As I look back at the 20 years I spent in an abusive marriage, one of the things that has bubbled up from those years is a four-word phrase that I consistently heard from some of my believing friends and church leaders and even a pastor or two.  I didn’t recognize the toxicity of those four words before, but now I have come to realize how cold, demeaning and shallow those words are.

As I tried to maneuver through my abusive “Christian” marriage, there were rare occasions when I dared to open up about the horror of my home life to people I thought I could trust, people whom I believed would take the time to hear me, acknowledge the wrong and encourage me to seek safety and peace for myself and my children.  Although I desperately hoped to receive some validation and emotional support, more often than not, the “encouragement” I received typically began with four dismissive words: “You just need to…” followed by one of these pat phrases:

…trust that God wants to heal your marriage.

…pray for your husband.

…be more loving.

…be more sexual.

…be more submissive.

…forgive him – often punctuated with the phrase “remember – seventy-times-seven.”

Then they might cast a sideways glance at me and saddle me with one more burdensome missive: “Remember:  God hates divorce.” *  And they would pat me on the shoulder and walk away, leaving me standing there feeling very much alone and wholly misunderstood.

 What those people were really saying was that my husband’s behaviors didn’t matter.  My suffering didn’t matter.  My kids didn’t matter.  I was supposed to trust that I was in God’s will, that God would surely make everything right eventually, no matter how ungodly and toxic our home was if I “just” did all the right things.

The word “just” implies that the solution is simple, something patently obvious and fail-safe.  If only…

I now believe that such tepid – but seemingly religious – reactions reflect the reality that it’s easier to put the pressure on the teachable, malleable marriage partner than to identify the potentially toxic, hostile one.  Of course, by acknowledging that there is abuse – and an abuser – any conversation about the situation may be viewed as gossip rather than compassion.  And, of course, coming alongside the one being abused might necessitate some measure of personal involvement in what is almost certainly a messy situation.  Who needs that?

No doubt, my husband understood perfectly well that the pressure was on me to “fix it,” and he liked it that way.  “You will submit to me,” served as a trump card when I dared to question his decisions or behaviors.  In this, he could rationalize anything he chose to do, because he had been ordained “head of the household.”  In fact, just a few weeks into our marriage, the man approached me in the family room and matter-of-factly stated, “Just so you know, I can treat you anyway I want, and as long as you don’t catch me in the act of adultery, there’s nothing you can do about it.”  And he walked away.

I was shocked and horrified, and I felt like a fool standing there, but I decided that I would strive to be the best wife he could ever want, and he would realize that I was worthy of his love and respect.  So many long years later, as John and I met with a pastor the day after I discovered my husband’s most recent affair, I had no sooner sat down and tearfully shared my heartbreak when the pastor interrupted me and said matter-of-factly, “Have you forgiven him?”

It felt like a punch in the gut – because it was.  And as I glanced over at John before responding, he smirked, as if to say, “I win.”

“Seventy-times seven,” the pastor added for emphasis.  Conversation over.

The pastor had ritually thrown me under the bus, and John knew that – just like that – he was off the hook.

It was on me to “just” get over it, to “just” move forward, to “just” trust that my adulterous husband was genuinely sorry this time, to “just” believe that God would ultimately be glorified if I “just” loved that horrible man unconditionally.

There was nothing just about it.  Yet I foolishly felt an obligation to forgive, try to forget, move on, and hope for the best.  It was no surprise that nothing changed in our marriage, but it just added to my pain – and our children’s.  And, in fact, with my husband believing he had a blank check to treat me and our children any way he wished, things only worsened.

I can ashamedly confess that over the years, the Spirit had been whispering to me, revealing the truth about my husband and our toxic home life, but I carried a burden of obligation to listen to people who insisted that if I “just” did all the right things, our marriage would surely be saved.  Thankfully, my Lord finally powerfully instructed me to leave with our children, and I ultimately divorced the man who had made our lives so unpredictable and toxic.

Even as I finally began to walk in the truth, freedom and healing God had wanted for us for so many years, there were – and are – those who view me as a spiritual failure, a third-class Christian for divorcing my husband.  I’ve grown accustomed to those perceptions, knowing that many have been indoctrinated to believe that preserving the image of a godly home is somehow more important than what is actually right and true.  And looking back, I will always grieve what my children endured, knowing there is nothing I can do to go back and give them the safe, loving, happy childhood they deserved.

Now, when abuse victims share with me their very similar experiences, I give them permission to carefully weigh or dismiss any conversation with a friend or fellow believer that begins with the words, “You just need to…”

 “For the Lord gives wisdom; from His mouth come knowledge and understanding.”  Proverbs 2:6 (Emphasis added)

#

 You might also want to check out, “Does God Hate Divorce?” and “What About the Children?”