My Name is Courage

I was 18 years old and it was my first week of college. I was nervous but excited as I started my new adventurous “adult life”. I remember thinking that I was so ready, I knew what the universe was supposed to bring to me at this stage of my life and I was just so mature and ready for it. I had always dated, but I had never really enjoyed it.

I remember doing that thing at an early age where you “went out” with someone which basically meant you were a couple that liked each other and you were referred to as a “couple” at school but you mostly just held hands and felt butterflies when you saw them in the hall because you knew they liked you back.

As I got older it got to the point that I would start dating someone and think I really liked them until I actually got to know them better and then it just didn’t feel right anymore. I just wasn’t with the right person. I always felt like dating was hard and I hated that it had to be so complicated, but that’s really the only kind of dating I ever experienced (full of fighting and drama).

Now that I was in college, I felt like I would have an opportunity to date guys that weren’t going to play games and maybe just meet some older more mature men. Little did I know that I would meet someone who would prove to be the worst dating experience of my life despite his older “more mature” title.

This guy sat behind me in my first sociology class, which in my mind proved to be an awesome introduction to college. He was outgoing, great at sharing his thoughts, and always talked to me. Me being the shy-until-you-get-to-know-me type person that I am, I felt so special that he wanted to talk to me. That he would compliment me. Then that thing happened where I wasn’t sure if he liked me or not, and when he would leave it would leave me wanting more.

We interacted quite a bit after class and would sit and talk in front of the library until our next classes. We got to know each other pretty well for only knowing each other for a few weeks. I wonder now how much of that was manipulation. I remember him telling me his sob story pretty quickly….I don’t know if it is just a girl thing or what but I fell for it, I loved that he was open with me enough to share that, it made me think he was more sensitive or whatever, and I just kept falling.

It took forever for him to ask for my phone number, but he found out where I lived and we were literally right around the corner from each other, so he would just stop by unexpectedly to sit and talk or see how I was doing, or see if I wanted to go do something. This was basically the worst thing ever because I began obsessing over it (call it being boy crazy or whatever you like, I was just so excited to think that maybe he wanted to be around me that often) I was always hoping that he would unexpectedly stop by, I remember sometimes seeing him from my window and getting giddy about it. (I like to think this is just average teenage girl behavior, but maybe I was a little crazy).

After a couple of weeks of that, he finally asked me for my number, and the games began. I was constantly wanting to talk to him or text him but didn’t want to come on too strongly, then when I would text him he would drop off the face of the earth for a while leaving me feeling unimportant and confused. The worst part about this was that there was never any explanation, just a happy text of “Hey! What’s up!? :)” like nothing ever happened. After a few times of that happening we started talking more seriously and more often, I would go over to his house after being invited and we would talk and have lots of fun. Their apartment was the party place because they always had people over. A movie was always going and there was always something fun happening. I should also mention that the roommates that I was friends with were better friends with each other than they were with me, and they were not go-out-and-do-things type people. And at that point in my life that was all I knew how to do. So I felt very alone.

One fateful night I was invited to a bonfire by this guy and I was just so excited to be going out and doing something fun. My roommate told me that she didn’t think I should go. I was so angry about it because she had made me feel like an outcast for the first month of college because she didn’t want to go out and do anything with me in fear that her other roommate would feel left out because she didn’t want to go. I told her I was going and left in a huff. I see now that this first outing is where the manipulation began. I like to think that I had fairly strong and high standards, but I didn’t know how quickly they could fall because I put my trust in the wrong person. At the bonfire there were a lot of people drinking, and so was the guy I was with, which was surprising to me, with the things that he had told me, I guess I felt like i was led to believe we had the same standards. I expressed my concerns, and he used his charm by explaining that he didn’t want people to judge him based on that and that he was glad I was so understanding and nonjudgmental. See how he made me feel so special? I call that the “us against the world” tactic and boy was I a sucker for it. And I put my guard down.

After we had kissed and held hands and gone on dates and all the things that people do when they are dating, I started to ask him if we were going to label ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend and make things official because well why wouldn’t we? I came away from the conversation more than a little confused. He pulled in bits of his sob story again and said that was part of the reason we just couldn’t do that. He wasn’t ready to call me his girlfriend was basically what it came down to. Even though I was quite hurt, I tried to be understanding and let it go. We continued whatever it was that we were doing and I felt myself desperately searching for a reason that he couldn’t call me his girlfriend because his excuse just really didn’t make sense. I began to draw the conclusion that the only reason he wouldn’t want to do that was because he was seeing other girls. Sadly I didn’t come to this conclusion until after I had lost my virginity.

I remember battling for his attention sometimes, even though I felt like we made it clear that we were all but in a relationship….I was trying to prove myself worthy of the title of his girlfriend. I wanted to prove that I was willing to show him that I really cared about him, even loved him. And of course that was where I began going down a path that was darker than I could have imagined.

I never felt like I was good enough and I felt like I was beneath him, I had to prove that I deserved to be with him. I don’t know if this was a culmination of a poor self-esteem and too many bad relationships, or if this guy really put me down on that level. Either way, it was just a bad situation. I remember feeling like I was crazy because he would do or say something that would make me feel bad, I would tell him that it hurt me and then he would somehow make me feel like I was the bad guy and that I had to apologize to him for feeling that way. I remember my roommates hating him and hating me for having him around. I eventually ended up moving into a new apartment because it got to be a very hostile environment.

After moving into my new apartment and into a new place with three new roommates, I was feeling relief as well as anxiety about them finding out anything about my situation. But after so much bonding and opening up to one another, many late nights, and too many cry sessions I found out that all three of my roommates were going through VERY similar situations. It was so nice to have 3 wonderful beautiful girls that could completely understand me! They didn’t judge me, they didn’t tell me I was doing the wrong thing (even though I think we all knew there was something wrong with it), they just understood me. I truly believe that the Lord put those three into my life so that I could have true friends by my side to help me through it.

As I grew more and more impatient with the situation and yet more and more desperate to show him that I was meant to be with him, things escalated. More and more of his habits came out that with any other person I would have run for the hills. But somehow he had made me believe that it wasn’t that big of a deal. He was doing drugs, he looked at pornography, he had parties at his parents house that they knew nothing about. These would all be red flags for anyone with their head on straight…but somehow I was just blind. I remember sitting in my math class when he texted me and told me that the police were at his apartment and they were going to find the marijuana that he had in his truck. He told me that he needed me to get out of my class and break into his car and get it out so that they didn’t find it. He was screaming in text that he needed me to get it out, telling me that he loved me and that he needed me to do this for him. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I think I saw the manipulation for just a minute, and I’m sure that the fact that I was sitting next to my brother in my math class made me really put things into perspective. When I didn’t do that for him, he wouldn’t talk to me for a few days because he had to forgive me for not attempting to ruin my life right along with him.

He once came over to my apartment so drunk that he was throwing up all night. He kept telling me that he came over because he knew that I would take care of him, but it turns out that it was only because he was afraid they were going to get caught drinking and he needed a place to crash so he didn’t get in trouble. I stayed awake all night reading a book while he slept on my twin bed and threw up every 20 minutes. I would hold the bucket for him. He got up and left first thing in the morning and said “thank you” like I had just given him a quarter instead of letting him sleep in my bed while I stayed up all night taking care of him.

One of my worst memories was when I let him talk me into smoking weed with him because he just thought it would be “so much fun” to see me high. I threw up everywhere and he was more worried about his stuff then he was about me. He took me to his apartment and put me in his room in the bed, he put a bowl next to my face and left for hours while I layed there thinking that I was going to die…

I think I had isolated myself from so many people by this point and I was so afraid of what they would think of me if they knew what had happened and knew the things I had done that I just felt like all I had was him. What an awful feeling that was. I was in a dark place. I would feel so happy when he would talk to me and take me places and we just had so much fun together, but then things like the stuff I wrote above would happen. And I knew something was wrong but how do you get out of that? And the next day he would be so super nice to me. We would take pictures together and one time he even made me a bunch of block decorations with pictures of us on them. I lived for the days that we would just have fun together, and when the bad things happened, I wished I could get out, but I didn’t know how and I felt like it was too late.

Finally, one day he had asked me to go to a dance with him. I loved dances, but in the 7 months we had dated he had never asked me to a dance. He had always taken other girls and told me that they had asked him and he didn’t want to be rude and say no. Anyway, I was so excited. We had planned to go on a date during the day and then go to the dance afterwards. He had had surgery and was in a boot so he didn’t really want to go so I felt even more special that he was still going to go with me. I got ready the morning of the dance and texted him that I was ready whenever he was. He informed me that he had some homework to do but that he would come over in the afternoon. I told him I would make lunch (which I never did) and was excited to see him. The day went on and I got ready by curling my hair. I made lunch and told him it was ready and he never showed up. I was frustrated because we were still supposed to do something before the dance and his excuse for not making it to lunch was that he needed to clean (this was a common excuse for him though). My roommates tried to distract me and we went and flew kites and stuff, but as the dance crept closer I got more and more discouraged. I texted him again to see if we were even going to the dance and he replied that he was helping a friend with homework now and would be home soon so I could go over. After calling him and telling him my frustrations through tears, he told me that he really didn’t want to go to the dance because his leg was in the boot and he didn’t feel like he could dance anyway. I was mad because he hadn’t told me sooner and this was kind of a big deal to me and I wish we could have at least had fun during the day. He hung up because I was “being a baby” and I drove to a deserted playground and cried. A couple minutes later he asked me to come over. I was hoping for an apology and was trying to be optimistic so i went. I walked in the door, and he ignored me as he got something out of the fridge, then turned and smiled at me and greeted me with the most annoying “hey! What’s up!?” I have ever heard because once again it was like he was completely unaware. As I talked to him he ignored me as he texted another girl as if I wasn’t there, then told me I was being ridiculous as I sprang for the door with tears in my eyes.

The sad thing is that i still wasn’t done. I probably would have gone back. But something happened that night that I didn’t find out about until later and it tipped me completely over the edge. I found out that he had gone to the dance with another girl a few days later. I was furious…I was hurt…and I decided that I was done. I had a very intense breakdown…luckily my mom knew a little of what was going on. She had told my dad months before that one day she was going to need to drop everything and come stay with me, so when I called her at 9 o clock at night she drove for three hours to come and be with me.

She was understanding and yet she was harsh at times. She told me what i needed to do and she helped me have the strength to take back my power. I texted him the next day and asked if I could go get something that I left at his apartment. After a good pep talk I walked over. I walked in and said “hi” then I grabbed my stuff and went to leave, he tried to talk to me and I said that I had to go, I think by this time he was realizing something was wrong and I turned to leave without hesitation as he tried to grab my attention, but I walked away. And as I did he started calling after me, more and more frantically each time. Then I slammed the door. That was the beginning of taking back the power.

The next few days were rough. He had been the person that I spent almost every day with for 8 or so months. And now I had to find other things to do, other people to talk to, all while he competed for my attention. He wasn’t giving up now because now he knew he was losing me and so it was easy for him to be sweet and nice. I lost so much sleep because it was just plain hard. No one other than my roommates knew what I was going through. And it was hard to talk to them about it sometimes because they were still in it, and I was trying to get out. I did cave, but only once. I told him that I would go on a drive with him to explain where I was at. It turned into a yelling match. He still didn’t understand what he had done wrong! I felt like getting into the car he even tried to put me down by mentioning that he hadn’t seen me wear the shorts I was wearing before and that they were “skanky short”. I finally poured out how I felt with no reservations because I really didn’t care what he thought, it was my chance to get out how I felt and I knew he probably wasn’t going to listen, but hey, if he did then that was great.

It sucked that I was in his car because it was actually starting to look like it was going to rain. I realized that if he decided to be a real jerk he could just leave me stranded, but I had my phone so I wasn’t too worried. I spilled my guts and made him mad, he told me to get out of the car. So I did. When I opened the door to get out he told me to get back in and sped up, but I told him to stop. He stopped the car and I got out. He drove away angrily and somehow in my mind I didn’t care! It was great, I felt free. Then he decided to make my victory even more satisfying by coming back and driving next to me as I walked. He told me to get back in the car and I cut across a long patch of grass so he couldn’t get to me. He was yelling at me out of the window about how stupid I was being and I just grinned as I walked. I got back to the road and he drove next to me and asked me if I was even listening to him…I then responded with the most liberating phrase I have ever uttered from my mouth… “it sucks doesn’t it!?!” Haha at which point he drove away angrily and this time he didn’t come back.

I walked home with a spring in my step and a confidence that I didn’t know I could posses. And it was truly wonderful.

He left notes on my car and tried to text me on his friends phones even after I blocked his number. He even showed up on my porch weeks later. When I opened the door I was in shock that it was him and when he asked me if I wanted to go do something I said “No!” Slammed the door, locked it, and ran upstairs to my room and cried. I cried because I couldn’t believe I slammed the door in his face and because I couldn’t believe that I could be that strong in resisting him. It felt good.

He tried calling me and sending me letters even months later. Apologizing and asking me to come meet up with him somewhere. I wrote him a brutal letter back, and hung up when I heard his voice. This solidified my idea that he was probably just as manipulative as I thought that he was. And it wasn’t just in my head.

One of my friends that had been there for me through everything without really knowing what was going on, along with being a great friend before any of this happened, asked me if I would consider dating him after I had broke things off with the douche bag. I had told him most of what had happened and was surprised that he didn’t want to shove me out of his life completely. I pondered for a long time what that would mean for our friendship and if it could be good. After deciding there was no harm in trying, we began dating. Shortly after making the decision to date, he kissed me for the first time, and I know it might sound crazy, but I knew then that I was supposed to marry him. We have now been married for 7 years and have three beautiful children. My life is like a dream come true. I truly appreciate my husband and how he treats me, and I wonder sometimes if it is just because I lived in a nightmare for a little less than a year.

I remember looking into a dark tv screen as I sat in that guys room talking to him about life, and thinking that my life felt as dark as that screen, and I felt trapped. But I got out, and life is good. It is better than I ever could have imagined it. So if I would have had to give myself advice while I was in that situation it would have been this;

Don’t let someone have power over you
Life can be so much better than you think
If someone makes you feel like you are crazy, you aren’t crazy! You just need to get away from that person
You deserve to be treated like a princess, and there is someone out there that is willing to treat you that way, sometimes you just have to stop looking in order to find him 😉

Anonymous

My boyfriend, Owen (names have been changed), and I started dating as soon as I turned 16 (the recommended age to start dating in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints). We had been emailing and texting back and forth and been interested in each other for the 4 months previous. I was definitely searching for someone to be attached to who could understand the difficult things I had been through so far as a teenager.
There were plenty of red flags before we started dating and during the initial months that ours wasn’t a healthy relationship, and that Owen’s own patterns and habits (sarcasm, mocking, manipulation) would be detrimental to me, but I also felt a sense of kinship with him, since he could understand the pain I had been through, because he had been through a lot himself.
I guess this is one of the things I wanted to really share about my #metoo experience. So many survivors and victims out there paint their abusers as horrible people, psychopaths. While this may legitimately be true in many cases, it was not in mine. Owen had experienced emotional and mental abuse his entire life, and some cases of physical abuse and neglect from babysitters. I really believe that the way that he was at that time was a culmination of how he had been treated his whole life, and he didn’t really have the experience of how to experience a healthy relationship.
After the first few months, we got progressively more physical with each other. Based on our religious beliefs, we both knew we shouldn’t be doing this. But it was exciting and we were into each other. We talked a lot of times about our experiences we would have in seminary during the day – I specifically would share how guilty I felt, that I knew that we shouldn’t be doing those things and we should stop. Owen would agree that he felt guilty, too, and we’d both resolve to do better. I’m sure you all know how well that worked.
That pattern lasted for the first year we were dating. During that time there were plenty of unhealthy relationship patterns and red flags, but nothing that was intentionally manipulative or hurtful. I feel really lucky that the abuse in our relationship didn’t last the entire time – although, maybe if it had been that way from the beginning I would have got out sooner, who knows? In this time, we got to a point physically that felt like the limit for me. I knew I didn’t want to go farther than that. It was about this point that the excitement wore off and I started wondering, “what else is there to this relationship?” Most of our time together was spent making out, not talking. I felt like we didn’t really know each other or spend quality time together anymore. I was also continually feeling intense shame and guilt for doing what I knew was wrong. By this point, I didn’t enjoy any of the physical attention I was giving or receiving, but that wasn’t enough of a reason for me to say “no” or “stop.”
So, so far this probably sounds like a million high school dating experiences you’ve heard before, right? There were many, many times that I flat-out ignored my gut feelings, pushed away what I knew was right, depleted my self-confidence by ignoring myself, and started getting into the same unhealthy relationship patterns that Owen was used to. I think throughout my life I had been shown that men were supposed to be in charge of the relationship. Although I am a very strong-willed person, I felt that us breaking up needed to be a mutual decision – I felt that if I could just help him see the reasons why, he would say, “Gosh, you’re right! Let’s do the right thing. I can’t believe it took me so long!” There was no assumption on my part that he ever wouldn’t do this, and I spent my days feeling tortured like I was doing something wrong in my communicating with him because he still hadn’t responded in the way I hoped. It must have been because I was doing something wrong.
The turning point for me came when, like almost every other day, I had just finished telling Owen how guilty I felt about making out all the time and that we probably shouldn’t be together. He basically would just nod, keep holding my hand as we walked, and lead me down the same dang “make-out hallway” as always. But on this day, I was really sad about something. My uncle had just been diagnosed with cancer, and I was beginning to feel that I had just become an object to Owen. He knew I was feeling horrible about what we were doing and that I wanted to stop, but he didn’t care enough to stop.
He started trying to kiss me, and I slid down the wall to sit down and started crying. He knelt down and asked “what’s wrong?” and I said, “I don’t know.” He stood up, looked down at me, and just walked away. I cried in the hallway by myself for a long time after. The next day, he acted like nothing happened. It was around this time that the emotional abuse really began. I have spent a lot of years trying to sort through what was emotional abuse, and what wasn’t. I finally realized recently that I could just pray and ask the Lord. I could ask, “was that emotionally abusive?” And he could give me an answer. That has made all the difference for me – I haven’t felt like I’ve had to meet someone else’s standard.

Break-up Attempts
At this point, I knew that just talking to him in person about breaking up wasn’t working, so I tried a different tactic by writing break-up letters. I still blamed myself for not being clear enough, or strong enough, or something enough to have been able to break up earlier, and I thought that in letters I could be sure that what I was saying was what I really wanted to say. After the first letter, he agreed that we were doing too much physically, but said again that we could just chill out the physical stuff and still be together.
During the next three months, we followed the same dumb pattern of getting progressively more physical. Only this time, I really felt that every time it happened, he was intentionally doing what he knew I didn’t want to do. He started telling me, too, that every time I brought up that we were doing the wrong thing, it made him feel horrible. Essentially, if I shared how I felt, I was hurting him – so I just stopped telling him and tried to drown out my own feelings.
I started to feel really depressed and alone at this time, and my parents had started realizing the depth of mine and Owen’s relationship. I think they really believed that I must be missing some kind of knowledge – if I knew the truth and what I was supposed to be doing, I wouldn’t be doing it, right? This added guilt was really difficult for me to bear, and also made me feel even more like I couldn’t come to my parents. It felt like all they could see was what I was doing “wrong,” instead of trusting that I already knew, and asking what was going on that was keeping me from doing what I knew was right. But before this, I had already felt that if I did tell them what was going on, they would be ashamed of me and reject me.
Throughout our relationship, the immense guilt and self-blame I experienced made it almost impossible for me to see that Owen was the one at this point doing something wrong. I was too focused on all of my own failings (in part because Owen pointed them out so often) to see that. I also felt that because I had let things get to a certain physical point in the past, that that was giving him permission to go there again forevermore. I felt like I couldn’t say “no” after I had already said “yes” multiple times before.
There were two friends that I shared a little of what was happening with, and they encouraged me to break up with Owen. I am grateful to this day for how much they listened to and validated me, even if it drove them nuts that I was always talking about the same dang problem day in and day out. By December 2006, at my friend’s encouragement, I wrote him the second break-up letter. At this point, I thought it had finally worked. But I still had it in my head like so many other girls do that you can still be friends with an ex. Let me just say… this never works!
For the next few days, Owen was visibly depressed. All of his friends and our shared friends would ask him, “Owen, what’s wrong??” And he would either not respond at all, or just say, “Ask Amy.” We were still texting and talking on the phone, and I kept trying to make him feel better, while he kept trying to manipulate me. Telling him I still cared about him, I loved him still, but we just couldn’t be together. Over the next few days, I felt over and over again that it was my fault for how he felt. Owen blamed me, and kept telling me we could make it work, and if we both still loved each other, then we shouldn’t be apart. Looking back on it now, I feel like he was trying to see how far I could be pushed – how much he could manipulate and control me before we would get back together. But none of it was because he really cared about me.
We got back together. I remember after this, giving him a hug in the hallway, and he flinched. My arm had gone around his lower back, which is a pretty uncommon place to get hurt. I asked what happened, and he said, “I just got burned.” When I asked how he said, “My soldering iron.” When I pressed him about how that could have happened, he didn’t have any satisfactory answers. I assumed it was self-harm and discouraged him from doing it again. I was always a little nervous about walking past that same make-out hallway, but for a while we would just walk a different way. We limited ourselves to just holding hands for about a week, and I thought maybe things were going to turn out okay.
I don’t remember what day exactly, but when school ended that day, he wouldn’t let go of my hand. He lead me down the make-out hallway that we had avoided up to this point. To this day the overwhelming feeling I remember is confusion. It was almost as if to me, Owen was a stranger. I thought that we had reached this new positive place in our relationship of respect and understanding, but then the shock of what was happening would slam into me. When we got to the notch in the hallway that hid you from sight, he started making out with me – hard. Pushing and rubbing against my body – I remember the button on his pants hurting my hips and stomach. My lips hurt because of his teeth. He was rough, dominating, and had his arms against the wall to either side of me so I couldn’t get away. He put his hand up the back of my shirt and touched my bra, and I tried pushing his hand back out of the way. He just pushed my hand away and was even more forceful. This was almost like an out-of-body experience for me. I remember he smelled like popcorn (cue for why I don’t like popcorn anymore).
At this point, it must have been intervention, I still remember Marie Phillips (name changed) opening the door from the back of the stage that was right next to where we were. I remember she looked surprised and annoyed – it was pretty typical for couples to make out there. But my overwhelming feeling was that of “save me!” Owen stepped back from me, looked me up and down, sighed like he was annoyed at being interrupted, and pulled me into the band room after him. When we got back by other people, he acted completely normal, like nothing had happened. I don’t remember anything else after that – it was like I was in shock. Why didn’t I tell someone? Because I hadn’t even processed what had just happened to me. And whatever it was that had just happened, I was sure that somehow it was my fault.
That was sexual assault. I have struggled for a long time with the idea “you could have fought back!” Or “Why didn’t you scream, or tell him to stop?” I was taller than Owen. Physically, if it had really come to a fight, I probably could have held my own. But what I have come to understand with emotional abuse and assault, the brain isn’t always capable of doing those things. Most of us are familiar with fight or flight, but the brain also has options of freeze or faint. Think of a possum, who instinctively feels that its’ best chance of survival is just to focus on breathing, keeping its heart beating, and holding as still as possible – the speech and logic parts of your brain aren’t even functioning, because you are in survival mode.
This is how I felt. I legitimately felt afraid for my life. Not because I thought Owen might kill me or rape me based on my experiences with him, but because I thought Owen was respectful and kind, that he cared about and listened to me. To suddenly be surprised with this extreme behavior that I hadn’t anticipated in any way, to feel terrified – seeing that someone else had power over you, I felt like I didn’t know what he was capable of anymore. It felt like an out-of-body experience, where I was seeing what was happening, but didn’t have control over myself. Looking back now, of course, I can see that there were plenty of signs that this was the direction our relationship was headed, but I trusted him.
After this, I wrote my third break-up letter to him. I was angry with him in the letter for doing what he did, but I didn’t have the framework to define it as sexual assault. Any time I would have flashbacks to what happened or remember details, I would immediately push them away, try to forget, block them out. I gave him the letter after seminary and he read it while he was in class. I was waiting for him outside the door when class was done, and he came over to hold my hand and started walking down the hall, like nothing even happened. I asked him “Did you read it?” “Yeah.” “So? What do you think?” And he just shrugged.
For a while, every time we would get close to the make-out hallway, the anxiety and dread in me would well-up and bubble over. I felt like I was going to explode and would find anyone nearby to latch on to and have some reason to get him to let go of my hand. After several days of that, when we came to our lockers, no one was nearby, no one to keep me safe. I knew what I said didn’t matter, he would do what he wanted to anyway. We went down the same hallway, with every cell in my body screaming “I don’t feel safe!!!! What is he going to do??” When we got there, he was soft and gentle to me, almost like he was apologizing for what he had done. While at the same time still making out with me, like he knew I didn’t want to.
I felt really confused again. How could someone be so gentle and loving at the same time that they were completely disregarding what you really wanted? We talked on the phone that night and I told him some of how I felt. I asked him what he was doing, and he told me he was using his soldering iron. I asked if he was hurting himself again, and he say anything in response, but he winced. I said things like, “You need to stop hurting yourself” and tried to say things to help him feel better. He winced several times throughout the conversation and said, “I just don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t ever together.” I tried walking down that path verbally, saying everything would be fine, but he just said, “I have to go.” And we finished talking. I was worried he was going to commit suicide if I broke up with him for good.
I realized then, even with all of the emotional manipulation that had previously been happening, that I had to get out. I knew it wasn’t going to matter what I said, he was going to take advantage of me and that what he wanted would always be more important than what I wanted. I wrote him another letter, which I think he just threw away. At this point, I felt unsafe and anxious around him all the time. I started avoiding him or hiding from him. I remember planning out where our normal paths crossed, and chose to go different directions – I still remember laughing at myself because I got lost at the school I had been at for 3 years from heading down an unfamiliar hallway. I was in a constant state of hyper-vigilance, trying to anticipate where he was.
There were several times during the next month, January 2007, where I wouldn’t see him coming and he would suddenly be holding my hand, hugging me, or touching me somehow. I have one very clear traumatic memory where I was standing in a circle with our group of friends, laughing and talking, and then suddenly he was behind me. He wrapped his arms tight around my waist and wouldn’t let go. The conversation continued, he laughed and joined in, all while he knew how terrified and violated I felt in that exact moment. No one realized that anything was happening at all. And I felt like he completely enjoyed being able to make me feel scared and powerless. For about a month, I felt like at any moment, he could be there and do whatever he wanted to me with no consequences or remorse.
Walking past the make-out hallway made me feel physically nauseous and anxious. Smelling popcorn, seeing black suburban-type vehicles when I was driving, the sound of a hacky sack hitting the ground, or ballroom music or dances triggered my flight reflex in a split second. I’d be fine one second and then feel like I was having a heart attack and couldn’t breathe the next because I felt so afraid. These PTSD symptoms have continued, though lessened, even now, 12 years later.
By the end of January, he had stopped trying to touch me, but I still felt unsafe and afraid all the time at school. I still worried what would happen if we ever happened to be alone together. In February, his mom mentioned “I keep telling Owen that he needs to ask you out to prom!” After I told her we had broken up, I felt like things finally had some closure. I don’t know if he thought I would tell his mom if something else happened, or maybe he worried what I had told her. Either way, I felt like he didn’t look at me with a sense of power after that.
He moved on not too long after that to dating someone else. I always felt a great sense of pity for her – there was no way she knew what she was getting in to, and there was no way I could stop what was happening between them, either. Owen went on a mission, and he is married to the same girl today. Like Kesha says in her powerful song, I hope he has changed and finds his peace by praying, and that things are different in his marriage.
About a year after this, I told one of my friends that Owen had been abusive to me. Without any questions or a minute to respond she said, “Owen would never do that.” And that was the end of that conversation. It has replayed in my mind probably a million times since then, and may have done almost as much damage to me as the actual assault. It has made me feel that no one would believe me, my story isn’t worth sharing because it isn’t “bad” enough, and that everyone will see that I did something wrong. I finally decided to start going to therapy this year, and want to take control now of how these experiences will continue to influence me and my future.
I have spent most of the past 12 years trying to forget what happened – which I think mentally I buried pretty well most of the time. But emotionally, I still struggled with being triggered, having nightmares, and not being able to pin down why I felt so damaged. I spent a lot of time telling myself that what happened was normal, my fault, or just going a little too far physically. But none of those things are true.
My hope is that by sharing my story, other people who have been in relationships like this can see the truth in their worth, seek help in healing and forgiveness, and give themselves compassion for being human. I hope that for those who may read this who haven’t personally experienced abuse or assault, that you can think through some of the false expectations and perceptions we have as a society towards men and women, abusers and victims, and what you can do to be supportive and compassionate to people who are suffering. And if Owen ever reads this, I can also say: I forgive you. I hope you have pursued help and healing from your own wounds you carry.

Amy Bowen

How Addiction Stole Christmas

“Happy” feelings abounded the year addiction stole Christmas in the Joyous Family.  After attending an office Christmas party where the libations flowed freely and a van taxi sat waiting to take all the revelers home, our world screeched to a halt.

The taxi dropped me off at a good friend’s house to pick up the kids.  I walked into the house and began to cry.  The van taxi ride home with a bunch of very drunk people scared me.

My good friend’s offered me a bed for the night.

“No, I just need to get the kids home.  If I get them and myself to sleep before he (my husband) gets home, it will all be alright,” I said.

I packed up my 3 & 5-year old in the Honda Minivan and drove the 7 miles home to the big house on 20 acres.  On the way home, I spotted my husband’s car still parked at the restaurant where he worked.

Good I thought, I’ve got a little while, he will finish-up the party there with his work associates.  It may be hours before he gets home.

The past year my husband had taken a job at the local restaurant/bar.  That year his drinking increased dramatically in addition to other substance abuse.

His normally nightly routine involved coming home in the wee hours of the morning and sleeping in the downstairs bedroom.

It was only 10:15 PM when I pulled the minivan up to the house and unloaded the kids.  Tucking them in quickly, I ran to my room.  Bedtime meant the end of this nightmare.  I will wake up tomorrow and none of this will matter, everything will be OK.

I could not have been more wrong.  My life changed forever after that long night.

Drifting off to sleep I heard my husband arrive.  Good, I thought, at least I know he made it home.

Then the bedroom door flew open!  Angry and full of accusations my husband burst into the room.

Normally, I engaged in all our battles.  Yelling, screaming and accusing right back.

Being Still, Letting God Fight For Me

This time I lay in stillness.  I lay reciting the Lord’s Prayer.  As I look back, this simple act turned the tide in our marriage.

For over two years, I walked in the morning with the dog while my children and my husband slept.  I pleaded with God.  When Lord, when will you heal my husband?  My boy is 5 years old, when will his Daddy be available.

Frustrated, I often shouted at God. The shouting normally led to a stream of tears followed by my heartfelt fears, worries, self-recriminations, and just plain groaning out to God.

Cleansed for the moment each morning, I walked slowly back to the house to start the day.
As I lay there that night, I finally surrendered to God–all my fight left.  My morning prayers lately revolved around my weaknesses.  My heart verse during those walks was 2 Chronicles 20:17

 You do not have to fight this battle. Position yourselves, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord. He is with you, Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid or discouraged. Tomorrow, go out to face them, for Yahweh is with you.

A few months earlier I had called a Christian interventionist, Joe Herzanek. Himself a former addict, he advised me to “raise the bottom”.  Joe suggested that I set very serious boundaries.  The boundaries included my husband’s forced removal from our house, if he did not seek help immediately.

“God, I am to weak to move myself, you must move me;” I whispered in my morning prayers and at night.  A secret code between God and I.  I could not bring myself to end yet another marriage, this time with the blessed fruit of two beautiful boys.  I waited on my Chronicles 20:17 miracle.

If God wanted the boys and me out of this living situation, He needed to show up and move us.

That night God’s mighty hand crashed to earth in the middle of the big house.

A long, long night with lots of moving around the house trying to escape my husband’s accusations and requests.

Around midnight I found myself hiding in our master bedroom closet.   Bravely, I shot off a text to my best girlfriend, “I need help,” it simply said.  Another breakthrough for me, stopping all the lying and the secrets and accepting help.

Remember, these kind friends offered safe harbor earlier in the evening that night, but I confidently felt I could handle the situation.

God clearly purposefully put me in a place I could no longer handle.  No human help came that night.

My husband fell asleep around 3 am.  My youngest boy woke up around 6 am.  I slipped out of bed hoping my husband did not notice and went to get the baby.

My chirpy little boy kindled a hope in me.  The sun on the rise I started making breakfast.

Tanya Gioia, The Joyous Family