post. shower, apply make-up, do my hair in a neat little bun at the nap of my neck, dress myself better than usual and head out the door. Pretending that my life is together. If you feel like shit, look like a million bucks.

Whether you have been crying relentlessly all night, wondering how you will make it through client presentations and status calls and dreaming about buying a plane ticket and learning what a true and complete fresh start is. Even if I don't have the guts to try.

Crazy Love+ Breaking the Silence.

When people know you have been through something they try to understand, they absorb information and share it with you, hoping it will help. In the time since I have shared my story I have received emails, texts and had laptops and tablets with content about domestic violence shoved in my face. I haven't really appreciated it until Best Friend P shared something with me yesterday.

This is Leslie Morgan Steiner. During her Ted Talk on domestic violence.

I will let you watch the video, but this is the most comprehensive and deeply truthful view of the domestic violence I have seen. A story that mirrored mine in ways that I have been thinking about over that last 24 hours. I have repeated this Ted Talk over and over again, studying her words, hearing my own thoughts echoing. It plays on the background of my laptop as I write you this letter.

I have bought Crazy Love and as I flip through the pages I am sure I will share what I find in those words.  On that note, Leslie brings up something in the closing remarks of her video. Abuse affects anyone, everyone, there are likely people within our circles who are battling this fight silently, Leslie states "abuse thrives only in science." this sentiment is wholly and completely true.

It was not until the words "he hits me" left my lips that I was able to leave, without sharing that with my friends, my mother only days before the last attack I am certain I would have soon after November 25th been applying another layer of cover up to new bruises, likely over top the ones that had yet to heal.

Telling them is what saved my life.

This sentiment also struck me for another reason, 1/3 American women or men have or are dealing with violence in a relationship. Somewhere in my circle of friends, someone is going through this hell.

Thus far I have been quiet silent about my ordeal, about what I went through. Select friends know, I write this blog under a pseudonym.

My own silence, even after surviving. My Voice and my story could be helping someone. Someone I love.

So my promise to myself, I will talk about it. I am not weak for experiencing it, I am strong for surviving it. I will share what I went through, with my family, my friends and this blog. Maybe one day someone will use what people like Leslie and myself went through to rewrite the next chapter in their lives and stop their domestic violence story.

On my Way Out of the Storm.

It is easy to be confused when the earth shifts.
It is easy to be scared.

It is easy to lose focus or to focus on the wrong things. To let your priorities fall through the cracks that have appeared. Four months after my world ruptured this is what I am facing. I am facing the challenge of rediscovering my life as it now exists. I am facing my old friends, many of who don't know the whole story. I am slowly looping people back into my world, sharing what I have been through, explaining not making excuses for my absence.

For the first little while my life was a party, I drank and I hid and I tried to forget that my old life had existed at all. I worked until the office was dark, sometimes I would sit there and stare out the window dreading the thought of again going to sleep on my mother's couch.

Drinking wore off, the hangovers mixed with the sleep deprivation and long hours began to wear on me. Slowly I became more and more depressed. I felt fifteen, I felt lost, I felt broken and empty and alone.

I would alternate the friends I would talk to on bad days so they would think I was doing better than I was. I didn't want to see their faces, I reminded me of that old life, the old life I wish would have washed from my memories with one of the blows to the head.

Four months later it is better, much better than before. Not quite okay. I've spent hours curled up on my friends bed as he hugged me until I ran out of tears, as I talked or cried. I've had days where  memories will flash and I will lose my mind in the back of a bus, or in the washroom at a bar. I've had moments where I smile more than I think I could. Finally I am starting to feel whole. I have begun to mend friendships neglected and give back to the people who have helped me. Though I know I am a while away from perfect, I am out of the storm a little more each day.

Before I Knew

Do you ever think about those moments you are sure saved your life?

It was May of 2005, I was a year into my Television Broadcasting education. Something I had hoped to do since I was a child. All I wanted ever was to create things, to help make something bigger than myself. I wasn't bright, I wasn't exceptional, I didn't excel physically or academically, but God was I creative.  And no matter what shit I got from others about not being adequate, I knew wholeheartedly that I could be something.

But at 19 you forget where your priorities lie. You often forget your dreams. At 19 you’re not sure about your life or your path, but you are always sure about the boy. So after a fight with your mother you drop out of your almost completed program, work full time at a burger place and move in with your boyfriends white trash family while you stop speaking to yours.

I remember walking the boyfriend's golden retriever one afternoon after I had completed my 4 hour shift at a $300 a week job when I spotted my mother and little brother riding their bikes. I tried to plan an escape route I couldn't. There I was face to face with my family, the family I had left.

It was an awkward and angry conversation, one to this day I try not to think about. When it does cross my mind I know that this encounter was what pushed me out of a path I would never have escaped, a path and a life that I later saw approaching.

I might not have been a smart teenager, but at least I did this before the beatings began. At least I was able to get out of his family's home, reconcile with mine and enrol in another program, complete my education. I got a job and made a life outside of him. I sometimes think about this. What if I hadn't? What if I was not educated or didn't have a job outside of that $300 a week burger place, what if I didn't talk to my family now. I wouldn't be out.

I am fortunate in so many things, not only did I get a second chance, I had the means to support myself, I had no children, minimal shared property and a family to go home to. I have great people in my life.

I know this isn't the case for everyone, some days I don't feel right writing this blog about a situation that could have been so much worse, that is so much worse for so many other people. People without means to leave or with families to think about. I know as much as my situation sucked, there is worse.

Nightmares

I woke up last night with my heart pounding like a war drum.
This has become a frequent occurrence lately and I can't seem to make it stop.

It's never the same dream but it is the same enactment, he is dragging me across the room by my hair,  I am screaming for help hoping the neighbours hear. Almost three years I lived in that condo, probably dozens of nights that you could hear my screams echoing through the halls, never once did anyone call the police, check to make sure I was okay. Not even that night, a night I remember calling out, "help me please", someone.

Sometimes I hear or read about how someone doesn't understand how women could let it get so bad that they lose their lives. How you could continue to love someone or stay even through fear. Now I understand. I understand what it is like to be afraid, to comply to live, even if it is barely living at all.

A few weeks before I left for good I got smacked around for not being affectionate after returning a trip with my girlfriends. I couldn't, it was that trip when I decided I would leave, that I was unhappy. At the end of the night I sat on the floor, scared, convinced that I needed to go, not knowing what people would say or how my family would react, I didn't want to tell them he had done these things to  me, would they even believe me?

As I sat there, my lip bled and my arm throbbed from being bent in an unnatural direction. He approached me, my stomach turned. He told me that I would not see my friends, I would leave work promptly at 6pm when he would retrieve me, I would come home with him and that was my life. I was his, his wife and his wife did what she was told.

After that I wasn't sure what to do, I felt like I was living in a dream-world.  My actions had no weight, I could try my hardest, do my best at work, be spectacular. But it didn't matter. In the end two things would happen; I would be his wife, have children I didn't want and take care of him in a little house in the country between beatings, or I would die.

Whether it is being dragged across the floor, or his hands around my throat, or his knee on my chest. The nightmares don't end. My therapist says they will subside, in time. Like my concious mind, my subconscious is working it out, making sense, trying to understand.

Home Sweet Homeless

Do you remember when you moved out, when you packed all your things, found an apartment and maybe half a dozen room mates and started on your big girl life.

Perhaps you remember moving in with your partner or spouse, or your goldfish and aunt Rita's hand me down furniture. 

I remember packing up my bedroom, spending $1000 in one go at the local walmart and moving into a small suburban one bedroom, 400 sq feet including closet space condo with my boyfriend. I was 23. 

It had been effortless, finding the place was easy, he wanted to stay out of the city. We had enough income to support most modest existences in the burbs and I wanted in suite laundry. Done. 

Well, Here I am again. Living with Mom and Dad, and 2 younger than myself siblings. Somewhere I thought I would never be again. 

For the last few weeks I have been tirelessly calling building after building, spending every waking moment post 5pm searching for that place. A new home. One that doesn't make me feel like I will die, or get buried by cockroaches fear factor style. 

3 years after my my very first apartment. I make more money, I don't have to consider anyone's preferences other than my own. Still, somehow I find myself 1000 times more overwhelmed that the cumulative total of condo hunting, wedding planning and Christmas Eve shopping. 

Then it hit me, when it always does. I was lying in my bedroom, listening to my father snore through the walls like he was trying to keep wild animals at bay, when I realized. My life is never going to be like it was. I will never have the things I had. It is a trade off. A trade of for my safety, for my happiness, for a fresh start at life. Sure, It can't be the same, but it will be better. 

So, I suppose I should get back to Google street viewing neighbourhoods where I have never been and debating beside Jr. 1 and 1 bedroom or Low rise and Highrise apartments. 

Wish Me Luck. 

The Little Things

Three short posts in and the love and support I have received from complete strangers has been overwhelming. Thank-you

 Sometimes, when I cannot handle my world any more I write things down. I suppose that is how this Blog began, a way from me to sort out my thoughts and feelings in a concise manner. Maybe sometimes through ramblings...

Yesterday I wrote someone who means more to me than anything in the world a letter. A letter about little things.

When you feel like your life is in a spiral, it is easy to lose yourself in negative feelings, in self deprecating thoughts. It is easy to feed into the bad vibes, continuing the spiral.

I learned something a while back, that you cannot do this. There is no way to be totally happy when you are in a tough situation, but you need reprieve. 

The Little Things

Focusing on the little things help me find happiness when it wasn't a constant in my life. I used to chase these moments. I would race outside leaving skid marks to stand in the middle of the courtyard while fluffy white snowflakes kissed my nose. I would wear new clothes when I couldn't shed my old skin, I would paint my nails pink on grey days. 

I hoped that one day these things would no longer be important, I wished that one day they would fade into the backdrop and make way for that perfect effortless happiness I had so desperately wanted.  

Then Something Happened

I realized that it has been a long time since I had searched for one of these moments. But even in that moment, I was happy. 

I am Happy

Like 1000 little happy moments had layered on top of one another. 

Sure there are crappy days where I fall apart, I know there will be more, I know there will be tougher days and longer nights but somehow from the core of Kate, my entire being, I am Happy and that is something I always hoped for but never expected. 

The Outcome + Sevenly this Week!

The last time I saw my Husband he was sitting on the corner of the sectional. I looked over my shoulder at him and my heart broke, I knew it was over, I knew I was out, and I was scared.

It was 12 hours earlier that he began the last chapter of our relationship. I wasn't right, I had come home at 3am after a night out with my co-workers, I had been away for the weekend and for a week prior to that had been staying with my Mom, I don't know why I went back to my condo that night. I am stubborn, I was intoxicated and figured it was my apartment too.



This was a dumb decision. Maybe the worst I have ever made.

I wanted to get away, to dance and laugh and smile, to feel like the weight of the world wasn't on me, for just a couple of hours.

Still, I was Married. I was suppose to be at home with my husband, never mind that I am 26.

I knew it was coming when I walked through the door. He was lying on the couch, waiting.

As I quietly entered my apartment and walked past him on the way to the bedroom my chest hurt. I was scared, I knew this wouldn't be the beatings I had grown used to.

I heard him shout from the doorway, insisting that I give him my cellphone so he could filter through the texts. It was dead, as it turned on I could hear the notifications alerting me of incoming messages. Just friends, informing me that they had found their way home.

Stubbornly I declined. He had taken everything. 2 weeks earlier he told me that I was going to be picked up at 6pm every day from the office, I wasn't to see my friends or go out. I was his wife and would play by his rules.

Dumb, I should have given him the Phone.

Then the iPhone, decked out in a heavy duty Otterbox slammed into my kneecap, splitting it open.

I remember that pain like it was 5 minutes ago. When I run my finger across the scar I relive that moment, I relive that moment a lot.

I regret a lot of mistakes I made that day, I have spent countless hours pawing through the memories like data. Understanding what I could have changed to alter the outcome. I've made myself crazy with wonder and guilt and anger.

It has been a struggle but I am learning to understand that I made choices that resulted in actions, I helped craft this story. The outcome is I am ALIVE and maybe a bit broken, but broken is okay. 

Before I close this post I want to share something with you. If you have heard of Sevenly they are a great company that makes lovely T's and donates $7 from each of them to a charity of the week. This week the Organization is NEXT DOOR who provides support for Women and Children who are in or have survived situations of domestic violence. Buy a shirt, support this great organization.



http://www.sevenly.org/

http://www.nextdoor.org/

My Constant

The hardest days are the familiar days. The days where you remember what you were doing a year ago. The days where you know what you would have been doing if your life was still the way it had been months ago.

Today is one of those days.

I know that now I am stronger, I am safe and I am happy. I don't worry about what will happen if I come home late or don't want to clean the house. I don't worry that disagreements could turn into bruises. But still it is difficult to get away from the happy moments, the moments the Husband and I shared that were good, that were what marriage was suppose to be. It is difficult to forget how good he was when I was sad, when things in my life got too hard to handle. Sometimes, missing those things overshadow everything else.

I find it is important to focus on what I have now rather than what I could have had, or what I did have. It is times like this when I focus on the gifts the universe has given me. My Friends.

I have always been a believer the the universe; or whatever higher power attracts you will never give you anything you cannot handle and when the going gets tough it gives you the tools and the people that you need to get through.

I might have been handed a tough go for a bit but I have been blessed with the most amazing friends in the world. I small group of people who all through their own methodology keep me sane, help me find perspective, tell me the truth when it sucks, hold my hand and pick my sorry and sometimes inebriated ass off the floor.



Some of these people are new, some have been around since the only English they knew was Boy Band lyrics, others have slipped out of my life and fell right back in when we needed each other the most. Each of them are best at a different part of me and though our lives have grown with the times and we have all seen our moments in and out of the sun; something about these people keep me going.

So Thank-You to my Besties, who remind me no matter where I could have been I am here and without what I have been through I would not have them, I would not have ever known unconditional love, total acceptance and continuous support, not to mention the times we laugh until we almost pee.

Where I've Been

I left my Husband at 1:38pm on a Sunday. Sunday November 25th, 2012. We had been married 5 Months, 10 days. In that time I had been beaten up 9 times, in the 10 years we had been together I was hit for 6 of them. Lies poured out of my mouth, l I fell off treadmills, got in car accidents, spilled down stairs, I believe once I got in a bar fight, I can't recall.

But at 1:38pm my best friend Kay and my mother walked into my apartment, put clothes on me, packed my blue duffel bag and put me in Kay’s car, as I sobbed uncontrollably. It was over.

I am not the kind of girl you expect to have been through this. We were not the couple you would have even believed could be capable of having this story.

My husband and I were highschool sweethearts. We found eachother at sixteen and besides one brief breakup in 2009 were never apart. I loved him and he loved me, and that is why no matter how many times I caked on concealer or lied to my co-workers and friends I never left.

I am a smart girl. I've heard it over and over again. Like I said, you would never expect this story.

Like everyone else one of my best friends found out when I came to work with bruises I couldn't hide. He still tells me he doesn't get it, I am a smart girl.

My eye was black, my neck bruised from my Husband's hand grasping it tightly two nights before. I have never felt anything as terrifying as not being able to breathe. Days later I could still feel it, a lump in my throat, the purple finger imprints stained my skin.
I walked like I was recovering from surgery, dozens of black bruises hid below the long sleeved tops I bought at the local Walmart, because that was what was open at 10pm. My knee was swollen from the impact of my iPhone smashing against it; I limped and struggled to get into my pants.
My head throbbed and the world spun, I couldn't tell if it was injury or anxiety but I spent some of Monday throwing up in the company washroom.

I can't remember the day or the month that he first hit me, I remember thinking it was bad, but isolated. I didn't think it would get worse, I didn't think that in six years time the fights would become struggles where I feared for my life, moments where I worried the man I loved, the person I married would take my life.

For six years I didn't tell a soul. Not my best friends, not my family, no one. Sometimes I almost did, sometimes I wondered if it was just time to get it out, hope for help, start again. But I wanted to save my Husband, I wanted him to get better. If I had told anyone, he would become the bad guy, I would become the victim, and no one would be able to help him. Little did I know that I couldn't have helped him.

This blog will encapsulate the story of how I lived 10 years, more than half my life with a man I loved but couldn't help. How healing is harder than surviving and what happens when the world you know collapses and makes way for the person I have always wanted to be.