Love and abuse.

I loved an abuser. I also protected him for 5 years. Admittedly, I’ve been too embarrassed and scared to tell my story, but I’m not anymore. 

I’ve had friends in abusive relationships. Time and time again I wanted to shake them by their shoulders, and scream “WHAT ARE YOU DOING” how could you let yourself go through this. To those friends, I had a secret too, and I’m sincerely sorry for judging you, while the doors in my house were slammed too. 

I always downplayed my abuse. There was only one time I ever feared for my life, I considered that pretty good. My abuse was mostly mental and verbal. Items have been thrown, but never touched me, doors have been slammed but never hurt me. No, mine was a constant reassurance that I’ll never be anything with out him. Sprinkle in some name calling and that was my life.

It wasn’t always like that though. I became pregnant with my oldest at 16, and then had her at 17. I actually had her 25 days after my 17th birthday, I’ve always called her my late birthday present. For the next 7 years it was always just her and I. She saw me through every milestone. She is in my prom picture, my high school graduation, and watched me earn my college degree. She was always my greatest accomplishment though. Our first place together was a two bedroom run down apartment, the walls were cracked, the floors creaked, but with her it was HOME. 

For awhile I always thought it would be her and I, some days I was content with that idea. Some days I knew my girl deserved better. She deserved to have the family I once prayed for as a little girl. The dad, the mom, and the siblings. I had everything but the dad, and while my mom was an absolute rockstar at raising us kids by herself, I always wonder how different I would have turned out if I had the love of a father. 

I met my ex funnily enough on a date with his friend, but we didn’t reconnect until a year or two later. I call it my “meet cute” moment, we ran into eachother in broad ripple on Halloween weekend, to me that was fate, one of the busiest weekends in Indy, and there we were. At that moment, my prayers were answered. The family 17 year old me prayed for was finally about to be my reality. 

My family kept growing. We bought our first fur baby together, and soon enough we welcomed our little Charlotte. I’ve never really had a passion in life until I became a mother. To this day, being a mom is the only thing I’m good at, and that’s the one thing I’ll pride myself in. Here I was 10 years later experiencing motherhood in the way I always wanted. I was a stay at home mom, and took care of the house. I was able to join my oldest on field trips, and for that I was truly blessed. I no longer had to work two jobs, to keep clothes on our backs. I was able to slow down, and enjoy my life. 

Eventually we built a house in the town he grew up in. Together we picked out the color scheme, the layout, and the paint for our rooms. Board by board our dream came to life, we signed a stud “bless this home” under our drywall in our kitchen, that will stay there forever, even though the people who wrote it won’t. I’ve always said I created the foundation of this family, he just came in and tightened the screws. I still give him credit for showing me that life can exist, even if it’s not with the person you hoped for. 

Weeks became months, and months became years. Our lives became routined, admittedly we both stopped trying to keep the spark. Maybe me more so. When he wanted to try to fix things, I was shut down, and when I wanted to try he was checked out. I remember being on my knees one night begging for the bare minimum, that’s all I needed to stay.. was a night out. We both so badly wanted our family to work, unfortunately it was at different times. 

My lightbulb moment was reading Colleen Hoovers “it ends with us” but after watching the movie with my best friend Lindsey, and seeing my life on screen, I knew it was time to let go of the family that was no longer in my keeps. I turned 30 and said to myself “this can’t be it, this can’t be what I prayed for and what little girls look forward to” I built up the courage to move out. 

I am now 30 living with my parents. Luckily, they had a vacant in law suite and a few open rooms for my girls. I started therapy three days later. I recently started going to church to feel closer to God. I have breakdowns where I still text my ex, sometimes cry over the phone, still begging for another chance. Maybe that’s the love I still have for him, or some sort of trauma bond I have to help breakdown. I remember the good moments, and how they were great. Could the bad really be that bad, if the good was really that good? Well, I’ll save that question for my therapist. 

All I know is it took everything in me to walk out that door of the house I tried to make a home. I’m still trying to find my strength, and my voice. All I know for now is the road ahead is long and probably bumpy, but I have some pretty cool passengers to keep me company along the way.