I write today on an extraordinarily happy day, a wedding anniversary of my second marriage. My joy is that I am married to a kind and trustworthy man who loves me and who works very hard for his/our family. For I well know the horror of marrying one you think is one person, but becomes another as soon as he has you to himself following the marriage.
But I write anonymously, because, even though they are grown with families of their own, my children have seen too much pain and heartache in my first marriage and subsequent divorce to be asked to endure more. They already know too much, and there is no need to remind them further.
I have learned well that each divorce is different from another, and I have learned well that one never knows what goes on in the lives of others behind their closed doors. My first husband was well educated, extremely handsome, and seemed to love and desire me very much. That is, until our marriage.
On our honeymoon, I felt as if I were with an entirely different person than the one I thought I married. He was distant, moody, angry -- just plain mean.
But, you see, I did not know how to tell anyone about this, as I thought it was all my fault. I believed that if only I somehow found the key to reawake his kindness and passion, all would be well, as it had been before our wedding vows. I held on tight to this belief, putting on an act for all; and in our public life my husband was a master of disguise. With friends and especially at professional functions, he acted as if he loved me. Until we opened the door to our home, and the coldness returned.
I think that there are women everywhere, and men also, who can relate to marrying someone you thought you knew, and realizing to your horror that the person is actually someone very different. And blaming yourself, refusing to give up hope for change until you finally are able to see that the kindness and desire are in fact an act, a cruel mask, and that you were courted by and responded to one with the promise of devotion of a lifetime, who was enormously skilled in pretending to be one he was not.
In situations like these indignities begin immediately. A honeymoon I had so anticipated was dominated by rejection, impatience, dictatorial proclamations. At home my mail was opened and read. I did not receive phone messages. I could not make social plans without his approval. If I went out with a friend, he was furious. Yet at home there was only coldness and moodiness. His expectation was that I read his mind, meet his needs, ask for nothing for myself; and if I displeased him in any way, he refused to even acknowledge by presence for days.
Early in our marriage I was invited to join a board of a wonderful organization. The president, whom I deeply respected, told my husband of this invitation, and was told by him that I was much too busy. I did not learn of this for several weeks, and my husband and I had an enormous argument. He left our home for many hours, and slept in another room for several days. Then a beautiful flower arrangement arrived from him. Reading his note, so reminiscent of the love letters I had received years before, I believed that I had finally awakened from a long nightmare and that the man I was sure I had married had finally come home. This was far more important to me than a missed opportunity on a board.
But nothing changed. My husband refused counseling, and after several more years, I finally went into therapy alone. As I gained confidence and started to stand up for myself, he became physically abusive. When I told him he could no longer open my mail, he shook me so hard, I could not breath. When I told him that I was sick to death of his affairs, now flaunted, he beat me to a pulp (careful to do so in areas my clothes would hide). The following day other beautiful flowers, another loving note, arrived. "I know he will change," I tried to assure my psychiatrist and myself.
He did not. On the afternoon that I said I could no longer live with him, I was beaten again. This time the bruises were not hidden.
One day, soon after we separated, a block away from a school conference we had attended together, I was suddenly pushed in front of a moving car. But the push was done at my side in a way that would seem to a driver or passer by that I suddenly ran into the street. When I regained my balance, and he was sure no one could hear, he screamed his warning: "I will drive you mad and see you dead before ever allowing a divorce."
How did an intelligent, and confident person get herself into a life where she felt forced to live a lie and did not see for almost a decade that she was in a situation that she had no power to change? Though the answers are complicated and unique to each situation, there are common truths: Education and intelligence cannot protect one from the powers of charm, until or unless you know better. That said it is usually very wise to have some life experience before committing to the first person who awakens your passion. But in many marital death sentences, and this was true for me, there have been great childhood losses coupled by misery at home. Above all, I was determined not to repeat these years of torment, or put my children through their agony.
I did get my divorce, and the process was long, terrorizing, ugly. But these years taught me well that it is fear and terror that keep us locked in brutal relationships. Fear that we failed in the most important undertaking of our lives. Terror that we will unable to care for our children, or ourselves. Fear we are not honoring our religion. Fear we are letting our parents down. Terror of loss and pain. And I have learned that with every act of shame and humiliation, it becomes more and more impossible to see clearly or think straight.
The fun, rewarding times of holiday and event sharing with a former spouse are impossible for me, of course. I escaped a prison and its warden by the skin of my teeth. But my present husband and my/our children know what divorce is. They also know what marriage is. And they are all doing very well. Also, I have learned that a form of forgiveness is to understand what went wrong and to let go.
There are words to describe the realities of emotional, physical and sexual abuse: among them, psychological and social manipulation, social isolation, societal denial, the honeymoon period following abuse. A partner, no matter how loving and committed, cannot change those capable of this kind of rejection and cruelty. Unless they are willing to commit to long months, perhaps years, of professional help, they go through life convinced that all that goes wrong in their lives remains someone else's fault.
Please, if you are enduring this hell, refuse to be crippled by fear and terror. Today thankfully there are resources to help you. To find the best one for you, Google "domestic violence hotlines and resources." If you turn to a religious leader or a clinical professional, do not meet that person with your "partner," and keep this appointment confidential. For this type of "partner" craves control and will be furious if he fears his mask will be seen through by one he views as powerful. Following such meetings, or even a discussion of one planned, a woman and her children are in even more danger.
During the years I fought hard for my divorce there was a telling incident that provided some comic relief. I received a phone call from my husband asking if I knew where his devil's mask was for an upcoming Halloween party he planned to attend. My response was to laughingly tell him that both the devil and his mask had left my home and I had not seen either since.
Years later, on a day of joy for one of our children, my former husband's response to my warm congratulations remained blame and anger. But this time, rather than fear, I felt pity.
I did get beautiful roses today. I receive them on every anniversary. But as happy and grateful as I am, and as long ago as my first "marriage" was, I still remember the other flowers I received. I well know the warning heard on that brutal day near my children's school was true: Had I stayed, I would have died. And there would have been, I am sure, a gorgeous bouquet and loving words from him at my graveside.