Mrs. Mess
I was four years old when my mother took me to live with her and her boyfriend in Montana – we left my father and brother behind in Washington because this man was ‘the one.’
I remember him backhanding mom into a sleeper sofa -– knocking her and the mattress back into the shell of the couch, and it was taking way too long for her to get it together and get up out of the couch’s giant mouth. As soon as she would almost free herself, he would push her back in –- laughing and yelling at the same time, “Just get up! What’s the matter?! Get back up!” again and again. I remember wishing that the couch-mouth would chew her up and swallow her. She finally just stopped trying to get out and sank back into the mouth. I couldn’t see her anymore once she stopped struggling -– I thought she would probably stay in there forever.
I remember him hitting her in the face with such force that she slid across the kitchen floor and landed under the table -– it didn’t even seem like she ever touched the floor and she never made any noise getting there -– just like a cartoon. And after she sat under there for so long that I got bored waiting for her, she just crawled out and stood up and wiped off the knees of her jeans; started washing the dishes like nothing happened. We just pretended it didn’t.
I remember him sitting under the living room window with me, holding me and kissing my temple, telling me that he would take care of me now. He had just pushed mom out the front door with a shot gun. He figured she should just leave –- he was angry that she was still out there sitting in her car with the headlights out. He kept asking me, “Why won’t she just go?” I had no idea why. I remember sitting there with him at the window all night long till the sun started coming back up, watching her watching us. Eventually I starting thinking why won’t she just go?
And then I remember that one time; the only time anyone ever mentions. She was pregnant; he was mad. Those are the only details I know. He was going to kill her -– he said so.
First he kicked her — hard – in the stomach. I was stunned. I remember thinking they must have taught him Kung-Fu in the “Vietnam” that everyone was always talking about. The place they said made him this way -– where he got the injury that made him so mean and want to hit. I always felt sad that he had an injury like that and I thought it must really hurt to make you want to hit so hard. He kicked her and punched her and kicked her and punched her and I don’t remember when or how it stopped -– but it did stop. The cops arrested him and the state put me on a plane back to Washington. They put mom in the hospital. I learned years later that someone from the hospital called and told my aunt to get my mothers affairs in order and that if they wanted to pay their last respects and say goodbye to her, they needed to hurry.
She didn’t die.
Fast forward 10 years: I was so cool to have a boyfriend so much older than me. And he was a soldier -– going off to Desert Storm to save our lives. A hero. Hero’s can’t hurt you. I felt safe around him, because he was big and older and made me feel important and grown-up. I was fourteen, after all, and I knew everything. On the night before he left, I snuck out of the house to say goodbye because he asked me to –- because I was special and he wanted me -– he was probably the one.
When he finally let me up off his fathers’ basement carpet, he said that I had wanted him to do that. He said I acted like I liked it, so I should quit crying. He said that he deserved what he just took from me and I should be happy that he didn’t make it hurt more. He said people would never believe me if I told on him; he was right. I just wiped off the knees of my jeans and pretended it didn’t happen and I never saw him again.
Fast forward another 10 years: I couldn’t leave this man. My son was little and needed a father-figure; no one else would want me; I couldn’t leave. I would just have to take this –- fix it. He was probably the one and if I fucked this one up -– what then? I was damaged goods -– I had “baggage.” I’d been through a long embarrassing string of abusive boyfriends; I was tired. If I could just keep him sober, he wouldn’t push me anymore. He wouldn’t hold me down anymore or say the nasty things anymore. He was an okay guy, sober. And he never ever hit me with his fist. He just pushed and squeezed; threw things and pulled me around -– at least he was not really “abusive.”
Only then he was, because he always was. He dragged me up the stairs by my hair at a bar because he thought I was probably fucking someone in the bathroom. He yanked the steering wheel when I was driving till I slammed on the breaks and tried to force me to snort coke out his hand; when I wouldn’t, he tried to push my head through the side window. He picked me up and threw me down on my mother’s living room floor and put his foot on my neck because I didn’t want to have sex. He called me a whore and a bad mother and said he was the best thing that would ever happen to me.
I believed him. I just got angry that he said and did those things in front of my son; he was only four.
I finally left him for good when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. I know he would have killed me. I know it would have killed my son’s spirit if I didn’t save him and my baby and myself.
Fast forward seven years: We are free. We are safe. My daughter has never had to watch anyone hurt her mom; my son is fiercely protective of girls. My husband knows where I have been and he praises the strength it took to get out. He understands my need to dissect my past and is patient when it spills over onto my present. My mother doesn’t talk about it; I do. Someday maybe she, too, can wear her scars like badges and be proud that she survived the war.
***
Mrs. Mess blogs at This Blessed Mess.
43 Responses to “Mrs. Mess”
Leave a Reply
Thank you for opening this wound again and sharing for all the other abuse-survivors that it’s never easy, never perfect… but you CAN overcome it.
You’re putting hope in hearts.
XOXO
What a well written, thoughtful and powerful story. It’s horrible that you had to go thru any of that – any one thing might have broken a lesser woman. That you had the strength and will to finally escape and break the pattern speaks volumes about you. Congratulations that you found a wonderful man who treats you as you deserve. You are a true role model for women. Thank you for sharing your story.
I’m so glad you are in a better place now, and I am really happy to know you. Thank you for telling your story. (ChiNurse)
You are so strong! Thank you for sharing your story so others can see there is a way out.
I’m so glad that you are strong enough and brave enough to talk. I hope your mother can be someday too.
God bless you for getting out and getting yourself and your children to a safe place.
“I know it would have killed my son’s spirit if I didn’t save him and my baby and myself.” –to me those are the most compelling words of your story.
That is what it has come down to for me: http://violenceunsilenced.com/bob/
Five years ago, when my oldest was about 9 years old, he begged me not to leave his momma or get a divorce. He wanted me to stay with him and his siblings. I promised him I would stay.
I kept my promise to my son, until I a) recognized it for what it was: abuse and b) began to see the consequences of the abuse in his and his siblings lives.
So, I sought out the man who is going to be our last counselor (change will happen, or it’s divorce). I was asked to leave at the recommendation of the counselor. Divorce is pending the results of what happens now.
Thankfully, I have able to keep my promise to my son. But, I would have had to break it if I had not been asked to separate. I was drawing the line and that would have been a promise it would have cost too much for me to keep: cost in terms of the chaos and effects in the children’s lives; cost in that it was literally slowly killing me to stay; cost in seeing the respect for me fade from my son’s eyes as he began realizing I was allowing someone to treat me so horribly.
I drew the line and have anted up …now we’ll see if she can ante up and save this thing.
But, each day that goes by, I hear more and more of “You mean shit to me” in her voice, her actions, her non-actions.
So glad to hear of the peace and love you have found today. Your story helps me while I am in the middle of trying to deal with, or leave, my abuser.
Thank you for sharing!
One day, when it is safe, I will reveal my true identity.
Oh my. I am so sorry. I am glad you are now with someone that treats you and your children with love and respect.
So, that last comment was about me. Sorry. The main point, after all the rambling, was to thank you for inspiring me and reminding me I am doing the right thing.
I know the guts it takes to share and thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing so!
Your story is a perfect example of why getting out is so very important and why the old line about those who forget history are condemned to repeat it. That’s the part that so many people overlook or don’t know. When you grow up under these circumstances, your view of “normal” is skewed. You don’t think things should be “better” or “different” because you have only those dysfunctional markers to compare and contrast everything else against.
I’m so sorry you had to go through this but happy that you found the strength to not only endure but to triumph. Thank you for sharing and for caring enough to put yourself back into those troubled memories to do it. Your message is a great one for abused women with children. It’s not just you that’s being damaged by it. It sounds like you have found happiness and have made your peace with the past. Freeing, isn’t it?
I can relate to so much of this. Thank you for the reminder that I’m not alone!
Everyone deserves that “someone”. Someone who loves them, cares for them, protects them and doesn’t hit/abuse them. I’m so glad you found that someone.
Thank you for sharing your story.
So glad you have found someone you can trust. Thank you for sharing your story. And thank you for having the strength to break the cycle for your children.
Beautifully written. About such tragedy. I’m glad you’re getting through this, the best you can.
You are indeed a warrior. A warrior endures. And so you have. I salute your spirit.
Oh, honey… I just want to hug you from here.
Like Nicole said above, when it’s what you know, it becomes your “normal”… even when deep down you know it’s not, that it shouldn’t be that way.
I’m guessing it makes you uncomfortable to hear it, but you ARE strong, you ARE brave, and sharing your story here proves that. But you did it. You got up, got out, moved on, and now you’re speaking out.
I’m so happy that you were able to find the one that does love you, that does respect you, that does believe in you.
So well done – I am glad you survived the war. Your strength is inspiring.
Bless you a thousand times over for having the courage to save your children. Sometimes it takes the fear of another victim to make you save yourself.
It’s quite something to think that the “hero” is really inside of you all along. My heart is with you today.
what a well-written post!
“I couldn’t leave this man.
my son was little and needed a father-figure…
no one else would want me…
if I fucked this one up — what then?…
I was damaged goods…
I had ‘baggage’…
If I could just keep him sober… He was an okay guy, sober…
he never ever hit me with his fist…
at least he was not really ‘abusive’…
He said he was the best thing that would ever happen to me…
I believed him.”
You just described what I was talking to a friend about only this morning. The thick, suffocating wall of silence, of humiliation, of fear and shame…
and isolation.
It’s easy for those of us on the outside to counter every one of these arguments. It’s easy to analyze it, easy to see what’s happening. We have a basis for comparison. You didn’t. Your model of “normal” had always been this way. And abusers are very, very good at convincing you that you can’t do better.
The friend I spoke of has a 16-year-old son who likes a certain girl. She likes him too, but the problem is she has a boyfriend. A boyfriend she doesn’t like very much. A boyfriend who’s flat out told her he doesn’t care much about her either; but he won’t lose her to another guy. I wish she could read this story, and I’m hoping that my friend will see it and pass it on to her. Because we both agree that she needs to get as far away from this guy as she can, as fast as she can.
Easy for us to say.
But if I can get this story — and so many others like it in her hands somehow it could make all the difference. And I hope that while you’re dissecting your past, you’ll consider just what a difference you’ve made here. Because wherever you are, there’s a young girl here in North Carolina living your history. And if she can see how the story ends, mayeb she won’t have to live through all of it.
And where there is one who’s known, there are dozens or hundreds of others who remain trapped behind that wall. A wall that gets thicker and higher with each passing year, with each assault, with each degradation. If this girl can see that there’s a way around it — or through it — before it becomes impenetrable there’s hope she can escape before the prison swallows her up whole.
So for that girl and all the others who will come here, thank you for showing them the way; for showing them hope. Like you, they’ll have to find their own way out. But because of you they’ll know that there is a way out. It’s cold comfort to know that all your suffering served some purpose, but even cold comfort is better than the abject misery you were living in, isn’t it?
Thank you. I’m happy that you don’t live that way anymore, happy that your children don’t have to see it and perpetuate it. Happy that you’ve found someone who will treat you as you really deserve, not as he’s convinced you you deserve. And may your future be as happy as your past was dark.
And on the subject of “baggage”? There’s a saying in AA that “it takes every drink you ever take to get you sober”. The same thing applies here. It takes every step — and misstep — you take along the way to bring you to the place you are. And where you are is far and away more important than how you got there.
I don’t even know what I want to say; I just know I want to say something to you because your story has made me realize that YES my ex-husband DID abuse me even though he never actually hit me. I have waited a long time to hear someone say what I was thinking and feeling. Thank you for that. Thank you for being strong enough to share your story; and thank you for the help that you are giving others by sharing your story.
And to Bob… after reading your comment,I had to stop and read your story before I could comment. You are the exact example I needed to prove that there really are good men out there. Because of things in my childhood and early adulthood, I don’t trust easily, and don’t trust men at all. I am trying very hard to deal with that and reminding myself that not all men are evil. So thank you; thank you for showing me that I am wrong and all men are not evil. And thank you for being strong and sharing your story.
Just further proof of why you are my hero and why you are a survivor. Your strength amazes me.
Thank you for having the courage to share your story. It’s so good to know that you got out and have made a safe, happy life for you and your kids.
Thank you for sharing your story. I’m praising God that you had the strength and courage to do what was right and to break the cycle. It hurts to know that people are capable of this much hatred – for themself and for others (these men MUST hate and feel contempt for themselves!) but I rejoice in the knowledge that people like you can claim victory for yourself. You are a shining example of a spirit to be admired. Bless you.
Incredible story, incredible strength. Thank you for sharing it with us.
wear her scars like badges and be proud that she survived the war
This is fantastic writing. I love this spirit- you go girl.
This was beautifully written and heart wrenching. I am so glad that you broke the cycle for you and your kids. Bravo!
Good for you – you got out, you broke that horrible cycle and you stood up for yourself and your children.
Thanks for sharing. You have overcome so much and should be very proud of yourself for doing so, and for writing this to help others.
You broke the cycle. I’m so proud of you.
Thank you for sharing your story & making sure that your daughter won’t just wipe off the knees of her jeans and carry on like nothing happened.
Giant ((((hugs))))
thank you. Thank you so much.
An amazing story. Thank you for sharing. You were smart and brave and a good mom to get out.
I could tell, from the start of your writing, that you are safe now. There is such power, such presence, such self in it. Amazing–you are amazing.
Thank you for your courage and for demonstrating that women who have been raised in, lived, and breathed domestic violence can..and do…emerge. Another cycle broken.
Beautiful.
That was so vivid and beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing your story. You are an amazing woman. Only by talking about these things can we stop the cycle. God bless you and your children.
Thank you for sharing this story and for having the strength to stop the cycle.
Thank you. * very much *
I’ll write more later if I can…
Your story reminds me of the strength we all have deep inside. You are a survivor. You are very strong. I’m so thankful you have been blessed with a great husband now. Thank you for being so brave to share your story. I didn’t grow up knowing that any of things happened in the real world – I thought these were the tales of TV movies or novels. Sharing your story will help myself and others know what is really happening to others. Knowing will help us to stop this. I pray that your children will grow up and never encounter violence in their relationships. And then your grandchildren will be, just like me, thinking these things only happen in movies. Many blessings to you and your family and thank you again for sharing.
i call my battle scars my tree rings of life.
i wear them proudly, because they are important… they are me.
i am glad you are strong and survived and know how to not pass it down.
you are amazing. I am glad you found someone who is there for you – who lets you talk and who doesn’t make it seem like something insignificant. thank you for sharing your story.
I love you. Even though I don’t know you. Thank you for sharing your story; it came at a very important time for me. Thank you, and thank you again. You have given me tremendous hope.
Thank you for sharing.
[...] friend named MaggieDammit, who has a little website called ViolenceUnsilenced.com – maybe you’ve heard of it. Today she is celebrating a whole year of ViolenceUnsilenced and you should be [...]