He did not set out to be abusive.  He felt that punching a wall was an acceptable way of getting rid of his anger.  He and I both believed that we were lucky that he had such good self control when we’d look at the hole in the door.  It was so out-of-character for him to feel so much rage.

Those things happened even before we started our family, but on such a rare occurrence that it didn’t appear to be an abusive trait, never him and not to me… I loved him and I accommodated him so that he might not feel that rage again. 

But by accommodating him, in hindsight I was enabling him.  When I could feel his fires lighting up, I’d tone them down by cooking his favourite foods or making sure the house was extra clean.  I’d tiptoe instead of dance ~ just to keep his home life calm.

Eventually that was how we lived.  When visitors would drop in I’d apologise for the mess of crayons on the table or a basket of unfolded clothes freshly in from the clothesline.  He’d look around in disgust, giving me the evil eye that I knew would result in his icy silence for the rest of the week.  As the years rolled on those silences were occasionally predated by smashing his guitar through our dining room table or damaging more doors.  We lived with our breaths held.  I had set the precedence and that was how it was.

I am not taking all of the blame here but I am taking on part of it.  Initially he was never a bad man.  He never started out to be abusive.  And had I known then what I know now, I’d have turned him around and told him to come back when he felt nicer, just as I did with our children.  But I didn’t do it that way.  And in my tender ministrations, I gave him permission to behave like a spoiled child.  In my attempts to appease the situation, I set the stage for his resentment to own our relationship.

I pray that I have done better with my sons, that they will respect women and be able to handle their moods, to talk about problems and to grow.  I pray that my daughter has the wisdom to see where the roads divide and takes the higher ground, the one where we demand the respect that we deserve. Now that I am older and supposedly wiser, I no longer accept that the demise of us was all HIS doing.  I had my hand in that too…

~Maya~

More Articles:
 

Is Your Ex Evil?
He Called me Abrasive
Say One Thing, Do Another

She and her three kids were over at the school yard finishing a quick game of soccer in the snow. Suddenly, her eldest son, now eight, tripped her daughter by accident.

“Kyle,” she said to him, “You have to avoid all body contact with your sister. She’s only four and you’re twice her weight so even a slight elbow will send her flying.”

“Sorry mom, sorry Janet,” he replied.

Meanwhile, her ex stood by watching and listening in.

Soccer match over, they all headed towards his truck; it was time to go. The boys were running ahead, laughing and battling over the soccer ball, when Kyle accidentally tripped his brother.

Her ex came in for the kill.

“Jesus Christ Kyle!” He yelled. “You were told not to do that two minutes ago and instead of listening, you do it again!”

Kyle looked at him and bowed his head.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t listen or what? You shouldn’t have to be told twice not to do something. You LISTEN the first time, got it?”

She watched Kyle from behind as he recommenced walking towards the truck. His shoulders were hunched over, his chin bowed; she knew he was crying.

Her ex continued. “Get in the truck – where are you going? Get over here. And stop your damn crying!”

Kyle walked up to him, chin down. “Dad,“ he began softly, “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just trying to stop the ball-”

“I DON’T CARE. Get in the truck and Jesus, would you stop your damn crying.”

As her ex walked around the truck,she leaned into the backseat to where Kyle was now seated. He ducked his head into her chest, “I really didn’t do it on purpose Mom.”

“It’s OK,” she whispered. “I know that.” She looked him in the eyes and repeated, “I know it was an accident Kyle.”

Her ex stuck his head in the truck. “You still crying?” he bellowed. “Stop being a baby and do up your sister’s seat belt.”

Kyle jumped to do his bidding, while she strapped her other son, Evan, into his car seat. “See mom?” Whispered Evan. “Dad always tells us to shut up when we cry. I told you that, remember?”

“I know honey,” she whispered. “And it’s NOT OK. “ She kissed him on the cheek and looked him in the eyes. “You take care of your brother. You be there for him this weekend, OK?”

Her daughter was now in tears on the other side of the truck. “Mommy,” she said softly, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Please can I have a hug?”

She walked around to the other side of the truck and reached in to hug her. She simultaneously hugged Kyle in the middle seat and whispered: “I love you guys. I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise.”

She then walked to her front porch and turned around to see her ex with his head turned to the backseat; he was saying something to Kyle. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but sheI could see Kyle’s chin going deeper and deeper into his chest…

Her ex is a bully. He’s verbally abusive. It’s taken her a long time to actually be able to say that – it seemed such a horrible label…

But it’s true. And when they were married, he treated her like that. She let him put her down, chew her up, use that awful tone. But being an adult, she at least had a fighting chance to stand up to him. And whenever he’d treated her children that way, she was there to buffer it. In those situations he’d turn on her and sneer: “Stop being an overprotective hen for F*** sake.” And she’d back away and focus on dealing with her children’s wounds.

But now she’s free…but she’s not there to protect her kids. She’s not there to take the brunt of his name-calling, his sarcasm, his yelling. Her kids are on their own. And her sons, particularly her eldest, is getting it the worst.

Her ex has no idea what constitutes age-appropriate behaviour – he never has. And if situations requiring discipline arise, he uses bad language and is belittling instead of speaking firmly yet kindly. And for their kids, who spend 95% of their time with her, it is a HUGE shock.

She has been to see a child psychologist. She tried to get her ex to go too, but he said, “Oh, the kids are FINE.” So she went to see her alone and bawled like a baby as she brought up incident after incident. “How do I stop him?” IShe begged. “How can I make him see that what he’s doing is damaging our kids?”

“Unfortunately, unless he’s drawing blood or is an alcoholic or drug addict, there’s no legal recourse. But I can give you some techniques to teach your kids that will help buffer the damage he’s doing…”

And so she has sat with her kids, talking, explaining, teaching them how to handle their father’s bully’ish behaviour. Her ex continues on as he was, self-unaware, convinced parenting is the easiest job in the world, kicking his kids into shape, while she does damage control…

She feels so helpless…

Delaine

www.iamdivorcednotdead.com

Snapshot: I was three months pregnant with my first child. I was on my knees in front of the toilet bowl, having just thrown up for the sixth time that day. Suddenly, movement at the bathroom door caught my eye.

He was standing there. Naked. Touching himself. “Are you done yet?” he asked impatiently. “C-mon baby – let’s get it on.”

My stomach lurched. Tears filled my eyes. “I’ll be there in second,” I replied looking down. I pulled myself up off the floor, brushed my teeth, and proceeded to our bedroom to fulfill my ‘wifely duty’…

That pivotal event haunted me for the rest of my seven-year marriage. Anger surged towards him: How DARE he expect sex when I’m obviously sick as a dog from carrying his child? Then, anger surged towards ME: Why don’t you just dam well say ‘NO’? But then the excuses and placations settled in: “Don’t be so selfish. You KNOW sex is very important to him. You should feel lucky that he desires you much, even when you’re at you’re worst. It’s not his fault you have morning sickness.”

From that day forward, I didn’t just ‘tolerate’ having sex with my ex-husband, I hated it. But it was my best kept secret. I thought there was something ‘wrong with me,’ like he accused. If I ever said no, he retaliated by ignoring me, barking at me, being grumpy. I hated the tension, I hated the disconnect. So I made a choice: to give in. Smiling, pretending, I chose to stuff my feelings inside me and serve him my body like a plate of chicken.

I thought it was such a small price to pay to keep him happy.

Afterwards, I’d literally find him whistling around the house and more than willing to help out with chores. There are more important things in a marriage than sex, I told myself. You need to be grateful for the many other blessings of your life. For yes…my ex was indeed a good man.

Now I’m divorced. And looking back, I understand the dangerous choice I made that day: I wasn’t just handing him my body, I was handing him my power. By refusing to say ‘no, I taught myself to squash my voice, to believe my voice was less important than his, AND I taught myself to detach myself from my body – an extension of my Spiritual Self.

Being single again has shown me I have healing to do around my sexuality. Not just my sexuality but my sense of Self AND my overall relationship with my body. Cause my body KNEW – it KNEW something was terribly wrong in my marriage. My non-existent sex-drive was a neon warning sign of how I felt OUTSIDE the bedroom: belittled, unimportant, disrespected. At the core, my body was telling me things my head and heart were unprepared to hear.

So now, with my body as my guide, I move forward into the next chapter of my live. I’ve discovered that I’m FAR from sexually dead; in fact, my sexuality is more alive than it’s ever been my whole life. I’m choosing to give myself permission to explore myself – my identity AND my body, through sexuality, sensuality, even ‘promiscuity.’ I’m attempting to do this from a higher place; that is, from the perspective that each sexual experience I carefully choose can teach me something about me, life and/or men. I’m examining how my sexuality ripples into other aspects of my life. For example, my ability or non-ability to vocalize what I want and how I deal with bad/selfish lovers. I’m exploring new sexual desires/ fantasies, and ‘owning’ my orgasms instead of making them contingent upon one man’s love or one man’s sexual prowess. Truly, my sexual Self is acting like a metaphor for the rest of my life.

At the end of the day, this body of mine is MINE. It is my power, my truth, in its rawest, purest, most honest form. I thank God I chose to exit a disempowering marriage. I am grateful to have this second chance to create a passionate, fulfilling, meaningful life AND sex life for myself. And I know I will never, EVER, be guilted or emotionally bullied into serving up my body like a plate of roast chicken again.

Other Articles:

Does your ex have a problem with you online dating?

Would You Consider Having Another Child With Your New Partner?

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