Confusion

Why not leave? Why did I stay so long? Why did I allow a man who abused me for so long and continues to try to control me, stay around me and my children as long as I did? Why did I ever go back and why so many times?

Everyday that I go without him continuously involved in mine and the kids’ day to day, I stay confused with overpowering thoughts of confusion. All these questions and more swirling around and constantly making me doubt my reality.

Over 600 videos and pictures marked in a folder called abuse. Several more in other folders and other places no yet marked. Each one only representing a small portion of the many moments of continued abuse over the last eleven years. Each one kept knowing that the abuse and control are not over. Videos like this one. Each one with a memory that I wish I could erase, but keep as a reminder of all the things we went through. A small portion of the moments recorded or noted, but the majority are memories in my mind that are hard to forget. Each video, picture and notation kept as a reminder of the reality.

Reality is a funny word. Confusing and unrecognizable in a way. Being in an abusive relationship twisted my reality and to this day still has me confused by it.

After years of counseling and education, I am still learning about the power of abuse and the blind eye that you (as the abused) and others develop.

“The devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” -Tucker Max

When I first met my abuser, he was the sweetest guy I had ever met. He was affectionate and kind. He helped other people. He was a God fearing man with a job and a good relationship with his family. He was smart, funny and everyone seemed to like him in this small town. He would pay for my meals, surprise me, do small favors for me around my apartment, and show me constant affection. He would go out in the middle of the night and grab me a bite to eat if I didn’t feel well or if I was up late studying. It was the small things that meant the most.

The first red flag I remember was after we were engaged. It was one of our first arguments over my Tupperware dish. He had stayed at my apartment for a few days. He had caught me up on the laundry that I had fallen behind on. Three jobs and a couple classes for school. I barely had time to do anything other than sleep, eat and work. There was Tupperware in my fridge that had leftovers in them that were stuck hard to the dish. It had been hidden in the back of the fridge and I hadn’t seen it. He pulled out the container and asked me what to do with it. I looked at it and told him to throw it away. I didn’t want to deal with it. He said he would take it and use it for his lunches and got mad when I told him just to use one of the others that were identical. I had gotten them for cheap from a garage sale and to me, it wasn’t worth the time. My abuser got upset. We argued over a Tupperware. That was the first time he yelled at me. I told him to leave. The argument seemed so ridiculous. I questioned if I was tired from working and studying all the time. The next day, he came back and everything seemed fine.

We were engaged within a month of dating. My doing. I had asked him. I wanted to be loved so bad. I wanted to feel complete and good about myself and was enjoying a falsified feeling of love and enjoyment. It wasn’t until I looked back many. years later that I began to understand why I proposed and why I ignored all the red flags. Back then I just thought I was in love. He was my Prince Charming who said and did everything right, but the reality was that I should have just found complacency in being alone and happiness within myself before ever getting involved in a relationship. I truly thought I loved him and that he loved me. Neither of us were perfect but we connected on a deeper level and I enjoyed that. I was blind to the small red flags along the way. Moments where he would poke fun at me seemed harmless and were minuscule in comparison to what our future held for us, but recognizing that now in comparison to when I was involved in the situation is completely different. I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty.

While engaged, he constantly accused me of cheating, but my only focus was making him happy. He would voice hatred that I worked for my ex and always accused me of cheating, although that couldn’t have been further from the truth. We argued regularly over it and eventually I decided to severe any potential possibility of a friendship or professional relationship with my ex. Random arguments here and there but they always seemed to get fixed. Some arguments including some shoving around but nothing major. That is what I told myself. He is just really passionate. He has been hurt a lot. All of these excuses seem laughable now.

The harsh words and criticism slowly built up, but I let things slide. After about 6 months, we got married at the court house. I assumed he would start to feel more confident in our relationship. The girl who never wanted to get married, wanted to marry him, so he should realize that he was different. He was the only man for me. He will trust me now. That is what I thought or maybe that is what I convinced myself.

The day we got married, he yelled at me and made fun of me because I couldn’t keep track of anything. In the midst of the excitement of marrying my best friend, I had forgotten some of the paperwork we needed so I had to go back for it. We made it to the court house which I assumed was a sign that it was meant to be. I made excuses. He was just stressed. Things going outside of a plan made him nervous and his crankiness was just a reaction to his stress. I should have remembered the paper. That is what I told myself.

I love you. I hate you. You are amazing. You are worthless. Let me help you. Remember all the things I did for you. A rollercoaster of contradictions. The things that were said vs the things that were done. I heard justifications and I spoke them too. He had a hard life. He loves you. Run. Don’t leave him. Constant contradictions from multiple perspectives. Other people gave mixed reviews too so it couldn’t just be me.

A month after were married, I found out I was pregnant with our daughter. Maybe a child would be enough to make him realize that he was safe. He was loved. I was now the mother of his child. Surely he would realize that I loved him and treat me better. Looking back, those thoughts were laughable. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

She better be mine. Phrases constantly said by him that indicated that I was cheating. The things he told himself. Maybe it made him feel better about the things he was doing to me. Maybe he truly believed them. Constantly monitoring my phone, shoving me around, leaving bruises and killing me emotionally. Moments where he would open my car door and try to push me out while I was driving. Moments where he would push me down on the stairs. Ridiculing me in front of his friends and talking about me degradingly. Running around the house and pulling me by the hair. Yelling in my ears. Screaming at the top of his lungs. Breaking my phone, computer and TV. Strangling me. Maybe when she is born, when he sees that he is her dad, he will change. I was pregnant and anemic. When I would try to leave, things just got worse and I feared that one of these times, I was going to fall and lose our child. Hind sight is twenty-twenty.

The day our daughter was born was one of the happiest days of my life. I was in labor for what seemed like forever. My mom was by my side. She held my hand and put up with my “hangry” attitude. She helped me change my sheets and rubbed my back while I threw up. I messaged my husband multiple times telling him that I was in labor. My daughter’s and my heart rate was elevated and the doctor was getting concerned. They started prepping me for a c-section which I did not want at all. When my husband finally arrived with a pizza in his hand, I was somewhere between scared, upset, desperately hungry and trying to stay calm for fear that I might make things worse for our unborn-daughter. The nurse handed my husband scrubs and told him to get changed into them quickly. As he was doing that, I asked her if there was anything that I could do to still follow my birth plan. She told me to try sitting on my knees which to my surprise worked! Finally, after over ten hours of labor, I was holding our daughter in my arms. It was a rough birthing process full of getting sick, crying, and trying to ignore my husband who was in his emotions about my mom being in the room. Listening to my husband talk about how gross I was for getting sick was heartbreaking, but then the nurse brought me this small 6 pound 7 oz baby girl who had breath taking big beautiful eyes and tiny little fingers that melted my heart. She had dark hair and seemed to lay so peacefully in my arms. With her in my arms, nothing else seemed to matter. Our daughter was here and I could finally hold her. She was safe and despite the constant physical abuse while I was pregnant, she was perfectly healthy. She was safe. My husband was smitten over her. I wondered if this would be the moment. Would she save him from himself?

A few days after we brought her home from the hospital. All hell broke loose. My husband had told me in an argument that he would hurt our daughter if she ever acted like me. The argument had started because I had asked my mom to stay and help me for a few more days. I was nervous about being a first time mom. I was terrified of doing it all by myself and not having much help. I was afraid of doing something wrong and my mom being over 10 hours away. I was terrified that despite reading a bunch of parenting books, I was going to fail. This was the one test in life that mattered the most and I was terrified of failing. My husband was angry. He didn’t want her to stay and help me with our daughter or the house. According to him, we didn’t need her around and in our business. Looking back, I wonder if it was the reality that the act of “being good” was hard to put on for a long period of time. It had been almost two weeks since he had been able to put hands on me. Hearing him say that he would do it to our daughter put me in a panic. After he left for a bit that evening, I started planning to leave. My hidden bag was already in the car, but now I had my diabetic mom and a brand new baby to get bags ready for. I quickly began packing up our stuff. As I was loading stuff into the car, my husband came walking up to me and asked what I was doing. I didn’t realize he hadn’t gone that far but apparently he had only been by the little wooded area near our rental home. I froze. He pushed me. My mom saw from the top of the outside stairs. She yelled and told him to stop. His eyes turned black. I don’t know if my mind was playing tricks on me or if they really did, but I knew that look. It was a look of danger. Like a darting deer, he bolted towards the stairs. I screamed for my mom to run and she did. She ran into the house with him close behind her and me running behind him. He flew over the couch and rocked the carseat that our daughter sat buckled up in. Things being thrown across the room. A once clean house was turning into a dangerous disaster zone filled with broken baby stuff, glass everywhere, and holes in the wall. A broken toilet bowl that was smashed and broken after my mom attempted to defend herself while my husband strangled her. I begged him to calm down. I told him I was sorry for trying to leave. I tried anything and everything I could to somehow calm things down. Eventually, I was able to get my mom out of the house and she ran in a secluded small town to the nearest neighbor which was nowhere near us. Meanwhile, I left my daughter upstairs in the house as my husband ran downstairs to grab the gun that his friend had let him borrow. I ran downstairs assuming that he was running after my mom, but quickly realized the truth. The gun. He put the gun in my hand and told me to shoot him while our daughter lay above silently sleeping. I was a deer in headlights. I continued to try to stay calm. I didn’t want to risk our daughter getting hurt somehow in the chaos of everything around her that evening. I don’t remember what happened in the basement besides the red and blue swirling lights and sirens in the distance. Cops outside. My ex fighting an officer in the gravel and me running upstairs to check on our newborn daughter. I ran into the room and she woke up. How she stayed asleep for so long was mind boggling to me. I took her out of the carseat and rocked her back and forth in the rocking chair of her baby room. Questions and a night in the hospital. The world seemed to move at sonic speed around me while I sat there looking in the eyes of my daughter. My sense of reality blinded and numbness taking over.

The next day, I went to take half of the money out of our checking account, but instead found out that there was no money in there. It had all been removed that day. No money. A new baby and no place to live. I was offered the chance to move home to Ohio, but that would be kidnapping. Something I had considered multiple times in the past, but knew I couldn’t do legally. I didn’t have much family around home that I could consistently rely on or that I hadn’t already burned a bridge with by being with my husband. I was broke, alone and a single parent.

It is safe to say that I took him back. He ended up being convicted and put on probation. He did well on probation. Stopped drinking. He was kind and sweet again and didn’t hurt me physically. He had graduated his Domestic Violence program. It was peaceful and I thought things had finally changed. Hind sight is twenty-twenty.

While he was on probation, we were blessed with our baby boy. Things were going so much better and I truly thought the worst was in the past. We had two beautiful children and they had happy parents.

A few months after he got off of probation, he started drinking again. Just a few at first, but it progressed. The arguments started up again. The name calling, screaming, a push that lead to bruises. I started saving back money in a private account. Multiple restraining orders. At first I stood strong. Calling the police when he would break them, but nothing ever came from them. “He walks all over them.” The words an officer told me multiple times. Meanwhile, my husband would following me around town as I would get home. Drive by at all hours and seeing if the lights were on or if I was at home. Blow up my phone. Text messages, phone calls. Popping up on my property. Threats. Multiple phone calls to the police and that same officer said that until my husband actually physically hurt me, he couldn’t do anything. Safe in a small town. I gave in. Every restraining order came with its breaking point and I would give in. I would wear down or be too afraid to keep going.

I continued to save back money, earn my education and work. I was going to get out eventually if he never truly changed. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Eventually, I filed for divorce. He said he was going to clean up his life for his family. I was ignorant. I believed him, but just in case I continued moving forward with the divorce. I suspected that he was drinking still. During this time, he was living at a friends and then another and then with his mother. Eventually, he had to get a place of his own in Mound City. He swore he was working on himself, but at the same time he would have moments where he would yell at our children and I would question his sobriety. A few times he tried to keep the kids from me and I would call the cops. Because there was no paperwork yet, “it was a civil matter” and they couldn’t do anything about it. I wouldn’t be able to take my kids with me despite the fact that they wanted to leave and they were supposed to be with me. It is a civil matter. Safe in a small town.

Pickup and drop offs were a nightmare. He never wanted to meet in a public place and when we met privately it was horrible. Half the time it was “can I talk to you” that would end in my running away and trying to avoid more bruises. Other times it was withholding the kids from me. Calls to the cops and “it’s a civil matter until there is paperwork.” Having to leave my kids with their dad who was emotionally heightened. A little boy coming home crying because daddy always yells at him and a little girl who missed her dad but wanted momma around, so he was happier. Uncontrollable mixed emotions of hopelessness. A huge part of me feared who my ex was and how he treated my kids when they were there with him.

A little boy coming home crying because daddy always yells at him↗

I divorced him in September of 2020. He had signed away the rights to having custody of our children as long as he didn’t have to pay child support. He went in to the office to sign them. Not long after, we had our court date to finalize it. He didn’t show up. Sole custody granted with the visitation that I had asked for. At least two days every week except specific holidays. I thought things were finally taken care of and we had a safety net. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

He broke in right after he had received the final papers for our divorce. I think everyone was surprised that I had actually gone through with it. I was too. Based on my flakiness in the past, I was somewhere between shocked, scared and confused myself. He chocked me that day, slammed me up against the wall, drug me by my hair. It was just like any other time. Terrifyingly familiar. Somehow I got out, got in the car and drove to my safe house. Shaky hands and zoned out. An excruciating headache and stomach pain that paralyzed me with fear. I threw up multiple times and fell asleep on the floor where hundreds of strangers had walked with their dirty shoes. When I woke up, I still felt like crap, but I had to go pickup my kids from school and play the happy go lucky mom role. A role I was becoming an expert at. I grabbed the makeup out of my purse, covered up my bruises and brushed my rated hair in the bathroom. Warm water sprayed on my head and I brushed clumps of hair out of the nest that sat upon my head. Hair falling out everywhere. The drive home was painful and terrifying but I made it. I stayed quiet, but I made sure to continue to keep records of everything and anything that I could.

Deadbolts locked. Door jams up. Phone charged. Emergency bags packed. Access to cards in multiple places and the extra set of keys hidden and ready to go. Reminding my kids of our safe word and what to do. Our personal information stored in places outside of our house. Copies of the divorce decree stored in multiple areas. A way of living that is still a norm today.

After almost a year where the kids rarely saw their dad and had constant moments of acting out at home, I was beginning to wear down. I was tired and lost. I gave in and started trying to have a coparenting relationship with my ex. At one point, I even began questioning if he was changing, but a part of me still questioned my reality.

A Fourth of July celebration bailed on with a random argument that came out of nowhere. I remember wondering what that was that all about. He had bailed on spending the holiday and his birthday with the kids and was blaming me somehow. I questioned my reality and had to know the truth. I suspected that he was drinking based on the arguments at the time. It wasn’t hard to tell. After the kids fell asleep, I left them with someone and drove to the lake where I found his vehicle at a party. I wanted to know for sure, so I walked out to the backyard. He wasn’t there. A boat was coming in to the dock. I couldn’t see who was on it, but I heard my name come from that direction. It was a voice I was all too familiar with. I started to walk back towards my vehicle but before I could get there, a hand grabbed my arm. His voice loud. He pushed me and I stumbled. I mumbled something but the only thing I remember was his eyes and the smell of alcohol and marijuana burning my nostrils. I was going numb. Zoning out the world and preparing for what was to come. Then I heard another man’s voice in the distance telling him he wouldn’t be allowed to do that at their home. He took off. Drove off somewhere. I left and went back to snuggle with my kids.

I went on a few dates shortly after our divorce but quickly realized that I had no business talking to anyone. I was broken and too desperate to be enough for someone with substance.

Back to school night came in August and I still hadn’t had much communication with my ex-husband. He would occasionally come visit the kids or offer to drop off money for them, but then when he would, it was either inconsistent or seemed to be associated with conversations involving who I was dating or why I wouldn’t take him back. When I wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, he would take back the money or confuse me with his back and forth involvement with the kids. As I was getting ready to take my kids to their back to school night to meet their teachers and see their new classrooms, I heard my daughter yell, “Dad’s here” and a loud voice came ringing through the hall. Moments before that, I had screamed our safe word as I tried to race to get the soap out of my hair. My daughter had started to lock the door and put the door jams up. Within minutes, he was breaking into my house, slamming me around, smothering me with pillows and blankets. It wasn’t until he went to answer the door that I was able to make an emergency message go out and my best friend show up at the door. I was out of breath, barely clothed, exhausted and bruised all over. Another domestic charge.

About a month later, I met a guy and started dating him seriously. Unfortunately, he was all wrong for me. Lots of red flags that I ignored because he was kind and a breath of fresh air.

When my ex-husband found out, shortly after we had started talking, things got confusing. Somehow the two of them ended up going out drinking together. Red flag. My ex-husband ended up getting a DUI and resisting arrest charge. My ex started coming to visits occasionally and picking up the kids on weekends that he had someone to drive him to pick them up at the park. My kids constantly coming home from visits talking about how unhappy dad was and how all he did was sleep.

My ex was on probation again for the DUI and resisting arrest. Things were starting to get back to normal. My ex-husband had stopped drinking again. We were starting to be able to coparent or at least be cordial for the few minutes we were around each other at pickup and drop off. I was relieved for the most part.

Despite getting the house in the divorce, I was struggling to get everything switched over into my name. I had too much school debt and didn’t make enough money at the time according to the bank. I was paying for everything. I had paid for all my ex husbands and my debt that we had accrued together. I was paying for the kids activities and sitter. My house was starting to need more stuff fixed on it which was costing me an arm and a leg. I was having a hard time and was living pay check to paycheck.

When a tree fell on the house that was still in my ex-husbands and my name, I had to ask him for his help. I needed his signature for the house insurance. Then he offered to help save me money and fix a few things. I needed the help and we had been able to be cordial with one another for awhile. Plus he was sober and had the weight of a prison sentence over his head if he did something stupid, so I accepted it. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

I didn’t want to be financially connected to each other and I couldn’t get the loan to switch over into my name alone because I wasn’t earning enough money and had school debt. My ex-husband and I had rekindled again and I was selling the house to move to Ohio. He had agreed to move with me as long as he could get it approved with his probation officer. I would be closer to my family and have a support system for my kids and I. Financially, we would be finally split with no reliance on each other, so if things went bad, the kids and I would be stable. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Things didn’t work out as planned and we had to stay in Missouri longer. We had already sold the house, but had been able to secure a rental near by.

Eventually, things turned into the same nightmare that had repeated so many times before. Constant arguments, yelling, degrading, cornering, trying to hold the kids from me as I tried leaving a hostile situation, not leaving the rental that was in my name and belittling our children. The chaos was all too familiar. Just enough to make you nervous and make you feel like you were walking on egg shells, but no physical violence. A possible prison sentence was still hovering over his head.

I would love to say that me moving 15 minutes away from him and being done with the rollercoaster has made things easier, but it hasn’t. I don’t know if it is because he bought a house one street over from me or that him and his new girlfriend now live right down the street from me in the other direction, but this transition has definitely been a test of patience and strength.

A part of me knew that the last time I would leave would be the most difficult. That is probably why I always dreaded being completely done. Leaving always seemed to come with consequences. The more times I would leave, the bigger the consequences. I am tired of living in a constant worry. I am tired of feeling like a prisoner in my own home and neighborhood.

I don’t know why I stayed so long. The truth is I am still trying to understand. Looking back, I understand but I don’t. I can’t say that I hated him. I never really have. I loved him and I wanted a happy, healthy home for our kids, but eventually I realized that was never going to be the case. By the time I had realized it, I had no clue how to get out completely. I had no confidence in myself. No comfort in my abilities. I was terrified and confused. I was broken and lost. I wanted a family… a happy and healthy family for my kids and I.

God grant me the serenity to accept the thing I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

I started back in counseling in January of 2025 and I have to say I am relieved. This time feels different. I wish I could say it has been easier, but I am not sure that coparenting with your abuser ever gets easier. Despite efforts of trying to work together and coparent with one another, it has been a lot. Often times it is overbearing and I would find myself struggling to get out of a survival mode and panic instinct. There never seems to be a resolution and there is regularly communication conflict and a feeling of intimidation. I wish that I could have a peaceful coparenting experience like my parents had, but unfortunately that doesn’t seem to exist for us and for our children. Coparenting with an abuser is one thing, but the pain you witness your children experiencing when they watch the continued altercations is another. I hope someday that we can fully heal from the past, but the present seems to be continuing to hold us back.

I feel like I am learning to be me again and finding peace with who I am. I am learning to love myself after years of hating myself. I am enjoying time with my children and trusting that God will help us through. I don’t know what will come of the future, but I am trusting that whatever happens is meant to happen. I am fearful of the future and what could happen. That is my reality, but I am present in knowing that I will enjoy every day that I have with my children. I will continue to work on my healing and work with them on their healing journey as we learn to grow from our past and work through the present.