We all have wounds.
Ones we have never really let God heal.
This is what led me to the crowning experience of my life thus far; where the most pain was also eventually the most beauty. Let me just say, there is a very limited understanding, especially within church circles, of the definition of domestic abuse. Violence comes in forms of verbal, mental, sexual and physical tactics but often the physical is well-controlled and last to show up. This lack of understanding of abuse is my main motivation to share my story- and whenever I share articles or information about narcissistic abuse it is NEVER to dwell on the past or feel sorry for myself but to bring clarity and awareness to a very real epidemic, and possibly SAVE OTHER LIVES from being stuck in the cycle, to be able to live completely unshackled in the FREEDOM Jesus offers us all.
When I met my abuser it was on a Christian dating website. He had “kind” eyes. He also had tons of baggage he was towing. Two divorces, kids, a military injury. I felt bad for him. I wanted to help. I wanted to prove to myself that I could help fix a damaged guy, make his life better. That everyone and every situation was redeemable. I was almost 30, a virgin and sold out for Jesus. I threw my discernment aside and called it trusting God. The day I moved a few states away, my mom cried. She knew it was not going to be good. We started meeting with church leaders soon after I moved near him. They encouraged him to make SURE his former marriage could not be reconciled. Little did any of us know his “time standing still before God” was actually creating insecurity and jealousy in me intentionally, by spending time talking with, visiting, and trying to seduce his ex. When it didn’t work, he resumed his marriage path with me. All this time, I jumped right into being his provider of every need- military advocacy for him, driving him everywhere when he didn’t feel well, taking full care of his kids when they were having visitation and nursing him to health after procedures.
He started asking me to give up more and more control and bits of myself- I should cook and clean as he suggested, I should destroy any pictures of guys from the past (even prom dates), I should realize my life was with him now and avoid making him upset- rarely calling my family back home, rarely bringing up educational or scientific thoughts that could go against our fundamental biblical ideals. I did my best to try and read his mind to avoid him yelling, criticizing or calling me names. I began to feel safer when other people were around, so I tried to linger at church and at friend’s homes to avoid being alone with him, in case he was in a bad mood. At the time none of this struck me as abnormal... I thought it was part of his medical/military conditions. I didn’t really mind suffering and making sacrifices to “help” him. Closer to the wedding, the more extreme behavior started- berating me and cursing at me for things that were out of my control. When I was trapped in the car with him I often got out on the side of the road or came close to jumping out to avoid the mistreatment; once he yelled so loud my ear drum popped. While engaged, the dog got out of the house he lived in, and it was "all my fault for wanting to adopt that dog." I was horrible, negligent, disrespectful. And many other things I don’t care to type. The week leading up to the wedding and the day of the ceremony my eyelid kept twitching.
On our first honeymoon night in paradise I cried for an hour, trying to stay in the bathtub. I do not even remember why he had started yelling at me on the ride there. It was probably something small like not agreeing with him on the best meal to get on the plane or me saying I was too tired to sleep together. Who knows? I blocked a lot of details out. He was so downright personal and cruel our first week of marriage, that we weren’t even talking to each other when his friend picked us up from our honeymoon. I had started refining my efforts to make myself as quiet and small as possible, to avoid setting him on a rampage. I just kept thinking about how our church mentors told me I was going to need to ‘toughen up’ to be married to him. He often argued that yelling and cursing only bothered me because I came from a "well-to-do" upbringing where people weren't comfortable with conflict.
Right away our new life was constant unpredictability.
One day he’d want to snuggle and the next day he’d ignore me. He was bent on teaching me the best ways to keep house and cook. I slaved over trying new recipes, perfecting the errors according to his standards, learning how to iron his pants and fold his laundry. Those were the activities I poured myself into doing when he decided he was mad at me and ignored me for up to a week at a time. They kept me busy and gave me hope that he might see how much I loved him by how hard I was trying. When I approached him to ask forgiveness for however I’d offended him I had 2 outcomes: get rejected and told he didn’t care OR listen to a long sermon on what an awful wife I was and agree with all of it before we “made up”, physically speaking. I was always so confused about why he would seemingly HATE me for days at a time and then suddenly want to cuddle up. It was as if nothing had ever been wrong. If I tried to ask about this sort of thing I would be raged at or stonewalled. Our first year of marriage he would not hold my hand or hug me for almost two months. When I mentioned it, he said it was because he knew I “expected it” and therefore he would not do it (the same thing with opening doors for me).
These mental battles wore on me more than anything because I was always trying to make rational sense of what he accused me of; maybe I WAS expecting too much, maybe I WAS too sensitive, maybe he HAD told me where he was going, maybe I WAS too attached to my selfish desires, etc. I knew nothing about personality disorders, gas-lighting, triangulation or projecting. I did know that the guy I married was like Jekyll and Hyde. He even joked that he was like The Hulk. Little did I know he got satisfaction out of keeping me on my toes- and only later would I take note of the strange glint of satisfaction in his eye when he had pushed me to a point of yelling back, calling him a jerk, or crying uncontrollably. Once he had successfully “baited” me, he would sit back and relax for awhile, acting loving and thoughtful as if nothing bad had happened. This was until he became bored with the calm in our house and decided to provoke another episode of chaos.
I was expected to check in regularly via text or phone call. However, when he left with no explanation, he would get mad or not answer when I tried to contact him. I started hoarding loose change around the house and the spare truck key, so that when he locked me out to prove a point, I would be able to get snacks and gas and drive the truck. I had to account for every cent when we stayed up late to balance the budget and it didn’t matter if I was tired. I was allowed a certain amount for my own personal use each month, but I couldn’t access that while he was mad. I just avoided him while it lasted, slept in the spare bed and drove around in the old truck or parked for hours. A few times I asked to sleep at our church mentors’ home because he locked me out at night for not following his rules. I’ll never forget the day he was swearing, calling me horrible names and I dared to call him "abusive." He insisted on calling the police if it was abusive. I begged him not to, and he kept the phone away from me and dialed anyways. When they came, they of course saw nothing wrong except for a very embarrassed, distraught, tear-stained wife’s face. They recommended counseling. They took a report. They left. He knew I’d never be calling for help or calling him abusive again.
He started showing his control in subtle ways- random biting, pinching, smacking my rear very hard. He knew just the right moments to shock me and make me jump out of my skin. Requests to ‘please stop’ were laughed off or ignored. I was forced to do sexual things I wasn’t comfortable with in order to ‘resolve’ times of conflict. I was expected to wake up to please him at any hour of the night. I was expected to be physically available to him when I was sick or in pain- there were NO days off from housekeeping, cooking, or sex. Sure, I could TRY to say no, but it wouldn’t be worth the backlash I would experience. Including his sermons, refusing to talk to me for days, or picking random moments to rage at me in between all of that. I was expected to stay up getting yelled at until I felt like I would pass out. Any time I tried to mention what this type of treatment was doing to me, I would be punished. Ignored, abandoned, and I NOW know, cheated on. I was left on busy streets and highways because I had to get out of the car when I was being cursed at, blamed, and belittled. I wandered the streets or called friends to come get me, rather than endure that verbal beating. I wish we had never gotten dogs because if one peed in the house or jumped on the couch I would hear it yelping as he took it outside to discipline it.. Then he would keep mimicking the sad yelping sound and crack up about how funny it was. It made me nauseated. When I had been married a bit over a year I was diagnosed with a pre-cancerous type of sexually transmitted disease. He was very, very sorry. It “must have been his ex-wife”. I underwent procedures to resolve the issue. Meanwhile, he was in another town “preparing” for our move by advertising himself for sexual activity through online ads. When we were together in the new town, he continued to solicit encounters. He was involved in college activities, groups and joined local hobbies. I did not know how much of that time was really spent doing those hobbies.
Soon, I became pregnant. One night, early in my pregnancy, I was exhausted. He insisted on “discussing” some reasons he was mad at me and would not leave the room to allow me to sleep. Through the yelling and blaming I grabbed a blanket and tried to go to the living room to lay down. He followed. I then wrapped myself in the blanket and sat on the front step crying. He followed me and took out his phone and took my picture to “show how pathetic I looked”. I finally locked myself in the bathroom and tried to sleep on the floor. The next day I gathered the courage to tell him I believed I could lose this baby, if he continued to treat me that way. I never heard the end of making him “carry that burden”, but he was nicer to me for the next 5 months. Then, around 8 months pregnant we went to a movie I suggested. The plot made him SO mad that he stormed out and yelled at me the whole ride home, blaming me for everything. After the baby was born I had horrible insomnia and postpartum depression. We had a friend come over to help while his kids had their summer visit. He refused to help me with any night feedings, so that I could try to sleep. He refused to have the friend help with any night feedings, saying she was there to help with his kids. He would come in all hours of the night, if he fell asleep and snored loud enough to keep me awake, he would lash out at me for asking him to sleep elsewhere or not come in and out so much. He started going out 4-6 nights a week until 2-3am or sometimes not even returning until late the next morning, spending hundreds on drinking and “hobbies”.
I was barely getting by with the constant baby care, breastfeeding, lack of sleep and eating very little while trying to maintain the home and meals somewhat. There were several times I thought I would not be able to survive one more day. I could not reach out for help. I was extremely alone and isolated. I didn’t want anyone to know how badly he treated me or how limited my support was at home.
Finally, a doctor's diagnosis got him to leave me alone in bed, so that I could try to sleep a bit more on my meds. I slowly started to see past the fog and after moving closer to my family, I gained some clarity. Those last 6-12 months I began studying narcissism, abusive treatment and systematically observing what he did with every opportunity to improve our marriage. We tried church counseling again and I managed to convince him to go to a veterans retreat for PTSD. Even after participating in these resources and being offered further therapeutic treatments, he would come right back to blaming me for everything, chasing me around the house to yell, mock me and invalidate my concerns as if they were ridiculous. After being given every chance to improve, his behavior showed that he did NOT want to. I prayed that he would want to improve. Yet, I realized that we all have free will, and he would never take ownership of his responsibility or do the work that would bring change. I knew my son and I needed to live in safety and health. So, I made the leap to separate and trusted God for the rest.
A few weeks later, God allowed me to discover just how promiscuous my husband had been. Even then, his reaction when I confronted him told me what I needed to know. No repentance, no sorrow for the hurt brought about- only more lies and excuses.
So I made the painful decision that divorce was necessary and didn’t look back.
Today, I can clearly see the grace and mercy of a loving God in and throughout it all. I thank God that I did not require the 7 times of leaving (average for most domestic abuse relationships) before I stayed away.
I thank God that I did not have to share parenting responsibilities which would have forced me to have ongoing contact with my abuser. This happened because my ex left after I was mercifully granted custody, proceeding a psychological evaluation.
Most of all I thank my God! There are ALWAYS new beginnings. God always redeems our lost years. He never wastes a single hurt. He has woven a glorious tapestry out of the messy threads of my story. I have a beautiful, smart, loving toddler and an amazing blessing of a man in my life; a man who adores both of us and would cry if he ever hurt me. Above all, this man holds himself to God’s words and God’s standards so that I don’t have to. His aim is to be a blessing to me every day; to make me smile with every chance he gets. But none of this would have been possible or NEARLY as sweet without going through the horribly rocky places I’ve traveled.
Never lose hope along the way, the mercies ARE TRULY new every morning!!!
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