The Day I Taught My Son Abuse Was Okay

Every ONE of us has a past.
Some of us... have shadows there in the corners of the house we built.
Shadows we hide from, we ignore, or pretend aren't there.  While the memories of those shadows may be like daggers, we keep moving- keep being, keep living.

But I've been asking myself about shadows lately.
Asking the question "Is staying SILENT enabling?"
When we brush our histories under the rug... are we creating HEALING?

We have all have had moments of being weak.
I am Strong. 
But I wasn't always. 

It was late.
The children were asleep in their beds.
He came home from "Dinner with the Guys."
The stench of Alcohol seeping from his pores and Tobacco on his breath.
His eyes red and bloodshot.
Yes, he had driven himself home after drinking the night away.

Again.

We had been dating a few months. The cracks of his mask were beginning to crack.

I was angry.
Once again, he lied about how much he drank. Once again, he lied about quitting smoking.
When he pulled me into his embrace for intimacy, I pulled away. The musk of sour alcohol and tobacco clinging to me.

This "rejection" by me spurred a barrage of name calling. My anger at him for lying was reciprocated tenfold by him for the perceived rejection.

The atmosphere erupted suddenly.

"Bitch, Whore, Slut...." he screamed and spewed like lava, spraying over my face in rancid saliva.

He screamed more, he punched the bed. He threw things that hit the wall- leaving scuffs in the paint. He condemned me for being such a judgmental bitch and claimed that as the reason why he was forced to lie.
In fact- he accused, I should love him for ALL of him. Not just if he's perfect. I was hypocritical. He continued to scream and list in detail all of my imperfections. ALL the inferior personality traits he routinely tolerated. All of the things about me he had to put up with, he was embarrassed by, and generously overlooked to continue dating me.

My initial reaction was stunned confusion. He had never behaved like this before. We had had terse conversations as I had started to realize the amount of drinking and smoking he had kept secret from me from the beginning of the relationship. But nothing like this.

Unsure of what to do in this situation, I shook off the blank and frozen surprise at his extreme outburst, choosing to walk away until he calmed down.
I turned to leave the room.

As he tackled me for daring to leave, his baritone curses at me bellowed more.

I struggled against his giant frame, ordering him to let me go. My arms were pinned, the smell of the carpet against my face, the lamp on the nightstand casting a dim glow, his ox like breathing on my hair and neck, the spittle of his insults peppering my cheek.
I was shocked and furious. 
Like hundreds and thousands of other people in our world, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't clear what the protocol was for behavior like this. In a fraction of a second, everything that I thought I was and the confidence of being an"empowered" woman- was smashed into oblivion. Whoever, whatever I was; was irrelevant to the fact that I was small and he was large. I was overpowered in an instance.

I wriggled and pushed to get free.

My demands that he let me go, became pleas.
"I'll let you go when you calm down" he threatened.
I stopped resisting. I stopped struggling. I held still.
I "calmed" down.

I lay statuesque, my eyes closed. I wished I had vacuumed the floor earlier.

Moments passed. He eventually let me go.

He allowed me to sit on the edge of the bed shame faced.
I didn't try to leave again.
I knew it was futile.
He continued to berate me with all the horrible things I was and he had to settle for. He told me I would never find another person who would love me as much as he did. The only reason he was so angry was because he loved me so much. My complaining about his drinking and smoking was ruining our relationship and that is why he was so angry. 
Eventually, he passed out in my bed, snoring loudly.

I climbed into bed pensively, careful not to disturb him, knowing if I slept on the couch and he awoke in the night, he would be angry at me for deserting him. I was afraid of what the next reaction would be.

I cried.
I cried into my pillow, smothering my sobs afraid to wake him.

At the time, I didn't know the term "gaslighting"but the words he had spoken slithered like snakes into the recesses of my psyche. All the hurtful words, the attacks on my character, my appearance, my mothering; began to latch on with venomous fangs into my mind. All of my failures, my insecurities, painfully writhing inside of me.

I condemned myself and blamed myself for the "argument." Was this an argument?
I should have known better than to "set him off" after he had been drinking.
After all, "Boys will be Boys."
He had explained as much.
I began to believe it was my fault.
He had explained as much.
I succumbed to his perspective.
Next time, I would calmly and rationally approach him with any frustrations, when he hadn't been drinking and when he was logical.
Next time, if he reached out to me in drunken lust and tar laced kisses I would surrender.
5 minutes of unconscious, vacant eyed, sex was easier than this.
I had learned my lesson about resistance.
You see, even in that damaged, broken, hopeful space- I KNEW.
I knew there WOULD be a next time.

Morning came.
The light filtered through the curtains. I could see the minuscule flecks of dust in the air. Those invisible specks of lint that we only see when light is harsh.
I didn't risk waking him prematurely. I waited. I lay quietly, my own shallowed breathing barely audible, to his deep slumbering snores.
Eventually he awoke.

He cried.
He said he was sorry. He hugged me. He kissed me. He told me all the wonderful and amazing things he saw in me. He didn't know what had come over him.
He was TRULY sorry this time. He wouldn't lie again. He wouldn't behave that way again. He wouldn't drink and drive again.
He REALLY would quit smoking this time, instead of just hiding it.
He loved me. I wasn't worth losing.
He would NEVER act like that again.
He would treat me like the QUEEN he knew I was.
He would love me the way no one ever had before- the way I deserved to be loved.
He would make it up to me.

Later in our relationship I became used to this cycle.
Just like "they say" these episodes will escalate... it did.
But this was the first time.
This time I believed him.
This time I believed he meant what he said.
This time when I saw the tears on his face, I believed they were real.
He left for work.

I don't think either of us realized how that night had changed EVERYTHING. I began to walk on eggshells. I began to bite my tongue. I began to retreat into myself and plaster a smile across my face. I became the person who always tried to "keep the peace."

As I stood next to the kitchen stove that morning. I was silent.
I was alone. Watching the edges of the eggs crackle and spit in the oil as they changed from clear liquid to white putty. I feel see the steam rising. It would brush over my face and the heat made my nose itch.

"Mom." My Pre-teen son had silently approached me without my awareness.
He carefully stood beside me and put his arm around my waist, his blond curls fell on my shoulder as he rested his head there.

I reached my hand up to touch his beautiful face and feel the coolness of his cheek.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

I realized then that he knew. It felt like an anvil had landed upon me.
I realized, he had heard the names I was called.
He had heard him screaming.
He had heard the items being thrown against the walls.
He had heard me struggling to be let go.
He had heard the chaos.
He couldn't have known I wasn't physically beaten.
He would have thought I had been.
He had lain in bed feeling helpless as he heard his mother being abused.
He had been terrified and frozen.

"Yes." I answered him. "I'm alright."

And that was all we said.

I didn't leave that man for seven more months.
The day I left, I taught my son that Abuse WASN'T okay.

But that day, that morning... I taught him it was.

You see, I thought the experience was something that happened to ME. Something that only I had "gone through."
I couldn't look in my sons eyes and justify that I had decided to stay.
That all of the wonderful, kind things and laughter I shared with this man MOST of the time had outweighed this one "tiny" experience.
I didn't know how to explain that MOST of the time this man was everything I could ask for.
To a child, even a teen... it's so much more simple than that.
To a child, their mom can do anything. To a child, their mom is a queen. To a child, watching (or hearing) their mom be treated like anything else, is traumatizing.

I can't imagine how helpless he felt.
I imagine tears rolling down his cheeks as terror overtook him.
I imagine that he felt like a coward as he stayed in his bed.
I imagine that he went to his bedroom door with his hand on the knob, paralyzed with indecision... just like me... he didn't know the protocol for this.
I wonder if he was afraid his little brother was awake and listening.

I wonder too.

After that day, my son was always suspicious of the man.
After that day, he never his younger brother alone with him.
After that day, he began to "investigate" him.

Months later, when I told the man to leave, it was my son who then asked "Do you want me to show you where he hides alcohol in our house?"

I FINALLY taught my children their mom deserves to be treated like a Queen.
It HAD to be ME to do it.
It's up to ME to teach them how their mom deserves to be treated.
No one else will if I don't.

I read a quote once that said "If you don't own your power, someone else will."
I learned this the hard way.

I FINALLY protected my children's Mother.
They deserved it.

I didn't that first day... But I have ever since.
What my son sees now, is a MAMA that will protect herself, stand up for herself, and thereby stand up for them.
He learned that IF he ever behaves the way that man did... a woman will leave.
It's not JUST about me, it's about US.
What are they are learning from my example?

It up to ME to treat MYSELF like I deserve- not anyone else.
Queens don't tolerate abuse.

So today, as Mother's Day approaches... I decided to share.
I decided to share so that all you other Mom's who are "trying to keep the peace" or "give someone the benefit of the doubt" or "turn the other cheek" or "be the nice girl who stays quiet and doesn't make waves" That you RISE up and BE the Warrior you already are.

That you protect your kids' Mom.
Teach them what a Mama deserves.
Teach them what they deserve.
Teach yourself.

YOU are not alone.
We have an ARMY of WOMEN who will stand with you.

Go to the National Hotline for Domestic Violence here:  http://www.thehotline.org/

Stand up for your kid's Mom. They deserve to know their Mom is safe. 
After all, she's the only one they got.

Photo credit Hannah Celeste Photography 

Find me at katiejodrum.com