I Am Not A Child

How domestic abuse stunted my growth

“I feel like I have a third child… I’m so tired of taking care of you…Grow up! I’m so tired of you crying…”

Those are just a few of the lines I remember off the top of my head. There were many more, for many years. In my twenties, I naively married a charming, deceiving (the bible does say “charm is deceptive…”) narcissist. Just think of an injustice and it was done to me. The details would make you nauseous. Frankly, the behavior doesn’t deserve much attention.

To be clear, I am almost forty-five now and remarried to a wonderful man who loves and respects me. He’s my dream man! But for nearly two decades I was in a nightmare. My fairy-tale looked more like the makings of a Dateline special. I was afraid.

And when “Cinderella” decided to take a risk and go to the ball-in other words, finally escape the dungeon of limitations and false identity placed on me? I was literally told by my oppressor, ”I’m just worried that you won’t be able to make it in society.” As if I’d wandered in from Where the Crawdads Sing, rather than the Godly, functional family and nurturing home I grew up in. This “concern” was voiced by the same man who stormed out of our house spitting, “I’m divorcing you. Piss off!”

It was a deeply painful, draining and confusing life.

Before my first marriage I was a confident, happy, healthy and content young lady. Never had I been disrespected the way I was about to be. My father paved the way beautifully for a man to know how to treat a lady. And his father before him did, too. I knew my value. How did I miss the signs?

I was growing by leaps and bounds spiritually, professionally and personally before I fell into the trap. I was a leader, not a follower. Looked up to by both women and men. Likable. Social. Happy with who I was. I was myself.

As years of abusive treatment ensued, I was forced to get “smaller,” making room for the alter ego of “Mr.X.” I longed to be seen and understood, even appreciated. I was told I was loved, not shown. I think he felt threatened by the real me. It was easier to push me down than to rise to a higher standard. When I look back, I remember being mature and rational, spiritually determined and maternal.

Over time, the lines got blurred. If for no other reasons but exhaustion and paranoia I shrank for survival.I tried as hard as I could to be a good wife and caring friend to the person who constantly took advantage of me.

I tried to believe the best, cover for him to our children. But they saw and heard too much at home. Even though I withheld a lot of hurtful information about their father’s more private choices, he did enough damage when they were watching to make up for it.

The sad part is, they thought this was normal. For them it was. You can’t hide a giant. You end up hiding from a giant. Everyone could feel intimidation breathing down their necks. To change the atmosphere was to lasso the moon, when he got in one of his “moods.” Good luck.

“You guys be careful what you say around Daddy today, ok?…It’s not your fault that he did that, buddy…I’m so sorry he’s treating you that way…I love your dad and I want him to get better. I don’t know what to do…”

…And I didn’t. But I should have. I should have left when they were little, before the pain was multiplied and layered so many times. Before their growth was so stunted. I will always regret my hesitance to do what felt impossible at the time. Now I am doing things that feel impossible anyway. I could have saved a lot of time. I could have gotten a head start on this healing process.

Hurt people hurt people. Scared people scare people. And highly immature people make others feel small so they don’t have to confront their own underdevelopment. It’s the classic bully on the playground. Sadly, those bullies turn into husbands and fathers; their houses are the new playgrounds. The one who is supposed to be the “principal” defending you, is still the kid bullying you. There is no one else on duty to call for help. If they never got help, then being an “adult” just means they got older, not nicer.

Thankfully, I finally “dropped out of school.”

I feel at least twenty years behind in life now. I still second-guess myself. I am slowly unlearning the lies I was told. I am re-discovering the truth about myself, marriage, parenting, life.But, at least I’m growing again. And no one can stop me.

Here’s to freedom!