NOTE: This story contains suicidal ideations and abuse.
As someone who grew up in the church, the phrase, “Turn the other cheek” was repeated often in my mind like a broken record, and of course we are told to forgive an individual seventy times seven times. In other words, as a Christian, I knew that Jesus was instructing me not to retaliate or seek revenge. In Ephesians, wives were told to submit to their husbands, and mine repeated that verse to me often in our thirty years of marriage. Unfortunately, with those instructions being repeated in my mind and aloud by my husband, as well as being reiterated by some pastors that I knew along the way, I felt ashamed that my spirit was dying in my marriage.
I didn’t know why my spirit was dying. I didn’t know why I was confused, sad, and scared when I was alone with him. Until we were separated, I didn’t realize that my mind had a disconnect with the term “abusive.” I always thought that an abusive husband was one that left bruises on your body or cigarette burns on your thigh. My husband didn’t hit me, he would just yell and swear at me as I covered my head and cried. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may never hurt me.” Right? Apparently, no, that phrase is actually pretty far from the truth. Words DID hurt me. Why did I keep making excuses for his hateful words that were used to slice me from the inside?
Words hurt A LOT when they are coming from the mouth of someone who is supposed to love you, but instead feels that it’s his goal in life to remind you that you are the weaker sex, that it is your place to be submissive and follow along, and that it is your responsibility to never disagree with him because he is the head of our household and the decision maker in the family. Why? Likely, it was because he was insecure in his identity, and felt ashamed that he couldn’t break free from his addictions, but he would instead say that it was because he deserved respect.
RESPECT is a common word and belief system ingrained in military members, and this boy that I chose to marry before he or I could legally drink quickly aligned with all things military as he found the hierarchical structure and formalities very appealing and the predictability of a job appealed to me. Respect was now commanded by this young officer that had a taste of power, and that applied to both his home and work life. How is it that a word that should have meant good things like treating each other in thoughtful and courteous ways, accepting each other even when we didn’t agree, and should have been used to build feelings of safety and trust was weaponized to mean that I was supposed to close my mouth and take whatever was being thrown at me without complaint? The word respect was weaponized in my marriage, and his military career certainly didn’t help my husband’s personality to soften to a point where we could find common ground and understanding over those many painful and isolating years as we lived far from family and moved often.
I learned to bite my tongue and marinate my words before saying anything playful, flirty, or light, because words hurt A LOT when they are twisted and thrown back at you as if they are a flaming, sharpened boomerang just because he had a bad day, was tired, was annoyed by the kids, disgruntled about a messy house, frustrated by a meal that he didn’t like, triggered by something, or he had too much to drink to put a filter on his words. How stupid it was of me to playfully toss words in the direction of my husband like a toy Nerf boomerang when I seemed to always forget that they could often be transformed into a deadly weapon in his presence that was coming straight for my head.
I later learned that these feelings that I had of constant tightness in my chest, anxiety, occasional panic attacks and hyper vigilance were actually a common reaction to abuse, trauma, and complex PTSD. I thought that was just the way I was supposed to feel when my husband pulled in the driveway, called me on the phone, or stepped into the room. I thought that it was my fault that I often felt sick to my stomach, like I was barely holding things together and like I was close to tears often because I was a perfectionist, had a high need to please, wasn’t good enough, and was too emotional.
I forgave and forgave, I talked and I listened, I cried and cried, I pleaded and I prayed, and I took his emotional attacks in silence until I was willing to be silent no more. I started finding my voice and yelling back, I walked away instead of listening, I slammed doors and I threw things, I locked myself away in my head and in my bathroom, I would hide away in my van and sleep in the cold, trembling and praying that he wouldn’t find me, I tried to numb the pain of not being accepted, not being desired except as an object used for his pleasure and then discarded, and not being loved by the one person that I had given all of myself to, and I… well… I wasn’t who I wanted to be at all.
Who was I? I was a faded, flat drawing of someone that I thought that I was supposed to be, but no one that I recognized, with a reflection that he had almost completely erased. I was practically nothing at all, as insignificant and temporary as dust in the wind.
I was dead inside, and I had nothing more to live for. My kids were practically grown, and I had convinced myself that they would be better off without me. I had been beat to a pulp with words, lies, horrible name calling, and swear words directed at me that would play over and over whenever I wanted so much to see the world as a place that has some good in it. If I thought back to when I was very young, there were some good things about the world, weren’t there? As I tried to remember those good times, flashes of awful, horrible memories would flood my vision with darkness and overtake the laughter with clouds and pain.
Alone and empty with a shredded heart that didn’t even know if it knew what love was, I sobbed and stared at the revolver in my hands. I don’t even remember where I had found it, just that I frantically felt like I needed it, including the loaded clip that I jammed into it without any hesitation. I was concerned about the costly hole in the foundation of the house or my girls finding me first, but nothing more than that when I realized that I didn’t even know how to fire the scary thing that I had managed to keep my husband from buying until after he had retired from the military. It apparently now sits in the bottom of the lake, but that’s a story for another day.
After handing the loaded gun over to my husband in the garage and begging him to show me how to use it or to kill me himself, our marriage died rather than me. Our marriage died in those moments, because my husband of 29 years, upon hearing me cry that I wanted to die, that I couldn’t survive another day of this, and that his words were killing me, that husband… proceeded to tell me that I was being manipulative and blamed me for putting him in that situation. To this day he holds to his story that I had pulled a gun on him even though I had walked up to him to hand it over willingly, butt first. I was not worthy of empathy from my husband that day, the days before that, or the days since then. UNWORTHY
I stood there with tears flowing down my cheeks, realizing in that moment that there was no repair for this gaping hole in the foundation of our marriage. It would take almost a month before my husband would move out completely. He returned only once to realize that I was capable of establishing calm boundaries, two more months before we agreed to attempt one last marriage retreat to see if there could be a way forward, two months after that before he would choose to get an apartment rather than continue to sleep on relative’s couches, and then shortly after that, at the age of 49, I did the hardest thing of my life. I filed for divorce from my high school sweetheart, my partner in life since I was 17 years old. DEATH OF A MARRIAGE
With no gun to do the work for me and back down in the locked bathroom all by myself, I cried out to God to remove me from this earth in an instant. I begged him to make me vanish, leaving everyone wondering where I had disappeared to. It seemed to me that it would be so completely manageable by the all powerful Lord of the universe to do that, especially when a strong wind would blow dust away in a millisecond. WHY DIDN’T HE LISTEN? WHY WON’T HE JUST TAKE ME AWAY FROM ALL OF THIS PAIN? Had I not been a good enough Christian? Had I not said enough prayers? Done enough good deeds? Forgiven my husband who struggled with his addictions and rage enough times? WHAT, LORD? WHAT DID I NOT DO ENOUGH OF?
You know what I hadn’t done enough of? I hadn’t let him be the Lord of my life. I was smart, capable, resourceful, so I didn’t turn to God for most everything, because I thought I could do it by myself. I thought I could live my life as I saw fit and it would work out just fine. That’s what everyone else does, right? Everyone else… EXCEPT those that are living their lives centered in Christ because they know that is the only way to TRULY LIVE.
I was still there, sitting in a locked bathroom all alone, moments after crying out in pain, anger, frustration, and hopelessness. I was still alive, still sad, still confused, and still unsure about what to do next. WHY, GOD? WHY AM I HERE? WHY AM I ENDURING THIS LIFE OF SUFFERING?
I have a friend who will listen and not judge me, I thought. I will text her. My brother has been there for me my whole life. I will text him too. Thanks, bro. I actually feel like I owe you my life for picking me up and driving with me for hours that day. For telling me that I’m not a failure just because I can’t do everything myself.
Life lines. Connection. Hope. Walking forward.
I began to change my perspective. I am not a failure if I need an anti-depressant when I felt worthless enough to hold a gun to my head. God hates divorce, but he doesn’t hate ME even if I choose divorce instead of living a life of abuse.
I am not worthless even though someone tells me that I am. God says that I am incredibly valuable, treasured, a princess, redeemed, holy, loved, chosen, his bride, a daughter of the King, wonderfully made, knitted together in my mother’s womb, and formed in the image of God himself.
Oh, and that darkness that used to overtake the light? That doesn’t happen to me anymore. PRAISE THE LORD! Maybe it’s the anti-depressants, I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I’m healing and again have found safety in my home, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s that I am not being attacked verbally anymore and am now choosy with who I spend my time with. Or maybe it’s because I am centered on God’s Word multiple times throughout every single day now. Maybe it’s because I choose to see God’s blessings, believe his promises, and fiercely command authority over the powers of the Evil One. Whatever the reason, I now see that light ALWAYS cuts through darkness, and that darkness can NEVER cut through light.
The photo I chose for this story by Jane Lund is a powerful image that reveals damage and intentional harm to someone who is very vulnerable. I also firmly believe that with the power of God, a human would be able to withstand damage like that and fulfill the PURPOSE that God had for him or her.
How many hits can one person take? Statistically, that person can probably take at least one more hit, but should they? What if taking one more hit is preventing you from fulfilling the purpose that you were created for? The best way to determine your path is to know TRUTH and understand how God sees your situation, whatever your situation happens to be, is to make sure that your thoughts and actions are aligning with God’s Word. My biggest mistake throughout my long marriage was that I read books about Christian subjects, snacked on God’s Word at church, listened to Christian music, and did easy Bible studies with friends (because some of them had too much homework!), but I refused to pick up the Bible except to follow along with a sermon or complete something for homework.
How could I have possibly known who God said I was if I didn’t even read THE BIBLE all those years? I didn’t know who God REALLY WAS or what he had planned for me. I didn’t realize that I was sabotaging his plans for me by not relying on him. Did you get that?
I DIDN’T REALIZE THAT I WAS SABOTAGING HIS PLANS FOR ME BY NOT RELYING ON HIM. And yes, I must yell that now, because I GET IT!! Now, I see! Now, I am living only for JESUS and PEACE, and my life will never be the same again. I have been made NEW in Christ, and the colors and beauty of the world have returned. There is nothing inconsequential about any of us that have been created in the image of our Creator. NOTHING. Your Father’s love for you is beyond measure, and learning to accept that he is pouring it out on you regardless of what you do because of WHO YOU ARE to him, is a giant step in the right direction. Love should not be confusing, hurtful, and punishing. Remember, you will know the truth by comparing your situation with what God says about it, and God is very clear on what love is, because GOD IS LOVE.
1 Corinthians 13:1–13 ESV says, “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”
(Originally published on May 23, 2023, by Steph on Medium.com)