Earlier this month, an online friend wrote to tell me that she planned to publish a month of daily posts --30 Days of Thanks-- on her blog for November. She asked permission to mention me in one of her posts and I was more than happy to give her the go ahead.
Being mentioned in a gratitude post is a "no brainer" -- Right?
Friday, October 23, 2015
I made a vow to myself before I married that if he ever hit me or took a drink of alcohol, I was out of there. No second chances.
I made this vow because abuse had been a part of my young life. My mother had been abused verbally and physically. My younger brother and I had been verbally abused. I had been sexually abused.
Abuse was not part of my earliest memories. I remember happier times when Dad would tell me a story, call me "Sugarfoot" and blow on the bottoms of my feet while I squealed in delight. He would help with milking the cows and goats. He would never say anything bad about Mama’s cooking. He would take us places and buy us a Coke or a popsicle. Sometimes he would take all of us to the café in town. At the end of the day, he would sit down after dinner and drink one beer. When Mama went downstairs after reading me a story and tucking me in, I would fall asleep to the comforting drone of voices from the rooms below and the tinkling creek across the road. I was safe. I was secure.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
An excerpt from THROUGH MY EYES...
"There had been many times before when I felt like I was at the end of my rope, but this was different. I was dangling by a thread. I was forty-three years old. I had spent almost twenty-seven years beating my head against a brick wall. And at that moment, it felt like I had wasted the best years of my life on a man who was not even my friend. I began to weigh my options carefully. I was fearful of striking out on my own. I wasn’t confident. I wasn’t self-assured. I was flat out scared to death. And I wasn’t sure what God expected of me. But there were a few things I felt certain of.
Dennis was more impossible to get along with now than he was when I married him. And he remained completely unwilling to look at himself or examine his priorities. Everything was always someone else’s fault—usually mine. He had sent an intentional message that I didn’t matter by tearing up the fourteen pages (of documented abuse and neglect) he vowed to keep forever as a reminder of how his behavior made me feel, which was extremely significant to me and powerful evidence that change would never happen. I believed that staying with Dennis could potentially shorten my life because of the toll the heavy stress was taking on me physically. I knew I was about to hit midlife and menopause. I knew there would be no compassion if I struggled the way some women do and I couldn’t imagine what that would be like as his wife. I concluded that if the marriage was hopeless, no matter how hard it was to start over at age forty-three, it would be easier at forty-three than at fifty-three. I couldn’t change the years I’d already given up, but I could refuse to throw away the next ten..."
The decision to leave is a difficult one no matter how many years you've invested in a marriage.