Why The Abuse Victim Doesn’t Leave (In Six Words)

better-days-aheadThose who have never experienced abuse tend to be bewildered by the victim’s mindset. It does seem utterly ridiculous that anyone subject to physical or emotional harm would deliberately choose to remain one more minute with the jerk who is inflicting it. The outsider will reason, “Well, if she is so determined to stay, the situation must not be that bad.”

If things are so terrible, then why doesn’t she leave?

The shortest possible answer: She believes tomorrow will be different.

From everything I have witnessed and experienced, the abuse victim remains because of an undying hope that her magical moment is imminent – when her relationship and her life will be restored – and if not today, then tomorrow. She sincerely believes that she is only one small step from redemption, not realizing that there is, in fact, a chasm of extraordinary proportions that separates her from her imagined destination. Surely, the slightest change in her manner, his nature, or their circumstances will bring an end to this season, and these dark days will be remembered no more. It is only a matter of time. The promising future seems so real she can almost touch it. Continue reading Why The Abuse Victim Doesn’t Leave (In Six Words)

Life on the Other Side

leap of faithJournal Entry:

March 11, 2003

 I now look at life differently.  My children are more precious to me than ever.  I love to hear them laugh and to daily tell them I love them and kiss them good-night.  Colors seem more vivid.  The breeze on my skin is fresh and invigorating.  I find myself smiling for no good or apparent reason.  It is as though I have peeled off my old life, and a brand new one is emerging.  At 43, can life really begin again?  If so, I pray that I am living proof of it.

 My emotions are all so intense — whether joy or sadness, peace or turmoil.  Everything I am feeling seems to have been impassioned by some unseen force.  What is going on?  What has happened to me?  Is this a natural phenomenon that all people experience when they have gone through a tragic divorce, or a short-term phase in life which leads only back to mediocrity?  God forbid.  Is it because my depression and fear had held me in bondage for so long that now I am finally experiencing the true range of emotions which were trapped beneath the surface?  That is exactly how it feels.  And, I fear the possibility of going back into that dreadful prison.  Even feeling the pain in its fullness far surpasses the numbness which came from locking it inside, running from it, believing I could somehow override it. 

 So, this is what life is like.  What angels long to peer into.  I’ll take it.

Continue reading Life on the Other Side

Can the Relationship Be Saved?

hurting heartFrom time to time, an abuse victim will ask me, “Do you believe our relationship can be saved?”  Instantly, I feel the weight of it, for the question is filled with untold emotion and self-doubt.

I have a pretty good idea where she is coming from.  If she is anything like I was, the abuse victim has staked her future on a hope that she can somehow hold things together while helping the abuser to work through his* issues, believing she might possess some intangible quality that will ultimately move him to address not only his unhealthy behaviors, but his very nature.  So for the victim, it is the investment of herself she seeks to redeem, as surely it would be a terrible waste to forfeit that which has consumed so much of her life’s energy if, by some miracle, a favorable outcome may be imminent. 

But, what if it becomes apparent that all of her efforts have amounted to nothing?  Submitting to such a hard truth will inflict pain enough.  The admission will add another layer of uncertainty to her already stressful life, and she will face the judgment of many who will hastily conclude that it was she who failed.  Continue reading Can the Relationship Be Saved?

The Church That Kept Me There

3699-sad woman.220w.tnMy eldest daughter, Charla, recently wrote a paper for her college psychology class about depression and decided to share it with me.  The subject of her paper was her younger brother, Brett, and what he suffered as a young boy in an abusive home.  (You can read Charla’s account of her class presentation here.) 

 I feared that reading my daughter’s words about her brother would reach deep and unveil wounds in me that simply refuse to heal – and they did.  As I read, I was once again compelled to revisit those dark days, and I began to weep to the point that I could scarcely make out the words on the page.  Although her conclusion was positive and encouraging, I had a hard time receiving it.  A decade after our escape, the guilt of remaining with that abusive man as long as I did haunts me still.

Seeing me in engulfed in my regret, my husband wrapped a loving arm around my shoulders and said to me, “Don’t do this to yourself.  Despise the man.”  In a response grounded in unbridled honesty, I lifted my head and half whispered, “And the church that kept me there.” Continue reading The Church That Kept Me There

Charla’s Story About Brett

With her permission, I would like to share this story my eldest child, Charla, wrote for her college psychology class. It is about Brett, my youngest son. I shared an earlier piece about him that you can read here. 

Yesterday, I had a group presentation in my psychology class about depression, bipolar disorder, and suicide.  Each us had a different section and mine was depression.  We agreed to pick real-life examples of people who struggle(d) with each of these things.  At the beginning of our presentation, we had picture cards with a blurb of the person’s story on the back.  We picked several people to get up in front of the class to show the picture and read the blurb to everyone.

My real-life example was about Brett.

An older man, Tom, agreed to read Brett’s story to the class.  On the front of the card was this picture:

brett lil boy

And on the back, Tom read this blurb to the class:

My name is Brett.  I love superheroes, music, and my brother and sister.  I am only 7-years-old when I start going through depression.  My dad is a drug addict and an alcoholic, and he is verbally and emotionally abusive toward me.  My mom tries to protect me, but she has to be away from the house during the day because she works to support our family.  I am afraid to be alone in the house with my dad.  I can’t force myself to smile or laugh.  I spend most days hiding in my room, and eating to make myself feel better.  I don’t believe that anyone truly loves me.  I am not even sure that I am worth loving.

It was so touching because, during the middle, Tom got all choked up and he struggled to finish reading it.  As he went to sit down, my professor said, “Wow.  That must’ve been really hard to read.”

Later on in my presentation, I shared a bit more of Brett’s story with this slide: Continue reading Charla’s Story About Brett

Help For Victims of Verbal and Emotional Abuse