Six months ago I packed up two outfits for myself and each of my kids and walked out of my house and my marriage for the last time. I wish I could put into words the sense of absolute, overwhelming relief I felt that night pulling into my parent’s driveway and coming to a home where I knew I was safe. Starting over is HARD, but it’ll never be as hard as living each and every day wondering what kind of hell you will be waking up to. I’ve spent a lot of the last few months trying to piece together a puzzle that had no matching pieces. The years of lies and manipulation led to confusion about what was and wasn’t true about the marriage I was in. In this has been a lot of grief surrounding losing what could have been, and acceptance of the fact that I was married to a person who never loved me.
Last year I sat in a counseling session where something finally clicked as my marriage was compared to a burning house. I could either stay and go down with the house or get my kids and get out and save us from a fire.
I haven’t even really began to scratch the surface of addressing the trauma I’ve experienced for my entire adult life and I have years of healing and unlearning behavior that I’ve used to survive the last several years. But in just six months I’m beginning to remember who I once was and it gives me hope that if I reach far enough I’ll eventually bring her back to the surface.
One thing I’ve learned is that silence enables abusers. For years I remained the silent, good wife, I told no one of the troubles of my marriage and I was convinced by the very person causing the troubles that the things that were happening were normal in marriages. I was convinced that if I spoke about the things happening that it would be me who was betraying my vows. And this kept me silent. But silent I will no longer be.
Wandering Alone 