I had a conversation with my soon to be ex, last week. This is a rarity. He’s been wanting me to make all the decisions and I haven’t wanted to. That’s cruel. He did all these wrong things to me and blamed me and then when I left made it clear that he thought I was the problem. He made that clear long before I left. He kept saying he supports whatever decision I make and wouldn’t answer hard questions just wanted me to decide. So he finally answered and I have clarity. I know how he feels and he is exactly the person I thought he was that caused me to want to leave. It was a very black and white conversation on my end. I told him after he responded that I’m filing for divorce. I was not at all cruel. He tried to get a rise out of me and asked questions that in the moment I answered logically and told him basically that I’m not responsible for his actions and that I was not unreasonable in wanting boundaries in this area that was blatantly obvious abuse. I was proud of myself in the moment but as the week went on I didn’t understood what was going on inside me. 

I have been feeling small, like I should have been able to handle that. Feeling like I should have been okay and if I’d just been ok we’d be fine and my kids would have a whole family unit. But I wasn’t. Logically I know that’s a correct response. Emotionally, I’m not there yet. And the real kicker is I’ve been an adult on my own for 16 years and I’ve always felt the same way about my own immediate family unit. If I could’ve just handled everything better, like my parents did, I wouldn’t have needed the help I asked for and they wouldn’t have let me down. If I could handle seeing their son I wouldn’t feel so terribly guilty about not letting him in my life. But I see them and I know their version of “handling” things was pretending they didn’t happen and I didn’t have that luxury because they happened to me.

TW

my brother never tried to kill them, though he told me of ways he’d like to kill my dad. I was the one he tried to drown, more than once. I was the one he strangled, punched, kicked, threw down the stairs. I was the object of his hate and aggression. I was the one he took advantage of and crossed lines with and I’m the one left with the shame and embarrassment that stems from that.

 I remember the night SA stopped. At least I think it stopped that night. I don’t remember the next couple of years. I do but not of him. Not of home. I have memory that I played soccer and I know who my teachers were but it’s like his issues and home issues just paused for two years. I had to go to the ER that night and I remember them asking who did it to me and I remember them talking me through the procedures. I don’t remember my side of the conversation. My parents were mad afterwards that we had to explain for hours that it was their son not them who’d hurt me. I don’t actually remember that just that they told people that’s what happened. I remember the adults and kids in my life asking why he’d do that to me. I have no idea what my response was. I have one friend who experienced something traumatic with me when we were young and she brought up that memory and the memory of what my brother did all at once and asked me why he did that to me. We were much older when she recalled these things and I told her then that I didn’t know but I wonder if what I told her when it happened was the truth. I was so young it didn’t seem wrong. I didn’t know it was wrong I just knew I didn’t want to play his game. I probably belittle it but it was not an obvious violation. It was but not to a child. Especially one who never learned that her voice should mean something. This is what I’ve been writing up to. All my life i didn’t even know I believed this but I see now that I thought I need to be okay with whatever anyone does or says to me, that I should be an impenetrable wall of strength. I should never cry. I should never get worked up. It makes sense that I believed tbis

Grin and bear it

if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all

dont tattle 

it takes two to cause a problem so if something happens you’re both in trouble 

children should be seen and not heard

What a perfect storm for me to sit there and struggle silently with everything. Then to face my parents with the help of a youth leader and tell them at 17 that I had an addiction and wanted help and to be given up on after they verbally attacked me then terrified me. That was one of two moments in my life when I just trusted my gut and told Dad no. He was pissed and telling me he was driving me to church but wouldn’t tell me why. I hadn’t done anything wrong and his anger concerned me. I asked him to explain why and he said “because I said so” He didn’t care if I wouldn’t be ready in time, I was going if I went naked I’d be riding with him. I didn’t go. I locked myself in my room and didn’t come out for a few days. He stayed mad for a few days and wouldn’t tell me what I’d done wrong. I was reasonably disobedient. This was the week he’d told my counselor, who I’d seen for three weeks that I wouldn’t be returning. He hadn’t told me that. He told her. I was so confused. But I see now that I was not wrong to take care of myself then and I know I’m not wrong to take care of myself and kids now either.

I’m not letting them take care of my kids. I refuse. They’re good people but they’re misguided and I don’t trust them in that way. But further, in my divorce, I’m requesting sole parental responsibility. That’s different from custody. It means I make the big decisions - school, health, etc. I want them to have stability and part of his cycle is saying one thing and doing another, saying he never said that, never agreed, saying he’s allowed to change his mind. The first time my first baby was bleeding he didn’t even want me to call the doc and it was a clear accident. Crawling around and face planting is just something babies do sometimes. I didn’t know how to address blood in a babies mouth or if I needed to have the tiny tooth looked at. He wanted me to do nothing but in calling I was given some wonderful advice. He doesn’t want to do anything when something happens. Don’t look at it touch it or comfort them just move on. But sometimes kids need comfort and sometimes they need advocates. If I share the parental responsibility I am certain I will get myself in a pickle where I trust my gut even though he’s not on board. When my youngest was having episodes that looked like possible seizures I had her looked at. It was costly but worth it because I’m not a doctor. She was not having seizures but it was not a bad thing to be cautious as my own seizure disorder started when I was less than 14mos old and every woman in my family has had them. I’m learning to trust myself again and that really started with motherhood. It took a few years but I am a better person now and continuing to grow. Just also very human, very hurt, very uncertain and very susceptible to falling. My heart is somehow incredibly heavy but also so full of hope