I met my friend tonight. She lived my divorce with me. She loves my children. She loves me. She worried about us. She can’t speak about my ex-husband without contempt.
“Do you remember what he did when you first left him?” she asked.
“Not sure that I know what you mean,” I said.
“The night we were going out,” she said. “You came over to pick me up on the way to the party. I came out to the car and you were crying.”
“Oh,” I said. “I do remember.”
“He’s such an a*shole,” she said.
My friend is reminding me of something I did once write about.
But it’s been a long time.
I had just told my husband that I was leaving him. It’s something that he never thought I would do. I’ve written many times that he withheld food and school supply money.
It was late August.
The story I’ve rarely told is his initial retribution.
There’s a reason for that.
When I reflect on my frustration, and anger it centers around my inability to protect, or provide for my children. It was less about me, and more about them.
My focus?
I didn’t have food for my children.
He had control of our money. I felt helpless to protect my boys. I begged him to love them more than he hated me. He didn’t care. My family and friends brought groceries.
Everything was temporarily okay.
My boys had food.
On that night, my friend got into my car.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
I couldn’t spit out the words which upset her even more. I finally (and sadly) was beginning to understand the man I had married.
I couldn’t speak.
I handed her my phone.
“He’s such an a*shole!” she said.
My husband had texted me.
It was one of the worst, and most demeaning moments of my life. Not to mention, the absolute worst as a mother. I was unprepared for what an insecure bully was throwing at me.
“Dry your eyes,” said my friend. “He’s not worth it.”
I collected myself because we had an obligation. I keep my obligations. We were both on our way to an event where people expected us. We were not going to cancel, or no-show.
She handed my phone back to me.
I glanced down at it.
I read his text one more time.
“I just hocked my wedding ring,” said my husband. “You now have $260 for groceries.”
The man who refused to provide food for our children was finally relenting. He was only willing to do so, if he hurt me first.
My boys don’t know this story.
It’s too painful.
They have no need to know it.
After every bad thing my husband did, this still feels like the worst. I think because he was only willing to provide for his children, if it came at a cost to their mother.
It would become the theme of our divorce.
I will hurt you to hurt your mother.
I’m not telling this story because my friend reminded me of it today. I’m relaying it because some people think I’ve never recovered from my ex-husband.
A few individuals who follow my work have said as much.
They think I write about him because I’m not over him.
They mistakenly think I’m still bitter.
I’m human. I can be angry, and I can still have momentary bitterness. But I promise you that’s not how I live my life. I write to elevate awareness of abuse.
Not only as a woman.
I’m a big girl, I chose that man, despite my naive youth.
BUT…
My children didn’t.
They paid a price for their mother’s mistake. It wasn’t the dissolution of a marriage. Kids can recover from that. They understand two parents who no longer get along.
They can even understand two parents who no longer love each other.
They can’t understand a parent who will hurt them to hurt the other parent.
I rarely explain myself, or my writing anymore.
If you follow my work, you either know my heart and truth or you don’t. I’m not bashing a man. I come from a family of wonderful men. I know a lot of great men.
I’m telling a story that should never have happened.
Otherwise good guys, sat on the sidelines and watched.
Financial abuse isn’t relegated to the same category as physical abuse. Yet, for five long years my boys were without some of their basic needs. They intermittently lacked transportation, health insurance, electricity, food, and more.
They were under the constant threat of foreclosure of their home.
They were subjected to trauma.
Sheriff’s deputies showing up at their door, repo guys in their driveway, the mortgage company knocking on their door, creditors constantly calling, and so much more.
Their home was not a safe place.
Why?
Because their mother was foolish enough to give him a ring…
He could one day hock.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Graphe Tween on Unsplash
