Dedication: To everyone who believed in me and helped me pick up the pieces and mold them into something more beautiful.
Trigger warning: Before reading this post, please be aware that it contains descriptions of rape and other forms of sexual assault and abuse.
My domestic abuse took a lot of work, time and faith to overcome. The overcoming is still a work in progress. If you have had an abusive spouse or have been sexually abused at any time in your life…
You are not alone.
So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. They manipulated and abused us. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together.
If a journey that only involves a few states can be considered epic, assuming your reality changes so drastically so many times as to seem like different universes, my journey of innocence, abuse, and rebuilding, and healing was an epic journey. And it is not over yet!
I was blessed to have a good childhood with loving parents in a Christian household. I did endure some brief abuse but I had blocked it out until therapy. It was nothing to do with my family. Good values of compassion, obedience, and hard work held up our household. We had minimal television and I went to an all girls Catholic school, even though we were not Catholic, before they decided to enroll me. We quickly performed the sacraments in one summer. I was an only child and we converted from our Methodist church just so I could go to the all girl’s school. That was how important keeping me from temptation was to them.
I would have been a wonderful, faithful, loyal wife and mother. Blissfully content with only knowing one man intimately from birth to death. But such was not my fate.
The man I married right out of prep school was the son of family friends. He started courting me when I was fifteen. He was two years older and very handsome. A cornerback on his high school football team. Less than three years later we had a traditional marriage before God and our wedding night was a true consummation.
Life seemed like a fairy tale then.
But it was not.
For one, he had lied about being a virgin. He had been with many girls before me. He probably still was during our marriage.
My husband, John, was very controlling and dominant from the moment he carried me across the threshold. My father had been the strong head of our family household and John’s imposition of authority was not shocking to me. John made me go on birth control saying he wanted to wait to have children. However, we had only been married for two months when he started sharing me with his friends.
Sexually.
Ephesians 5:22-33 (NKJV)
22 Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.
23 For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and He is the Savior of the body.
24 Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.
It started with one of his oldest friends who he had known since childhood. The best man at our wedding. This friend had just separated from his fiancé and sex with me was supposed to cheer him up. I had never been drunk before my honeymoon but John enjoyed making me drink. That night he had me intoxicated, so I remember primarily the day after and how devastated I was. I recall parts of our many arguments and discussions. My crying. His alternating consolation and angry annoyance at me for not graciously accepting his will.
He said many things to justify it. Including the fact that wife sharing was a common practice in many Christian marriages and it was just not talked about because it was private. I believed it. I had to. So I was never once taken by physical force. I submitted to all of it willingly.
From that first night of being shared I only remember a flash of me being on my hands and knees on our married bed with his friend penetrating me from behind while John was off to the side loudly cheering the friend on. That singular memory is strongly tied to the feeling and visual that I still carry. I recall having both the feeling of falling and an out of body experience at the same time.
That lone memory chipped a deep crack in my sacred bond to my husband that would expand and eventually shatter our holy sacrament.
The same friend came back to our house a few days later and I had my first threesome. That’s when I got a clear glimpse of the rabid joy in John’s eyes from seeing me penetrated and used sexually by other men. It was a gleam and an energy that he never had doing anything else. It happened several times over the next couple weeks. I did not like it, but was accepting that this friend was part of my sex life and would come over whenever he felt like it, even sometimes when John was not home. It was permitted. Sometimes during his lunch break he showed up for quick encounters.
But one loathsome day he called in sick just to spend the day with me. He showed up in the morning with flowers and his guitar. He had written a song about me that was actually good. He took his time in bed and made it about my pleasure and comfort. It was so unlike his usual self-pleasing efficiency. He was aggressively romantic and charming that day. It was like a mini honeymoon but more loving and me-centric than my own. I was feeling guilty about developing romantic feelings for him. I was wondering if it might be okay to love two men!
It was all a ruse. An example that the devil does indeed have many tempting disguises.
He took me out to a late lunch in town to the restaurant his ex worked at and I was mortified. She was not our waitress but was working. Before I had seen her and realized what this was, I unconsciously returned a kiss on the lips when we first sat down! Something I had been doing all day. His gestures and body language were suggestive that we were lovers. His arm around me in the booth, stroking my hair, whispering in my ear with his lips tickling it. He ordered one meal for us to share and drank four beers since I did not touch the ones he ordered for me. I barely choked down a few bites and kept my head down. He lied but I knew the whole thing was a sick and pathetic attempt to make his ex jealous. It was clear that our waitress was being short with us. So he made a scene getting the male manager’s attention. The manager apologized and told him that he was a very lucky man to have such a beautiful girlfriend.
I did not know his ex-fiancé very well because my parents kept me close until the wedding to protect my purity. But she had been a key personality in my wedding! She had free danced side by side with me in celebration across several songs during our wedding reception. I liked her!
For a humiliating finale to our day together, he had his way with me again at home where I intended to be rigid and cold. But he used what he had learned about me that day to manipulate my body for a long period pf time, and with it my emotions. He told me he loved me towards the end of the intercourse and in the moment I said it back to him and felt it!
He left before John got home. Although I told John about the restaurant, I did not say anything about the romance or the best sexual experience I ever had, or anything else related to my feelings for the wicked man I had to continue a physical relationship with.
I felt like I had betrayed John. Like I was the one who had sinned!
That day drained me so much emotionally and physically but I was extra sweet to my husband out of guilt.
The lover’s triangle was about to diverge and turn into a tangled web. Still feeling guilty about my secret, I accommodated the additional men he added with minimal reluctance.
I became a well-trained shared wife.
John tried to reassure me, saying that when we were alone it was making love, and what I did with his friends was just f — king. I never used profanity. Saying dirty words was another thing John enjoyed trying to make me do against my will. A control game.
The funny thing is, that I would almost never compromise on that point of uttering profanity, but I did submit to thousands of sexual encounters with men I was not married to.
John did enjoy a patriarchal role in disciplining me. Like my father, he did take to spanking me over his knee like I was a child. Unlike my father, this was another source of joy for him and would often lead to intercourse if we were alone.
Even worse, the spankings and other forms of humiliation discipline were often something he liked to show off in front of his friends. He knew I hated it even more than being used by his friends outright. I was spanked on my bare bottom like child as a grown woman, and spoken to like a naughty child in front of other men. I could see their fires of lust fueled by this. They would often advance on me and occasionally copy John. He liked this too, and encouraged it even for simple things like spilling a splash of beer or using regular mustard instead of spicy mustard on a sandwich. I alone, did not find it deliriously hilarious. They laughed and hooted as I was humiliated like a delinquent little girl, who was then violated and sodomized.
My physical appearance was critically important to my husband. I was in some ways a trophy wife to him, like I had been to his friend at the restaurant. He had us go to the gym together, which was nice at first, especially before we married. He did not dictate what I wore then. I wore baggy sweatshirts to shield from the attention men paid to my breasts. I had played volleyball yearly since middle school and was accustomed to training. But after the sharing started, John made me wear skin tight shorts and got me low cut sports bras that unnecessarily showed my cleavage. I always preferred modest dress and I think that is part of why John insisted on increasingly slutty outfits when we went out together. He liked to humiliate and dominate me. He liked to leave me on the other side of the gym as if we were not together and watch men stare at me, approach me, and flirt with me. I played the good wife and tried to reconcile it in my mind and spirit.
One time I was being propositioned by young man at the gym. After I immediately said,
“I am here with my husband”,
as I always did, the man went to profusely apologize to John. They spoke for a while and befriended each other, after which I was ordered to provide oral sex to the man after he had sex with my breasts and then my mouth. All at my husband’s orders.
There are a handful of other times when I was mandated to pleasure random men outside our home based on John’s whim that could be their own stories. Each one hurt me more than physical abuse could. I spent almost all my time at home and was always felt tense anxiety when we were out together.
It got really bad before I got away.
It took many sobbing late night sessions to be able to write some of this. This composition and these emotionally painful memories took a long time to get out of me and onto paper.
On one occasion, John had volunteered me for a bachelor party across the state line. I was cramped in the fetal position for twenty minutes inside a fake cake before I had to straighten my cramped, sleeping legs and come out smiling and do a dance for the groom, who promptly took me to a side room at John’s direction and had sex with me. A man I had never seen! Then I was shooed out a back door and had to drive myself home. I don’t want to imagine what festivities I was not allowed to witness.
The next time I saw that man was at his wedding two weeks later! John did not even warn me. All that I knew was that my husband was a groomsman in a wedding for a rich friend he knew from high school football but who had moved to Atlanta. John got a thrill out of seeing my reaction at the ceremony while we shook hands of the newlyweds outside the church. Up close, I recognized him and felt the shameful shock. Then I had to greet his bride in her gown as she stood next to him! She hugged me! There were other men at that wedding who had carnal knowledge of me . It was awful but I kept on my practiced happy mask.
I shed many tears as I complained to him that he loved and respected his group of friends more than me. He was a large-engine mechanic and so were most of his friends. That means they worked on semi-trucks and large machinery. They were well paid and had a good-ol’-boy camaraderie. Some of the men were much older than John and I. I was the object of their sexual release. It was rare that any of the men in his inner circle would come over a I would not be an object of their pleasure. When the handful of them would congregate at our house to watch games or play poker I played the good hostess with benefits. It was my role to service them however they wanted. This became the routine on most weekends when he would host game night (Football) and sometimes on weekday nights also.
It is sad what human beings can get used to. What I got used to!
He was also controlling about what I ate and he strictly scrutinized my body and would commonly order me to do exercises on the spot to keep me perfectly fit. Part of his identity was being the man who provided the “hot wife” or “WILF” to his inner circle of immoral friends.
Not the kind of thing you ever expect when you grow up with people complimenting your beauty and your parents strictly preventing males from having access to you in order to keep you righteous and pure. Not how you picture your life when, at your wedding, people say you are the picture perfect couple and swear you will have a beautiful life and family.
Confusingly, my husband was still was romantic on our anniversaries and valentines day and behaved like a decent husband much of the time, aside from the incredibly warped sexual demands. This went on for three years while I kept on a happy face for the outside world. I loathed the situation and also hated that most of the men were married. Sometimes their wives and even kids would come over. Occasionally, I was taken to the shed or the master bathroom to be used by them while their families were in our home! How wretched!
Reconciling my actions with my faith was constant source of anxiety and inner conflict. Obeying my husband was the highest law of the land. He was good at knowing only the parts of the bible that supported his interests and quoting them repeatedly. I think he had help on that.
I still went to Church on Sundays with my family. John rarely made it. I did confession, but lied to the priests routinely. I was too ashamed to speak aloud to a priest or anyone else what John made me do. Partly, I was protecting my husband’s reputation from his horrendous behavior. The closest I could get was to say I had sexual thoughts about some of John’s friends and coworkers. I would say extra Hail Mary and Our Father’s and prostrate myself in other ways to compensate for what I was truly confessing for.
This last example offers a glimpse into my embarrassing, demented existence by the time I left John. This one rattled me more than most;
With Fall approaching, John (“we”) hosted a party for an important away game called the Battle of the Border. Men and me only, as usual. However, the friends inviting friends got out of hand. There were far more men than ever for our accommodations. Eleven men in addition to my husband! A few of them I knew but hoped they would never find out about the secret. Two of them I had never met including the father of one of John’s coworkers.
As usual, I was dressed in the opposing team’s memorabilia. In this case a fake tar heels’ cheerleading costume that I made myself and blue and white body paint John insisted on. I went around serving drinks, snacks, and getting groped and molested by the men.
Like I said, it was a demented existence and usually it was only 3 to 5 other men at games. Nothing like this.
South Carolina actually won this game. In the drunken mirth I was essentially attacked and all men including my husband got at least one piece of me, either during the game or in the two hours after. It became a feeding frenzy of testosterone and domination. Most men used me more than once. I did not know which way was up. I was in and out of consciousness and there seemed to be no limit and no mercy.
John was ecstatic while I was dying inside. That basically sums up our marriage.
I woke up late into the night on the couch nude, with a man who was not my husband spooning me and doing anal sex to me. This was a man I had not met before that night. A man more than twice my age with thick beard and hair all over his body. I remained as quiet as I could while he finished and I waited for him to sleep, feeling hollow and dead. I got up quietly, grabbed the keys to our truck, and I drove away naked until I was on a tiny forest road many miles from our home. I slept with the heat on and engine running. I vomited in the truck out of pure self-disgust and covered it with a floor mat. I could not will myself to go home until the sun was up and the gas was nearing empty.
John had been genuinely worried about me for maybe the first time. When he could not find me, and I was in such a tremulous fragile state when I got back, I think it scared him that his charmed life might not be indestructible. I begged John to never do anything like that again.
For a couple weeks it was just us and I was feeling love for my husband and hope reentered my life.
Alas, it was just and errant ray of sunshine between dark clouds. Things went back to the way my terrible John wanted them. I became brittle and bitter.
I started drinking alcohol willingly.
Even when I was alone.
How I Escaped…
Finally, I randomly told my sister-in-law at the big Thanksgiving get-together as we sat on the front porch swing having a heart-to-heart.
It was our normal policy on important holidays to make a token appearance to see my family briefly, early in the day. John was bored by them. Then we would spend the bulk of our holiday with John’s family, who drank and smoked. I drank bourbon and my tongue was lubricated and inhibitions lowered. So, while I spoke to John’s big sister’s about her husband(my big brother-in-law) it happened that he was one of the men I was forced to have relations with. I felt so guilty sitting next to her as she complained about their marital problems. She told me she envied my perfect marriage!!
So I spilled the beans as we rocked side to side on the white wooden bench suspended by chains. I vented all about my imperfect marriage hell.
I had never told anyone.
At first she did not believe me. Defensively, I gave details until she knew I was telling the truth. She became very angry and got physically violent with her husband and her brother(John) right there at their elderly parents’ house with everyone around them. The holiday was completely chaotically in ruins and my life was blown up.
I went home with my husband. That night he truly beat me for the first time. I pleaded and was genuinely sorry for what I had done to him as he kept striking me. I may have gotten used to the new status quo and stayed in that prison of a life,
but my sister-in-law saved me, inadvertently.
She had called the police on her brother(my husband) out of drunken spite, and the very next day they showed up to take a statement from me.
When I opened the door because John was working in the garage, they saw my many bruises, puffy lips and eye that was swollen shut. They took pictures. I surprised even myself when I started balling and told them the truth. John was arrested and taken to jail!
I did not press charges and later regretted that. I still regret it.
The police seemed to word it in a way that not pressing charges was the correct answer. They heavily steered me. When they called me the following day while I was already gone from the house, it was something like,
“Now did you want to press charges on your own husband and make us do all kinds of paperwork over a domestic squabble, and make you come down here and answer questions all day? Or can we get back to policing the town?”
Shockingly, my own family did not show the unconditional support I hoped for. Not at all. It was more disdain and shame. The showed minimal love and no support. My Church’s administration and priest had no support either. I told the priest I had confessed to that I had been withholding the painful truth in confession and he either did not believe me or wanted nothing to do with a legal and marital conflict.
Fortunately, a member of my Church did support me. I stayed with a fellow parishioner who showed me true compassion. Finally away, I was too frightened to go back, even to get my clothes. I also got legal help from the women’s center in the nearest real city. With the police reports (especially the photos!) I was able to force a divorce from my abusive husband. Shortly after, while I was frustrated and still trying to make my old-fashioned family understand, I was invited to stay with a friend of the parishioner who had a home in Florida. It was a very difficult thing to do but I made the leap and started a new life away from my family, something I had never dreamed of.
Suddenly I did not belong to anyone but myself and I was responsible for deciding what to do with my life.
This had never happened. I was 21 and single and had a couple friends who supported me only emotionally. I took community college classes and worked in different jobs, starting with a temp agency for clerical work. I saw a therapist and started CBT- (cognitive behavioral therapy) for my anxiety attacks.
I learned how to live.
How be independent. Something that never would have happened if I had married a half-decent man, or even if John had not beat me that night. I have now been exposed to new paradigms and perspectives and I am grateful that my mind has been opened to the big world and that my abuse is far behind me. (But never forgotten.)
I learned how to feel like my body belongs to me, under God, and how to enjoy intimacy that is mutual and on my own terms.
My family are bigots and I would have remained one also. I learned that God’s love does not only shine on Southern whites who watch Fox News and ignore science and intelligent news. My faith is still strong and my love is a garden open to any good people on planet, regardless of race, religion, place of origin, socioeconomic status or lifestyle. People like my ignorant ex-husband and his friends do not fall into the category of good people.
I am stronger than I have ever been. I study martial arts, but never want to hurt another person. I never remarried but I have good friends and a wonderful rescue dog. I speak Spanish! I am a Zumba and Pilates instructor, entrepreneur, and live near the beach where I go to pray, meditate and boogie board.
Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there.
Just start…
keep moving
and keep the faith
~
Photo credit: Images provided by the storyteller.
