I take pleasure in being the Crone. I stayed in my personal hell much longer than most, but I knew immediately that I would never go back. I knew, absolutely, that one of us would kill the other if I did.
I have much to say, but little that anyone really wants to hear. It takes time. It will get better. Believe in yourself. You are not any of those names he calls you. Yes, I am in favor of the get out while you can strategy, rather than that try again claptrap that is preached and prodded and counseled by the best of the educated, but uninitiated. If you go back, or keep trying to fix the thing, you could end up dead. Or worse. (And yes, I can assure you that there are worse things than being dead.)
Anger helps you to get away. Anger is that tiny speck of self-preservation that keeps knocking on your skull… Let’s GO! It’s not safe here. Why do we stay? What is so important about this painful marriage? Did my marriage vows include loyalty up to and including pain, shame, fear, humiliation and terror? Does my faith/my god/my church require me to keep living with a person who frightens me, and my children? Am I expected (required?) to forgive this constant abuse because I have failed somehow to be the perfect wife?
Who is this creature, the perfect wife? C’mon, could it really be one of those perfect housewives on those pathetic black and white television series of the fifties and sixties? Barbara Billingsley, Harriet Nelson, Jane Wyatt, or Barbara Stanwyck (now that’s really going back)…
Never mind that those heroines were perfectly dressed, makeup and hair never out of place. They had lovely dinners served on rented china and starched white linens on the studio set of their perfect little homes, all in skirts and heels for goodness sake… Fantasy. God save us from fantasy!
They never had to go grocery shopping with two screaming toddlers and not enough money. I never saw Barbara Billingsley with a crying child, grape jelly on her blouse, or sweat on her brow. We, the mortal women of the real world will never measure up.
Yes, I will be ANGRY!
ANGER keeps you fighting. It helps your adrenalin get you out of bed in the morning when you don’t have anywhere to go or any money to get there.
ANGER keeps you alive. If I never was angry, if I had joyfully accepted this terrible treatment, I would be long dead by now.
ANGER is not beautiful. It can be ugly, in fact, but I can keep you from losing your last marble down that wide open drain of despair.
So, be angry. Be as angry as you like. But don’t forget to love yourself. That’s what’s really important in this recovery thing. Love yourself, even just a little, every day.
The rest will come. Yes, it will.