Twelve

Before we were married my Sweetie and I went through Pre-Cana, the Catholic Church’s marriage preparation program. The course included a full-day retreat with dozens of other couples at a parish south of here. The session just before lunch was on domestic violence. I was very impressed by the Church’s proactive stance on this topic.

My Sweetie and I sat side by side on the uncomfortable, folding, metal chairs in the parish hall as the guest speaker passed out information sheets. We were chatting and smiling. We glanced outside at the beautiful weather then looked at our watches to see how much longer before lunch.

Once all the couples had their papers, the speaker asked us to quietly review the green sheet. On this drab, unnatural looking, institutional, green piece of paper was a checklist of fourteen items. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Twelve items on the list resonated deeply and painfully for me. I could relate to twelve out of fourteen items on that list. The list (85% of it) perfectly and accurately described my first marriage.

My hand holding the paper began to shake. The tears streamed down my face. Panic welled up inside of me. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to run screaming from the dim hall out into the sunshine. I wanted to throw myself down on the ground and beat the earth with my fists. I wanted to sob in the grass.

I had just woken up and realized that I had lived in a nightmare for ten years.

I looked at my Sweetie and saw the most loving and compassionate face ever. He put his left arm around my shoulders and squeezed my hand with his other hand as the speaker began her presentation. The speaker told us that if we experienced five of the items on the list good chances were that we were in an abusive relationship. I experienced twelve out of fourteen for ten years of my life.

Only my Sweetie’s presence kept me sitting in that chair. I silently cried the entire time. My only concern was that I didn’t want anyone to think that S was the cause of my tears.

After the presentation, we were silent as we took our Subway sandwiches and Cokes to a picnic table under a tree. I went first and told my Sweetie about my realization. He told me that he already knew.

How in the world could he know and not me?

He told me that he figured it out from my behavior and some things I had said when we first met. They were all domestic violence warning signs he learned while training for Physical Security (Military Police) in the Navy. He also told me that I had to come to the realization myself. That’s why he never said anything. I had done such a good job of hiding the truth that my parents who saw me almost every day and saw me interact with my ex-husband never had a clue. It wasn’t until I met the love of my life that I finally let some of my emotional defenses drop.

The rest of that day was numb for me. Somehow I maintained my exterior composure. I really don’t remember much except for stopping for dinner on the way home. Once again I wanted to eat outside. I remember feeling the breeze on my face.

The following day is when I finally had my meltdown. I couldn’t contain it any longer. I sobbed and I cried. I was angry. I was full of shame. I was in disbelief. Forgotten memories came to the surface as if I was experiencing them for the first time. Awful doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt.

I was certain that S wouldn’t want to marry me anymore. I thought I was damaged goods. Instead he held me in his arms and stroked my hair. He told me he loved me and the boys and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

About six months after S and I were married, I decided that I needed to talk to a trained professional because the smashed-down memories kept bubbling to the surface. Through a friend I met a domestic violence prevention counselor. We discussed many things and she helped me resolve many things.

But I was an anomaly. Normally, she worked with people currently in abusive relationships (both sides). She had never met anyone who survived a ten year abusive relationship, methodically planned self-sufficiency and a divorce, and then entered into a new healthy relationship. All the while not realizing the first relationship was abusive.

I must have been sleep walking in that nightmare.

I knew my first marriage was unhealthy. I knew that I didn’t want my boys to grow up to be like that other person. Something deep down inside of me knew that twelve out of fourteen was twelve too many.

Photo: Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com