Leaving Abuse: A Journey into the Great Unknown

The sun had barely crested the horizon that morning when I woke up in my daughter’s bed. Turning around, I realized that my neck and shoulders had turned to stone overnight. I slowly got up and began massaging my neck to release some of the tension and was immediately overwhelmed with emotional exhaustion too intense for words. The horror of the night revisited in full force.

Fortunately, none of our four children were home: three had spent the night at their grandparents’ house, and one was at a sleepover. The timing couldn’t have been better, as the night’s events ran the gamut of terror and tears that ended without resolution long after midnight. I had confronted my husband about the relationship he was obviously having with another woman, and he was furious with me for having the audacity to eavesdrop on the late-night phone conversation I overheard him having with her from our bedroom.

After telling him that I wanted him out, he flatly refused, insisting that he was not going anywhere and that I had no right to tell him what to do. Then he locked me out of our bedroom, something I’d gotten used to unfortunately. I had no intention of sleeping in the same bed with him anyway, and I curled up in our daughter’s bed and cried until exhaustion finally won, offering me a few hours of respite.

After trying to restore blood flow to my sore muscles, I wearily stood up and tried to get my bearings, to overcome the confusion as I stood among our six-year-old son’s toys and belongings. I heard myself barely whisper, “What should I do, sir?”

In the silence, I immediately heard the words.

“You must go.”

The voice was crystal clear and the directive absolutely convincing. In an instant, my mind turned from anguish and confusion to a sure purpose: to get out. Now. Adrenaline began to flow through my veins, and where physical strength was lacking, a sense of urgency took over.

Juan was still asleep. Not daring to face him, I knew he had to act quickly. I went to the garage and collected half a dozen large plastic garden bags and returned to the kids’ rooms where I began filling the bags with T-shirts, jeans, pajamas, socks, underwear, school books, and toiletries. As the minutes passed, the fear of waking my husband sleeping behind the locked door only a few feet away grew, and I cringed inwardly imagining how he would respond when he realized I had left with our children.

It only took a few minutes before he felt that he had gathered enough necessities to meet the immediate need. I dumped the bags in my truck but wasn’t sure where to go. It was still early, I grabbed my cell phone and went outside, not daring to speak out loud in the house. Our neighbors’ houses were quiet and dark as I walked and prayed, then called my mom and stepdad’s house where my kids had spent the night. Even at the early hour, my stepfather responded happily.

“Hello,” he replied in his usual friendly style.

“Hello, Gordon,” I replied stoically.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, as was his custom. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“We need a place to stay,” was all I could say, and her voice immediately deepened, as if she knew how serious the situation was. She didn’t even hesitate, she didn’t communicate with my mother, she just said the words she desperately needed to hear.

“Come right away,” he said.

“Thank you,” was all I said when my voice cracked and we hung up.

I hurried back to the house, got in my truck, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the driveway. Arriving at Mom and Gordon’s house a few minutes later, I met my stepdad halfway. He put his arms around me and hugged me as I cried, then warmly ushered me into his house. My children were at the dining room table, chatting over donuts and milk in their pajamas, innocently unaware of the drastic turn of events. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I told them.

But I knew in that moment that our lives would never be the same again, that when I walked out that door, I walked straight into The Great Unknown, a world of a thousand unanswered questions. I didn’t know anything about what it all meant, what to do next, what to say to the people in my circle, or how John might respond to the note I left on the kitchen table explaining that he wouldn’t live like he used to.

I didn’t know if there was any hope for our marriage or how the children would cope with the catastrophic change. I walked out with no plan, no answers, and no idea what the next day, next month, or next year would be like. In fact, there was only one thing I knew for sure: I had to go.

Over the next few weeks, my life became a jumble of he-said-she-said phone conversations, one-on-one counseling appointments, and commitment efforts that soon fizzled out into screaming matches. For almost a month, the children and I lived with my parents, until John finally agreed to live elsewhere so the children and I could return home.

I wish I could encourage the reader by sharing that things smoothed out and calmed down as the days passed. (They didn’t.) Or that you suddenly had a workable plan, or you knew what to expect and how to handle the drastic change in lifestyle. (Je n’ai pas.)

The day I left, John called me, incredulous. He told me that he couldn’t believe that I had reached that extreme; that he was exaggerating as usual. A few days later, when my resolve stuck and I brought up some of his blatantly unacceptable offenses, he decided to get clean and sober, go to therapy, break up with his girlfriend, and promised me and the kids “that would never happen.” again.” For a few weeks, it actually seemed like his turnaround might be the real deal.

Although I lacked peace, I felt compelled to give him another chance, and after three months of separation he moved again. That was one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made. It wasn’t long before I heard the sarcastic, biting tone in her voice come back from her as did all the other nasty little habits and addictions of hers.

When I confronted him, he argued that I needed to give him room to fail. I returned to my facilitator role calling him ‘patience’, and after three months any favorable changes in his behavior had completely disappeared. I told him to leave as we agreed before we made up, and he left, complaining all the while about my unrealistic expectations and terrible lack of faith.

His absence from home altered the kind of stress we lived under, but in no way ended it. For me, there was still no solid ground to stand on. I felt stuck and confused, unable to make firm or final decisions. As unbelievable as it is, I was still hopeful that our relationship could be restored.

Although separated, John would try to break the boundaries at every opportunity. We agreed on a time after school so he could have time with the kids, but he would find him at the house even after he got home from work, in violation of our agreement. He would complain that I was getting in the way of his efforts to be a “good father” and would often come home and wait for him to cook dinner and then ask him if he could stay for lunch with us, and many times I was forced to. to tell him to go away. I now know that John set the stage not only to assert himself, but also to make me look like the “bad boy” to the kids. Actually, I think the kids appreciated it when I insisted that he leave.

Not long after the second separation, our thirteen-year-old daughter begged me to file for divorce. John, on the other hand, asked me if I would wait a few more months before making the decision to give him time to change. In no rush to divorce, I agreed to wait, much to my daughter’s disappointment. But only a few days later, after he lied to me for the umpteenth time on the phone, I found myself suddenly and peacefully certain of the fate of our marriage, our marriage bond permanently severed by John’s continued willful moral failings, and little by little. then I submitted documents.

Surely, that cleared things up, right? No, that decision only brought with it a new realm of uncertainty.

• How would the children respond to the divorce and what kind of emotional support would they need?

• Would you be able to do it financially?

• How much would the divorce cost?

• Would the children and I have to move?

• Would they have to change schools?

• What might the custody arrangements look like?

• Who would watch the children after school?

• How could you balance working full time with single motherhood?

• Would my friends and family support my decision?

Each question on its own was intimidating, and as a whole it seemed that no aspect of our lives would remain intact.

“Hard” is an inadequate word to describe the long months of instability that slowly pass by. “Unbearable” is probably more accurate. I cried a lot and prayed a lot and told the Lord how tired and desperate I was for it all to end. I continually prayed for strength, patience, peace, and wisdom, for God’s provision for him, and for closure. I prayed for my children, the lawyers, the mediators and the judges. And I also thanked God every morning when he woke me up in my bed-happily alone-and praised him every night for giving me the strength to get through one more… day.

And even when the divorce papers were signed 16 months later, and the kids and I were able to stay in the house they called home, and people faithfully reached out to help us, it was still very difficult. My work days were long and hard, and getting home to eat, do the chores, do the homework, pay the bills, fix the car, do yard work, shop, and hurt the kids was very, very hard. very difficult.

But it was so much easier than life with an abuser.

Yes, God made a way for us, and I have never regretted my decision to walk out the door that day.

I know that many victims of abuse want to know what they can expect if they leave. Without a doubt, it is ideal to be able to establish a support network and specify a general legal and financial panorama before the separation, to limit the unknowns. But sometimes there’s no way to know the answers to all the questions and potential scenarios in advance. And there may come a point where the only thing you know for sure is that you simply have no choice but to walk out that door and into The Great Unknown.

Even if I walk in the midst of anguish, You will give me life; Against the wrath of my enemies you will stretch out your hand, and your right hand will save me. Psalm 138:7