Teri again

Leaning over the ridge I watched as the water ran its course down the creek. I listened. It always astonished me how the burbling drowned out all other sounds making it easy to forget there was an outside world moving around me. The Creek was one of the forbidden mysteries of grandma’s house. Although as children my mother and her sisters played in the creek when it came to the grandchildren ‘they might get hurt’.

Grandpa tapped me on the shoulder causing me to jump in the air. Laughing he asked, “Do you want to go to the dump with me?” Excited I climbed into the passenger side of his Toyota pickup. I loved visiting Grandma and Grandpa on the weekends. Whenever I did something with Grandpa, it was an adventure.

On the way back from the dump we stopped to clean the pond’s water filter. I sat on a log rambling off random questions. He tossed a frog from the filter at me. Laughing at my screech he answered my questions the questions always lead to him telling me stories. Many of my life decisions are based on these stories. This day he confessed about a stolen watermelon and what it was like being shot with rock-salt. He spoke of swimming holes and friendships. He expressed affection for his mother as one of the gentlest women he had ever known. It ended with him telling me about his 16th birthday and a conversation he had with his father.  I remember my grandfather as a mischievous man with a powerful sense of right and wrong.

The three boys walked hurriedly along the dirt road following the fence line until they were sure old farmer Murphy wasn’t watching. Dropping to their bellies they slipped under the wire getting covered in dirt. The smell of the hot dry dirt was worth the sacrifice for their intended reward. Quickly they sprang to their feet, running to the largest watermelons they could find, they scooped one up and grabbed an extra. Then fast as light, they crawled back under the fence running down the dirt road laughing with each step cherishing their victory. First, they heard a loud sharp ringing sound and then felt the familiar sting in their backsides. It repeated. Nearly dropping the loot they ran faster not stopping until they reached Carson’s Creek. Dropping to their knees, laughing and out of breath, they sat the melons in the soft green grass. The stinging reminded Odell that their getaway wasn’t clean; he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt. Looking for relief, he grabbed the rope tied to an old cottonwood and swung into the water. Each boy followed finding relief from the hot dry sun. With the cool water dissolving the salt, they knew in a few minutes all the pain would be gone; they began to enjoy the water. This wasn’t the first time they had pulled this stunt and certainly not the first time they had caught a spray of salt rock. After a few minutes of horsing around and enjoying the crisp cool water, they retreated back to the grass.

Billy grabbed a sharp rock and struck one of the watermelons passing a piece to each of them. Each boy spread out in the grass looking up at the sky as they ate the loot. After a few minutes, Henry remarked, “It’s lucky for us that old farmer Murphy is half blind. My pa would kill me for sure if we got caught.” He grabbed another piece of melon.

“Not so blind he can’t still hit what he aims at,” refuted Odell. Placing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes the hot sun began to dry his clothes. With a slight smile, he added; “Besides it’s his own fault growing such a big field of perfect watermelons.”

Ignoring Odell’s teasing Billy’s mind switched gears, “Hey, Odell what you wanna do tomorrow? I mean after doing your chores and all?” Billy lived for something to do. The three boys had gotten into many scraps because Billy just couldn’t wait to find something to do.

After a couple of minutes of consideration not that there were a lot of choices, Odell answered, “Fishing, if my dad allows,” then his returned to his thoughts. He’d been acting preoccupied, Billy and Henry could tell something was up but until he was ready Odell wasn’t going to share it so they let it go. The boys went for another swim then lay in the sun exchanging small talk. As the sun started to hang over the west side of the sky, a fall breeze began to blow. Odell stood up picked up the extra melon and said: “I’ll catch you after chores”.

He started walking down the road. Henry and Billy knew the stolen melon was on its way to Mrs. Winters, a widow with three pretty daughters, and two small boys. Odell always did things for her. The boys agreed if they took one for themselves they would get one for her. Giving her a melon was restitution for the one they ate.

Fall then winter now it was spring Odell knew the time had come.  He rehearsed his words over and over in his head. Listening as mama rattled things in the kitchen it meant that the fire would be hot and the kitchen would be cozy. His youngest sisters’ voice crept up the stairs. Peggy always got up with mama. She was 11 years younger than Odell and the youngest of seven children. Odell called her ‘mama’s shadow’ when mama did something Peggy followed right behind her. The morning was their special time.

Odell slipped down to the kitchen when he thought it would be warm. Mama set a hot cup of coffee in front of him and kissed his forehead. With a hug she wished him a Happy Birthday then she set about her business. Mama stepped outside and headed for the barnyard. Peggy followed her brown pigtails bouncing with each of her steps. She picked spring flowers while mama gathered eggs and feed chickens.

Odell was enjoying the warmth of the fire when his father entered the kitchen. James poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “Birthday Son” he offered as he glanced over the paper.

“Thanks, Dad,” Odell replied with his eyes fixated on every move his father made. Odell loved his father, but his father also puzzled him. James was a complicated man who professed to love his family but his actions contradicted this claim. Odell and his father looked a lot alike, both with sandy brown hair and a square chiseled face. Odell stood as tall as his father and sturdy like him. Blue eyes that were serious or fun depending on the situation, by all accounts everyone could tell they were father and son. The biggest difference between the two, Odell never drank, James did.

Odell’s older brothers, Virgil and Dick, found their way into the kitchen. After wishing Odell a happy birthday the three of them strolled out to do chores. Mama and Peggy returned put the flowers in a jar and began fixing breakfast. About that time Juanita made her way down she surveyed her surroundings making her way to the wood stove. Stopping to smell the flowers she noticed her pa, so she busied herself with setting the breakfast table.

After breakfast James studied Odell, he could see something was troubling the boy he’d been squirrelly all morning. “What’re your plans?” being his birthday he didn’t have to work the fields, the other boys would pick up his work for the day.

Odell stood up; It was time to be a man. Odell grabbed for the words he had been rehearsing and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, “You won’t be hitting me or mama anymore.”

 

 

The room grew still and silent, all eyes were fixated on James. Eddie Bell looked from her son to her husband anxiety was starting to knot in her stomach. She slipped her hand into Peggy’s squeezing softly. James stared at Odell their blue eyes locking; after what seemed like an eternity James slightly nodded his head, they had reached an understanding. Odell opened the door and started walking toward the barn he was going fishing.

Mama began clearing the table; taking her lead the boys high tailed it out the door. James sat silently staring out the window. His son walked down the road fishing pole in hand. All of a sudden James was seeing Odell in a new light. Not a boy anymore but as a formidable man. Eddie Bell closed her eyes and whispered thank-you.

Over the years I heard many stories about my Grandfather one of the stories shared was as he gave each of his daughters away, he warned his soon to be Son-in-Law “you better never lay a hand on my daughter.” To the day Grandpa died he always thought a good day involved fishing.

Sadly, James died alone, they found his body lying on his couch with a bottle of booze in his hand. It’d been 3 days.

Perspiration trickled down the back of my neck as I tried to discreetly glance at my watch, twenty minutes until our session ends. Pushing hair back from my face I became convinced that between menopause and the broken air conditioner that I’m going to die. Closing my eyes I tilt my head back while a rather pregnant young girl spoke. Sophia’s voice sounded soft matching her personality. I thought “her voice suits her”. Opening my eyes, I tried to feign interest in what she was sharing but was rapidly losing the battle to the heat. As she explained the events of the week, elephant tears dropped from her big brown eyes. In an effort to reassure her one of the older women slide over and wrapped an arm around Sophia’s shoulders saying, “It’s going to get easier, Honey. Things always work out.”

Now I was interested, “Don’t tell her that!” I blurted out. Followed at once by, “Sorry” for disregarding the no interrupting rule.

The older women’s eyebrow lifted as she replied, “I’m trying to be nice!”

“We’re not here to be nice! We’re here to help each other! You can’t promise her it’s going to get easier or work out because you don’t know,” Turning my attention to Sophia and ignoring the glares I press on, “I’m being real with you. You need to be told the truth not a half-truth; Life will be tough; no one can guarantee that anything will work out!”

Karen, the counselor, tossed me the speaking ball, “Okay, We’ll let Teri start the feedback for Sophia.”

Taking a second to gather my thoughts I paused and lowered the volume of my voice, “Sophia, without question you need to leave. Ted is going to kill you. You’re covered in bruises. Your eye is black and you’re pregnant!” I pressed my lips together drawing a deep breath. I began to speak as air gradually exhaled, “You’re barely married you should be in your honeymoon period. If you leave him, he won’t be able to beat on you, but precautions will have to be enforced to keep you safe. A few things may change right away. One effect might be the intense tension that comes from being under constant surveillance will fade.  You’ll be able to sleep deeper at night and breathe easier during the day, hopefully, without glancing over your shoulder.” leaning forward “I wish we could guarantee that Ted will leave you alone, but more likely than not, you’re going to have to make that happen. There are other things too, for instance, what a Judge says is fair and what you consider fair may be two different thoughts. I pray family will stick by you, call and visit you. Many families don’t. This group will help in every way possible, but the truth is it will be hard and you must be tough.”

After work, I use to drive home and park in front of our house. I sat staring at the front door dreading what was on the other side. More than once I became tempted to drive away, far away. To get my body to walk through the door, I told myself how much easier life would be once I got a divorce. I knew better. In the shadows of my mind lurked uneasiness. It’s that feeling you get when you are only being told a half-truth.

I wasn’t the only one telling me half-truths. In an effort to be supportive friends, family, loved ones reassured me that life would be better and easier. On one occasion when picking my daughter up from her counseling session the counselor made this statement, “all the stress will be gone and you will notice an over whelming sense of relief! Life will be great.”

In our little group, we have seen that statements like “Don’t worry things always work out for the best” or “Everything will get easier!” isn’t the norm. Few women have families that jump in to help, find the courts reasonable, and the ‘ex’ to be decent. Most ladies are fortunate to get even one of these.

Just to name a few examples:

• Lady 1 was killed in front of her four-year-old by her husband the day she left.
• Lady 2 receives $100 a month in child support. She has two under age children and two in college.
• Lady 3 shares custody of her two daughters with her ex who beat her so severely that she spent a week in ICU.
• Lady 4 never gets her child support. So she and her 3 kids moved into her parent’s three-bedroom apartment. Three of her siblings likewise live in the same house.
• We have several women with ex’s who won’t leave them alone. No matter how often the police are called.

I don’t believe people think much about what a survivor’s life will be like during or after the divorce. People put more thought into what is being escaped than what victims are facing. Victims generally aren’t concerned with their present circumstances in other words what’s being escaped; they recognize the wrongness, but for the most part, know how to maneuver through it on a daily basis. When the decision is made to make the move from victim to survivor you analyze and agonize over every prospect of what is in front of you. It’s foreign territory every obstacle is new terrain. So when someone tells us a half-truth not to worry, or things will get easier, or it will get better it comes off dismissive as if you don’t understand, don’t care, or you are belittling their circumstances.

I don’t accept everything always works out, gets easier, or even gets better. Unfortunately, sometimes the abuser wins whether it’s by taking the victim’s life or because the victim is so bruised, she unable to move forward. Sometimes even with taking all the right steps life won’t give her a break.

Instead of telling a half-truth, I assure her I will pray, show her I will listen, tell her I will lend a hand in any way I am able. Then I follow with action I pray, listen and lend a hand in any way I am able.

SIDE NOTE

Generally, I am a happy person. I smile and laugh often. Not really an outgoing person but not an introvert.  Unless asked I don’t give my opinion. This Journal entry is my perspective and opinion that formed from personal observation and experience. What I have absorbed in group and life. It’s not optimistic, but it’s the truth as I see it.

 

 

 

Thanks to pexels for the free images.

 

Assignment for class:
List one thing you are experiencing that you never expected when you left your abuser, explain.

Flipping off the lights I listen to the humming of the overhead fan. As I crawl into bed, my head lands on the big white fluffy pillow the day’s events randomly run through my thoughts. I turn to speak stopped by the emptiness of the other side of the bed. Remembering no one shares my covers with me anymore. Turning back I continue listening to the fan until my mind stops and falls into a restless sleep.

The evening news has a ridiculous report I call out your name to share the stupidity, abruptly I stop, recalling no one is here. Gossip at work, craziness downtown, something broke my heart, stirred feelings of happiness; these go unshared. Hours of being alone watching TV, discovering new music, no hand to hold, no lips to kiss, no snuggling on the couch or smile that melts, these are the moments you don’t realize you will crave.

 

You get a divorce thinking life will be peaceful and satisfying when loneliness pounces on you like a lion. A majestic roar deafens your sense of accomplishment. The nothingness sinks its teeth into everything you do; feasting on your contentment. Lying in the shadows he watches waiting to creep into the darkest the deepest depth of your soul. Borden sets in attacking any glimmers of hope and shredding any peace. While the shadows of night fall, Loneliness snarls.

On St. Patrick’s Day I always make Corn beef and cabbage. It’s kind of a tribute to my Irish heritage. A week before St. Patrick’s Day I asked my son if he could cook it because I work a 10-hour shift. He replied, “Ok, but it will be just us are you sure you want me to cook it for just us?” I told him he was right it made little sense to cook a holiday dinner for just the two of us.

I went to work, and it kept gnawing at the back of my mind. So what are you going to do Teri quit celebrating holiday’s because you’re not married anymore? What about Christmas and Thanksgiving?

Friday night at D.V. group I was still irritated with the situation. When my turn came around I inquired how other ladies handle holidays. The answer was disheartening, most had similar reasoning and agreed that it didn’t make sense to go through all the hoopla for just them and the kids. They were too tired, or it cost too much and how they can’t do everything. After several women gave their opinion Karen asked what I thought of the feed back. Weird question from her.

My forehead scrunched up with confusion, “Why? Did we only do it for him?” I was staring at the light hanging from the ceiling. “Yes, I can see now that even after we leave, they still win. We quit living.” Taking a deep breath I looked around, “Why would I be too tired to do all the hoopla when I just have my children to celebrate with and not be too tired when I am living with someone who drained the life out of me?” I looked at Karen, “Why is it if we are no longer with our abuser we are no longer a family?” Slightly shaking my head, “I’m sorry, I really think I need to live even if he isn’t there. My family is me and my kids right now! Why would I give us less than I would him? Personally, I will not let him win by only existing without him.”

Karen smiled at me, “You are learning a new way of thinking.”

My son and I feasted on the Corn beef and cabbage he made. It was just us and we had a great dinner.

In the 8th grade, my parents moved us from Myrtle Creek, Oregon to Carlin, Nevada. My Uncle Jim owned a drilling company and my father would work for him. During the move, Dad and I rode in a U-Haul truck on an endless stretch of a deserted highway.  In the distance, I spotted Doherty Summit or as my family calls it Buzzards Gap. The summit stood massive and barren. Looking, I wondered ‘where are the trees?’ I turned to dad asking about the trees. He responded, “there aren’t any, just sand and rocks”. My expression prompted dad to say, “it’s not very pretty, is it?” I shook my head no.  He proceeded to tell me how things will look different in our new town. As he talked, I began to understand how much my father loved Oregon. He wasn’t talking about where we were going, but what he was leaving. He painted a picture of Oregon’s beauty, joked about the people, shared his family connections and memories. In my 12-year-old mind, I began to grasp the deep love between my father and Oregon!

We returned to Oregon a year later after graduating from high school I moved away, returning in less than a year. A short time later our family moved back to Nevada where I married someone who didn’t share my love of Oregon. My next trip to Oregon was 20 years later with 3 more visits in the years to follow. As my massive family slowly dwindles, my continual prayer is to go home.

The minute I enter Oregon I become overwhelmed with emotion. It never fails as my car climbs the winding mountain passes tears will brim my eyes. Sitting in the passenger seat I’ll watch the trees grow stronger and taller. The forest grows thick only allowing me glimpses of her deep blue lakes. The sights, the sounds, the smells begin to confuse my thoughts with a mixture of memories and familiarity.  I try to share what’s happening, but the words choke in my throat. Climbing down the other side of the mountain, there are farms with rows and rows of freshly tilled land. Cows will be gathered in the corners of pastures. The closer I get to the town I call home the worse it gets.

This town holds my youth, my history, my childhood dreams. As I drive around, I see the past. My schools. My old homes.  Every corner brings familiarity. A wrong turn brings back lost memories. If I look closely, I can see ghosts. In our old home, my mom tends her flower beds while my brother’s tinker with their bikes. At my grandparent’s farm, grandma is feeding her chickens while grandpa mows. There’s the cafe I worked at in high school if I gaze there’s me as a teen waiting tables. In the green grass in front of my high school, my friends and I sit laughing, teasing, living out the day-to-day drama of teenagers. The foundations of my opinions were shaped here. What was to become my life was started here.

The first place I usually go is to one of my many Aunts houses. There is nothing better than being wrapped in someone’s arms who unconditionally loves you.  A woman who’s genuinely happy to see you.  A person whose eyes bring back pictures of ancestors long-buried. There will be laughter, food, and stories of days gone by. The stories I’ve heard a million times, but my soul longs to hear them a million more. I will be made to feel important, cared about, and loved beyond measure. I am connected.

Another place I will visit is the Roseburg Memorial Cemetery, I know weird! I love that I can go to one cemetery and visit both sides of my family. I sit by my father’s grave and visit. I say hi to my grandparents, uncles, and aunts; it’s strangely comforting.

Eventually, time runs out. Reluctantly, I start my trip home with every mile my heart grows heavier. By the time I reach the state line pieces of me are missing. Once again I’m disconnected.

The other day when in an innocent conversation a relative made a comment describing my decorating style as she chatted I thought “that’s all wrong”. It was like the person in front of me was a perfect stranger. A woman I love someone and spend a great amount of time.

On Christmas morning my son told his sister that blue was mom’s favorite color. My favorite color is red, dad’s is blue.

How can people who know you; actually not know you? Well, it’s easy, when all I reveal to them is what will keep the peace, guarding anything that may cause anxiety for my spouse. I do this particularly with the people I love, constantly seeking to project the image of happiness. When you’re with an individual that gets upset whenever you choose something he doesn’t like the result will be dramatic or physical. He will carry on using criticism, badgering, pouting, or passive-aggressive behavior. Finally, you just do whatever it takes to have peace. Over time, you learn to adjust your choices to match what will keep him from losing it.

An example: I absolutely hate pizza, especially Hawaiian pizza. Why? Because when asked “where do ‘you’ want to go for dinner?”  I would suggest a restaurant only to have that choice followed by 20 minutes of badgering until we ended up going where he wanted, usually pizza. After arriving at the pizzeria, he would order his favorite pizza, Hawaiian, if I suggested another flavor the harassment would begin until I caved. After years of this, I learned to just choose Hawaiian pizza. So people around me believe I like Hawaiian pizza.

As I forge forward with my old relationships as a divorced woman, I’ve noticed this pattern occurring in everything from food to my religious beliefs.

I find it difficult to reveal my true self to others when I do I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has been an issue since childhood. This needs correcting. I want honest and true friendships.  O.K. now I understand what needs fixed, now how to go about it? 

At the end of the Friday night DV meeting Karen, the counselor, announced a new assignment, “For the next month I would like everyone to work on writing a paper listing 5 things you lost by staying in an abusive relationship. I want you to describe what you loss, how it was lost, when you realized you lost something. Then tell us why you plan on trying to regain the loss or if you suspect it wiser to let it go. This paper is one I want you to share with the rest of the group.”

Leaving I thought this will be easy; a month later I am still agonizing. I never concerned myself about what happened yesterday, my only care was surviving tomorrow. There was one goal: to live long enough to get my kids through college. Eventually I came up with these five losses.

1. What: Being myself. I am afraid to express myself even to people who love me. I fear they will realize I am stupid and will stop wanting to be around me.

• How D did this: everything I said or did was wrong from my opinion to the way I did the laundry. When I disagreed with him, he withheld affection, attention, and his presence.
• When: I realized, I stopped expressing myself at a family gathering setting with my family and was afraid to join in a conversation for fear of looking stupid or being rejected.

2. What: destroyed my self-worth. When I look in a mirror all I see is ugly. No matter what I weigh, how I do my hair, or what I wear – I see ugly.

• How D did this: It was subtle; I can count on one hand the number of compliments D gave me. Each one holds a memory like they are some precious jewel. I also remember all the compliments he lavished on other women. Each affair-took a bite out of me.
• When: One day D told me I had beautiful blue eyes, I realized that compliment meant way too much. Another time I read a letter sent to one of my friends from an anonymous person, it was sweet, kind and wonderful. It made her feel beautiful. Years later I learned D wrote the letter to her, I realized I never felt beautiful.

3. What: I quit believing in a future. More times than not when plans were made something bad happened. I prayed just for nothing bad to happen.

• How D did this: He never kept a job and refused to save for tomorrow. If I saved anything I had to hide it. D got loans without telling me. He had a constant attitude of nothing’s going to happen. In our marriage the cops came to our door 5 times because of his behavior. We had hospital visits that could have been avoided. If I got anything nice we sold it to pay for his lawyers.
• When: One day I realized things will never change that we are living our future now, this is as good as it’s going to get.
  

4. What: Squashed my creativity. I use to paint, write and draw. I use to love crafts.

• How D did this: I wasn’t allowed to leave them out; everything had to be put away even if I was only half way through a project. He criticized all that I tried to create by critiquing it with passive-aggressive compliments. D complained I was neglecting the kids and him if I had a hobby.
• When: I realized what you did to me when I watched you do it to our children.

5. What: I have lost the ability to trust.
   • How D did this: D cheated on me and manipulated me for his gain. Everything in our marriage was a lie. Every promise he made to me was broken. I couldn’t trust what I saw, heard, or what seemed logical. The secrets created an atmosphere of insecurity in the end I couldn’t even trust my own mind.
   • When: When he went to jail for hurting me and all his secrets came pouring out like water. One after another: his second life, the mail not being delivered when I was off work, the extra women, bills I had no knowledge.

   Why I will or won’t be trying to regain the loss. I think it is too late to regain some of the losses, age and life circumstances make it impossible. Others I think only time and education can fix. So really I have no plan-that’s my plan.

I hate change, partly because every time my life changed it seemed to make things worse for me and better for D. The last couple of weeks I have been living way out of my comfort zone with many changes and a roller coaster of feeling. As the days passed, I jotted down these short notes.

Wednesday the 12th: Phone call, the divorce is finalized. Judge went over everything. Papers will be mailed. ~Feeling strangely unsettled.

Thursday the 13th: Boss informs me of a new work policy. If someone calls in sick, as the supervisor, if I can’t find someone to cover the shift I can’t call agency anymore I am to cover the shift. Also they are cutting the crew and changing the shift rotation. ~Feeling frustrated.

Friday the 14th: Received divorce papers Judge gave D. 40% of the bills I got the other 60% because he doesn’t work full-time, seriously! He got the house and his boat. I got the van. Really! Did the judge read everything? I didn’t share at D.V. group. ~Feeling cheated.

Saturday the 15th: Packing while D. hovered over me questioning everything I packed. ~Feeling frustrated

Sunday the 16th: Someone called in, so I am working the shift so I can’t go to church. ~Feeling agitated

Monday the 17th: Met the new E.D. He has great plans. ~Feeling hopeful.

Later today: D. Informs our kids in front of me that everyone has to buy their own food for now on. Without missing a beat DJ asked his dad if that included him. ~Feeling humored.

Tuesday the 18th: The E.D., the nurse, and I have a meeting. I like him she doesn’t, Oh wonderful. ~Feeling nervous.

Later today: screaming, banging, and cursing when I run downstairs to see what’s going on D. yelled at me that my dog at your piece of pie. My dog is shaking and scared. ~Feeling pissed

Wednesday the 19th: Training a new girl 5 minutes in she quits because she is told to stop talking and to pay attention. Later I found out I have to do two 16 hour shifts (3pm to 7am) on Thursday and Friday. My sweet Karla offers to cover 4 hours of Thursday for me. ~Feeling thankful and frustrated at the same time.

Thursday the 20th: nurse text me “We need to talk”, so we scheduled a meeting for tomorrow. ~Feeling anxious.

Later today: D. seems ready for us to leave. D. asked when I was moving out because he found someone to rent our daughters room. ~Feeling confused and happy at same time.

Friday the 21st: When the nurse met with me she complained about the E.D. goes on and on about how it’s his way or the highway. Complains how she has to catch up her charting. (I told her that 6 months ago) She is mad because he likes me. ~Feeling confused.

Saturday the 22nd: only slept 2 hours before the dogs woke me to go outside. The sun was up so I am up too. ~Feeling tired

Sunday the 23rd: I have to cover another shift. No church again. ~Feeling like I need to get my resume ready.

A man puts a gun to his wife’s head. His sister tells the wife it’s both your fault.

A man in power has sex with a young secretary the wife defends the husband. The girl is shamed. She loses her job.

A mother tells a wife if he doesn’t like squash don’t cook it then he won’t get angry.

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard women justify, defend the abuse that their son, husband, brother, or father inflicts on another woman. To me personally, this is as abusive as the man’s behavior.

The adage of “Stand by your man” is disgusting whether it’s their son, husband, father, or brother. If you are a woman and you condone the behavior of a man that either physically or mentally abuses a woman – you’re being abusive! You’re an enabler and part of the problem. If a woman tells me it’s my fault somebody strangled me, hit me, threw me around that’s offensive.

Society would be outraged if a man made any of the above statements. We need to hold women to the same standard we hold men. I agree wholeheartedly we need to hold men accountable for their actions, still, if we don’t as women meet this standard ourselves then the world will never change.

After working a day shift, then covering the graveyard, I crawled into bed at 5am. Luckily it was still dark. My goal was to fall asleep before the sun rose. I can’t sleep if the sun is shining and I had to be back to work by 11a.m.

7:30: I woke up to “What time are you getting up?”

I mumbled “10”

“I need to wash the pillow cases”

Seriously! My eyes flew open, dam, the sun!

I lay silently as he strips his pillow cases. He must have thought better than to even try to touch my pillows. Glaring at the ceiling I knew I might as well get up. All I could think was who does that?