Often we hear the phrase “get over it”, but what if you can’t? What if there are things in your life that have happened that never go away? Things that have happened over and over at some point in your life are not things that just go away, they are imbedded in the person you are today. So you can’t just get over something that made you who you are, even if you don’t like the person it made you become. Most days I hate myself, I hate myself from the trauma that I lived in because I did not see it unfolding before my eyes, by the time I was shut in that bathroom tears rolling wanting to run from it all, it was too late and the damage was done. If they damage was done, why run now? I’ve made it this far and he hasn’t killed me yet, what’s a few more years of keeping quiet so that I know my kids are safe? A few more years, a lot more tears, the threats, the belittling comments on a daily basis, the slack I pick up and endure that he will not get out of bed to handle himself, and the hiding of the emotional damage so that no one looks at me like I’m a charity case. I’m not a victim, he is. I have to do better, I have to make him happy at all times so that the kids never see us fight, it’s my fault, if I just do this different he will smile and the kids will continue to thrive, if I just have supper cooked when he comes in, if I just have his clothes washed, if I just…..if I just.

The crackle of the rocks crunching under tires still gives me anxiety today, 7 years later. Standing at a kitchen sink washing dishes, makes me paranoid that I will be choked unexpectedly, making a mistake in any area of life still makes me want to cry because I remember I am worthless. Hearing someone yell startles me and brings back the sound of his voice screaming in my face every derogatory remark a person could come up with “you are helpless, lazy, you are a bad mother, you’re a whore, you are unable to love or be loved in return, you’re selfish, you should just kill yourself and end the problem that makes everyone around you miserable” the thought of living in this situation doesn’t just go away, and you can’t just get over it. Standing in the shower was the best place to cry, otherwise I was yelled at for having emotion, or being selfish, or don’t let the kids see you crying you’re making them upset. I lived in an absolute hell that my family only saw a glimpse of, everything else, I lied about.

Disappearing for days at time, without a phone call home, but when he walked in I wasn’t allowed to ask questions because it was my fault that he had to leave in the first place. My mom use to come over and keep the boys while I went to work, he slept while she took care of our children, he never had a normal job, and if he did, he didn’t keep it long, he paid half the bills and I paid my half and I wasn’t to question his money, where it was going or if he had any to pay the bills.

If I went to the store, a ball game, a practice, or even to work I was questioned about my whereabouts, I was often timed to see how long it took me and I would be so scared when I got home that I would choke on my words scared to death of the tongue lashing I would catch if I was ten minutes late according to him. I didn’t speak to many, I would definitely be accused of cheating no matter where I went and I didn’t tell anyone of the verbal or emotional abuse happening at home, because I thought this was just normal. I thought he loved me. I thought we were safe. Truth is, I was living in hell on earth, and so were my kids.

The worst, best decision I ever made was to leave that man. I had to leave him with our 3 boys who could barely talk, they couldn’t tell me what was going on in the home without mom there, that’s why I stayed so long. Others did, even the ones who bought drugs from him would call to tell me how bad the situation was because even they feared for my children. To get my children meant money and evidence, and in my case to put my life on the line. I was terrified, once told that if anything ever happened to him I had a target on my back and it would happen to me as well. Scared for my life, and being a broke single mother, I kept quiet. Until one day I wasn’t. It didn’t help. Order of protection, begging for help, he’s slick, and always got clean enough to pass a drug test no matter what he had to do to make sure it was going to fall in his favor. To place him as the victim. All these years, I’m the bad guy.

Now my boys are older, they are starting to open up more and more and they know that “daddy’s secrets” aren’t suppose to be secrets from mommy. Here I am, the helpless, unworthy, bad mother, that he said I was for all those years, standing up, fighting, and not backing down. That’s enough, those are my kids, and we serve a just and mighty God that has heard my tears, and the walls are starting to crumble. There will be no more playing victim in his ugly game of narcissism, emotional abuse, and drug use. I may still be weak when I hear gravel, and I may still be scared when someone yells, but I will face the demons inside of him face to face for my children. I will not let their futures be damaged by his unresolved trauma, the generational confusion stops with you, and it will not continue to be passed on to my innocent boys who do not deserve the path he is paving for them. It is no longer my job to protect him or help him so that they have a good father, I am now standing up to fight to make sure they have what they need to be good fathers themselves. The time has come, and my God has paved a way, and this time I won’t back down from the demon who only shows his face to the ones he recognizes.

I refuse to ever hear that my boys held a gun to woman’s head, I refuse to hear my children have belittled a woman so badly that she wants to die, I refuse to hear my children call a woman by a name that degrades her, I refuse to hear my children put their hands on a female and I refuse to sit back and let them think that what they have witnessed will be how they treat women. My boys will be taught to respect all women, my boys will be taught to be gentlemen, my boys will know that the woman they call mom stood up and fought for them to be raised as real men and not cowards, because one day a gentlemen will teach that coward man, and when he does I hope I get to witness that coward finally experience hell on earth.

I walk with trauma I can’t get over it, it is apart of who I am. I will never again be who I once was, and my scars are a reminder that I survived, but over my dead body will my children have matching scars.