Why would a well-educated, professional, intelligent, resourceful and socially conscious woman stay in a marriage in which love and fear shared the same bed?
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My marriage began on May 3, 1987 and ended on December 21, 1998. In between, I experienced moments of profound love and unimaginable fear. I felt adored and detested. I second guessed my sanity sometimes and was certain I was right when in the midst of arguments. I sat in darkness and silence, contemplating the choices I made that led to where I was. Never in a million years could I have imagined that the daughter of two people who were sweethearts throughout a 52 year union who rarely raised their voices let alone anything else in anger could find herself in a marriage that was such a roller coaster ride. Seat belt fastened, alternately white knuckling it and raised-arms celebrating it for 12 years.
This ‘confessional’ is not to demonize the man to whom I was married for nearly 12 years before he passed, but to take off the mask that I wore for so long and reveal the real.
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More than fifteen years after the curly haired red bearded teddy bear of a man I had met in a mystical manner took his final breath, after a six year bout with Hepatitis C, I contemplate the lessons that came along with loving someone that this then committed co-dependent couldn’t fix, save, heal or kiss the boo boos to make them better. The first time we laid eyes on each other was seemingly by Divine invitation.
In the Spring of 1986, I had planned to take a trip to what was then the Soviet Union, on a Citizens’ Diplomacy Mission with other teachers and healers. The plane was scheduled to leave U.S. soil on October 12th and return on October 25th. In between we were to meet with Russian people with the intention of communicating that neither of us was the enemy and that the Cold War was political and not personal. Shortly after putting down my deposit, what I call The Voice spoke in a gender neutral tone and in certainty said, “You are not supposed to go to Russia now. You are to be in Philadelphia.” Huh? I replied “But I put down my deposit,” and the Voice repeated. “But I’ll be spending my 28th birthday in the home of some of my ancestors,” and like an endless loop tape, The Voice repeated. “But I don’t live in Philadelphia,” and once more, The Voice was determined to keep me grounded. Finally, exasperated (all of this took place in a manner of moments), I surrendered and called the sponsors of the trip and cancelled my reservation. Just so you know, I have been a therapist for several decades and know the difference between psychosis and spiritual guidance. I put this encounter on the back burner for the next several months.
Fast forward and on October 24th, I am in a car with friends, headed to Philly to hear spiritual teacher Ram Dass speak on the topic of Seva which is Sanskrit for ‘selfless service’. During the intermission, a mutual friend approached me with a cerulean eyed man in tow, who at 6′ towered over my compact 5’4″ tall self.
“This is Michael Moser,” Ute introduced in her soft, German accented voice. “He’s going to be coming to your Love Yourself Playshop in a few weeks.”
I had scheduled to teach at a conference a few weeks hence. I smiled, greeted him warmly, said I looked forward to seeing him there, and then trotted off to visit with other friends.
At the workshop, Michael sat across from me in the circle and—good student that he was—as I was talking about the importance of eye contact in communication, his vivid blue eyes lasered in. I found myself sliding down in my chair, with telltale goose-bumps and assorted pleasant sensations coursing through me.
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In May of 1987, I married this charismatic and affectionately loving man who considered himself a pacifist, but with unhealed places within him, his actions belied that intention. To be fair, this ‘confessional’ is not to demonize the man to whom I was married for nearly 12 years before he passed, but to take off the mask that I wore for so long and reveal the real. The red flags began waving and I chose to ignore them, thinking they were an aberration and that I could love them away. He held strong opinions and had what I now call ‘loyalty issues’. If I didn’t ‘side’ with him in disagreements with some who challenged his stance, I was, in his mind, being disloyal. Add to it my own people pleasing behavior to make everything look good and there was a fertile breeding ground for what was to follow. For 10 years, we published a magazine that I sometimes say was the best and worst thing that ever happened to our marriage.
He was the left brain, linear-logical businessman by training and experience. I was the right brain, creative ‘cosmic foo-foo social worker.’ Those two polarities were not compatible at times. As the ad sales rep, I had the monumental responsibility for bringing in a steady flow of income. Conflict ensued more frequently and in a moment of what I describe as unconscious rage, he picked up a box and hurled it at me. It landed on my forehead, above my right eye. Numb with shock, blood dripping down, I ran into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He followed me in, deeply humbled and knelt at my feet. He was crying and said “I’ll understand if you leave me,” and offered to take me to the hospital. I shook my head; mortified by what had transpired and ashamed for anyone to find out. I said firmly and distinctly. “I’m not leaving, but it will never happen again,” and then cleaned myself up, grateful that I didn’t need stiches.
That behavior didn’t happen again. What did continue and escalated was the verbal abuse. Name calling, frequent criticism, stoic silences that would last for days; he attempted to control me with his anger. Again, the enabling, deer caught in the headlights, emotional contortionist who would bend over backward to please people, took center stage and attempted to smooth it all over for the sake of keeping the peace. I minimized my feelings, since after all, there are so many women and men who are in far worse situations than I was.
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There were times when I asked myself the inevitable question that is posed to everyone living with abuse…”Why are you still here?” I had a place to go (my parents would have welcomed me and our son with open arms). I had supportive friends. I had the means to make a living. No one in my life would have judged me for leaving. What kept me there was three-fold. I didn’t think I could take care of my son as a single parent. This I ended up doing anyway when my husband passed in 1998. We were ‘icons’ of sorts in our community since people knew us as magazine publishers. More powerful was the shame I felt since as a career social worker who counseled survivors, I was embarrassed that I allowed this dynamic in my life. It wasn’t until Michael died, that I shared with a few close friends what had occurred. My parents never knew about the physical component, but they and nearly everyone else in my life were amply aware of the emotional abuse.
In 1998, Michael’s condition worsened, as end stage liver disease ravaged his body and mind. Over the next several months, he went in and out of the hospital, racking up ‘frequent flier miles’ each time he passed through the ER door. His final entry into the ICU while awaiting a liver transplant was on 11/11/98, and I lived there with him over the subsequent five and a half weeks, holding daily dialogues with the Divine. I sometimes called them God-wrestling sessions where I would say, “He’s mine and you can’t have him.”
The response I would receive was, “He’s mine and he’s on loan to you like everyone else in your life.” Again, I sighed and surrendered.
I am coming to terms with the choices I made to remain in a paradoxical marriage.
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On December 21, 1998, as the life support was turned off, my messenger returned … the same Voice that I heard in 1986 now told me to call the seminary and ask to finish what Michael had started. I knew exactly what that meant.
Michael had enrolled in The New Seminary to become an interfaith minister and I had casually studied with him. Reading to him, typing his papers when he was too ill to do so, and quizzing him to prepared for exams, I knew the subject matter well. A few days after his Christmas Eve funeral, I contacted the school and asked to enroll. Welcomed with open arms, I was told that in order to graduate with Michael’s class, I needed to complete my two years of study simultaneously, or I could wait until the following year to be ordained. I completed both years’ work in five months, while working full-time as a nursing home social worker. It was part of my healing process. In June of 1998, I walked down the aisle of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in NYC, carrying with me a photo of Michael, the man who entered my life as companion; interchangeably the reflection of my most self loving and self loathing beliefs.
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I am coming to terms with the choices I made to remain in a paradoxical marriage. Had I not stayed, I wonder if I would be doing the creative and therapeutic work I cherish. In many ways, his death was a relief, since he was no longer suffering and I didn’t need to struggle with the decision to end the marriage. I ponder if he ‘left’ so that I didn’t need to.
I know that my own experience is at the core of so much of what I do in the area of domestic violence. I am an outspoken advocate for survivors. I teach clients that although the adage of ‘hurt people hurt people’ may feel true, it need not be. I encourage them to recognize that the cycle can be broken and that their history is not their destiny. I also remind them that a woman assaulting a man is no more acceptable than a man assaulting a woman. I reinforce the importance that ‘no means no,’ when it comes to touch. I have a zero tolerance policy for abuse and if in any way, interactions between two people cross the line into emotional, physical, mental, spiritual, sexual, verbal or financial abuse, I strongly advise that they seek the support of counseling centers or shelters. There are times when I regret not taking a firmer stand myself since it might have led to Michael getting help as well as removing myself from a situation that took its toll on my own sense of safety. If you observe someone in an abusive situation, please reach in to them since it is often hard for them to reach out.
In the United States there is a national number for abuse survivors to call: The National Domestic Violence Hotline 800-799-7233. Please search for similar organizations in your country if you live outside the United States.
In my own healing process, I have come to understand that my fears of calling someone else into my life that could morph into a monster, has contributed to keeping at arms’ length a committed relationship. As I take off the self imposed shackles that kept me imprisoned in terror of being judged, I am heart broken open.
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Edie, your story hit a chord with me. I used to think that I wish he would hit me instead of verbally, emotionally and mentally abusing me. After being divorced for many years, I finally figured out why he was the way he was. His mother was an over controlling woman and deep down inside he hated her, although he would never have uttered those words. What he did to me was the result of the hatred. I took the brunt of it and spent years being punished for what his mother did to him. He was beaten down by… Read more »
Ann:
I just saw this which is why it took so long to respond. You are on target that your ex is not taking responsibility for his choices and his wounds won’t heal until he does. Hoping you are finding peace and healing for yourself. Thank you for sharing your experience here.
Edie, I so see myself in your article. Married at 20, the marriage took a turn on the second day of our married life. Over a camera that was left in the hotel room. My ex screamed and swore at me, then, stormed off and left me alone in the middle of an outdoor market. Here we were in the paradise of the Virgin Islands and it felt like someone dropped an entire mountain on top of me. My Catholic upbringing, and the huge loan my parents were paying on the wedding kept me from being honest with anyone. 16… Read more »
I am moved by your story, Debra. Bless you for moving on and healing and as a result, providing the kind of example for your children that may help them avoid your experience. So many fears keep us stuck in untenable and unacceptable situations in which we practice cognitive dissonance and get by. I wonder how my son’s life would have changed had I left with him instead of staying. He has become a compassionate young man, but still carries residual baggage. We are shifting our relationship and encouraging each other to discover our own happiness and bolstering our unique… Read more »
Thank you for this brave and enlightening article Edie! I shared it on my FB page, for anyone who is or has been, or wondered why people stay in abusive relationships. Your sharing your experiences let me know that I am not alone in having stayed in an emotionally and verbally abusive relationship out of love as well as shame and fear. I hope others will find learning and healing in your words as well. <3
Thank you for sharing, Carol. It felt brave to write, which is what it takes to leave. I felt cowardly for staying and now I realize I did what I thought I needed to do to get by. These days, I am doing far more than just getting by. No longer selling my soul or sanity for love.
Or you both could have taken a break from each other. In my experience, time apart makes two people either appreciate each other or come to a conclusion they weren’t a good match.
Not sure a break would have worked. We did appreciate each other, but that wasn’t enough to break out of our entrenched patterns. I often asked myself since he died, if I had it to do all over again, would I have married him. So much of what I live now (the journalism, the ministry, the loss and grief work, the organ donor education) came as a result of our being together. I would have taken more time to get to know him and working on some of the potential areas of challenge prior to marrying him if we were… Read more »
Thank you for your insightful comments. Love certainly was a driving force that I used to justify staying as well. That and I thought that once Michael became ill, I couldn’t bring myself to leave, because ‘after all, how would THAT look?’ We did go to counseling and somehow he convinced the therapists (except one) that I wasn’t doing enough to hold up my end of the bargain. The one who did see through the façade and encouraged support and treatment for me, to look at my co-dependent choices which ultimately led to having the gumption to change my perspective… Read more »
The title of this article really caught my eye, as I recently divorced my husband of 4 years. So much of what you said related to, especially the phrase “paradoxical marriage.” My ex husband was – and is – a sweet guy, a sweet, simple homebody, who was a loving father and adored me in his own way… but, as I discovered later, had parents whose 30 year marriage has been one of both physical and emotional abuse. Though he swore to himself that he would never be that way – and he was never physically abusive, I’ll give him… Read more »
This article appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, on my Facebook newsfeed this evening, and I read it, nodding, understanding, appreciating, knowing, and thanking the stars that you wrote this, as I, and so many others, benefit from knowing that we are not alone. Thank you for sharing this piece. People who live compassionate lives and are open to spirit and all the wondrous possibilities that are out there do end up crushed at times, with an unbelievable story, and wonder “how in the hell did I get myself into this situation.” I’ve been there, and hope I’ve learned my lessons,… Read more »
Thank you, Irene. Call it Providence or cosmic coincidence…I think what we need shows up right on time. Glad it touched you. May it strengthen you.
Mine did too and in many ways it was. There was abundant love AND all else that I mentioned. So sad for both of us that neither of us had the ability to shift as dramatically as was needed to change the dynamics.
“…whose father was an abusive alcoholic and his mother experienced depression…”
Very insightful words….it’s funny how my ex said he wanted our relationship to be different from his parents…in fact, I think he turned it into something quite like theirs….he was very controlling and demanded submission or else I would never hear the end of it…I, too, am shocked that I stayed for as long as I did….I mistakenly thought I could save him from himself….he had so many demons…I think he just ended up worse with me around…he just wanted someone to watch and approve of his bad behavior….
I grew up in an abusive household and I personally understand the codependent relationship all to well. It is a well worn energetic imprint that we must consciously choose to change. Thanks for sharing your experience. Life is journey filled with choices. Choosing what is best for ourselves can be a challenge.
Thank you, Susan. Ironically, I grew up in a loving home, with no abuse and still became a co-dependent caregiver. I am choosing to change it in ALL of my relationships. Hoping you found healing too.
Thank you, Shawn. It needed to be said, having held on to it for so long. I told my son I would be writing this and he was at ease with it. He has wanted to me to deal with this for a long time, feeling that it has kept me from moving forward in my life. There were so many of Michael’s wounds that I took on. It made me stronger AND I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone else as a way of strengthening resiliency muscles.
Powerful story, Edie! I’m glad I know you (better now)!
My mother was married to a physically abusive and quite possibly sociopathic man for nine years. My brother and I were kids. I’ll never understand her reasons for staying, especially from the woman’s viewpoint. I only wish she’d have found some purpose in the experience.