It could have been us

I was a young college student when I met my future husband. He was the manager of the restaurant where I worked. Everyone loved him. He was funny, handsome and kind. I thought, “Wow, what a great guy.”

We fell in love and married, but it wasn’t long before his sense of humor turned ugly. The jabs that were once clever and funny turned sharp and demeaning. His constant criticism made me insecure, and I began to doubt myself. I wondered what happened to the loving man I had married and what I could do to bring him back. Fifteen months into our marriage, he grabbed me by the throat during an argument and pushed me up against the wall, my legs dangling.

I blamed myself. Perhaps I antagonized him. Perhaps he drank too much. I learned how to navigate his erratic outbursts to avoid physical violence most of the time. But inside I was constantly black and blue.

I was eight months pregnant with my second son when he came home late one night, drunk and angry. Knowing from past experience what lay ahead, I began to pack a bag to leave, but he stopped me at the door. He grabbed me by the throat and began to strangle me. I literally fought for my life, leaving scratches up and down his arms. I knew I needed to leave, but the next day he pointed to the scratches and told me he had taken photos. If I tried to leave or tell anyone, he would tell the police that I attacked him. He had the proof. He would get custody of the boys and I would never see them again.

I believed him.

So, I stayed. A month later, when my parents came to meet their second grandchild, I shared my fears with them. With their intervention, my husband agreed to enter treatment for alcoholism. Upon completing the program, he suggested we move to Florida. He would live in a sober house while I lived with the boys. Against my family’s advice, I agreed to the move, hoping that sobriety and a fresh start would bring back the man I loved.

We settled on the East Coast. Plans for him to stay at a sober house never materialized and I soon found myself isolated with no friends or family. Although he remained sober, the abuse got worse. Not long after the move, I became pregnant again. Four months into the pregnancy, I miscarried. Secretly, I was relieved. He repeatedly accused me of deliberately losing the child. The blaming, threats and abuse continued to escalate.

One weekend, my husband decided to take the boys to visit family in Boston. My best friend, Meg, came to visit. When she arrived, I suggested we spend the weekend in Naples because I didn’t feel safe staying at our house. My husband had been acting strangely and I couldn’t shake an eerie feeling that he might have hired someone to harm me.

“Are you listening to yourself?” she asked. “People in healthy relationships don’t say things like that!”

We decided to go to Naples, where my mother was visiting. Confronted with the lethality of my situation and although I felt I was being overly dramatic, the three of us returned to my house, packed some bags and formed an escape plan to get me and the boys out of the home safely.

When my husband returned, I offered to take the boys to McDonalds, so he could relax. We were halfway across Alligator Alley when my husband noticed my pillow was missing. Over the next hour, I received 55 threatening voice mails on my phone.

I stayed in a Naples hotel under a fake name. I wasn’t sure what to do and I was afraid of what legal action my husband might take. When my mom suggested I seek help from The Shelter for Abused Women & Children, I was indignant.

“That’s not me! I’m NOT a victim of domestic violence,” I told her. I did not think I was experiencing domestic violence. I felt confused and terrified. He was constantly threatening that he would charge me with kidnapping, and I would lose my boys.

With nowhere else to turn, I arrived at The Shelter seeking legal assistance to get a restraining order. When the gates closed behind me, I felt truly safe. For the first time I realized the gravity of my situation. Knowing I was safe, I could take a deep breath and talk about it. I had gone from being a strong independent woman to the point where I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I was very angry with myself. How could I have let this happen?

With the help of The Shelter, I got the restraining order as well as individual and group counseling that opened my eyes to see the abuse was not my fault. I began to take back my power and regain control of my life. I was asked to serve on The Shelter’s Board of Directors and use my voice to speak publicly about domestic violence.

Three months after our divorce, my ex-husband married again. Over the next 10 years, he would marry three more times, convincing each woman that she was saving him from the last. Each relationship would end in threats and violence.

On September 23, 2018, I got a phone call with news that would forever change my story. In a final act of  deadly power and control, my ex-husband shot and killed his wife and stepdaughter then turned the gun on himself. I got the phone call around 11 p.m. that evening. It took me a long time to process the fact that he was dead. I kept thinking he would be coming for me.

I thought about that poor woman and her child and the terror they must have felt. In a way, I felt validated. He really was that unsafe. As women, we are not always believed at face value. We begin to question and doubt our own experience. We leave our truth behind.

Today, I am dedicated to reaching out to young women and teens to recognize the signs of abuse and how to avoid or safely get out of an unhealthy relationship. The most dangerous time for women and their children is when they let their abuser know they want out.

Even one visit with a shelter advocate might have made a difference in the outcome of this story. I was a strong women, but I had my power taken away. The Shelter can help survivors find their way back.

Without it, people die.