"Scars are souvenirs you never lose." -Goo Goo Dolls

It's no secret that I love my church. Even after fourteen months, it sounds weird for me to say that. Because fifteen months ago, I was as anti-church as they come. But I do. I am convinced that I go to the coolest church in the world, and I secretly like when people come and get a bit weirded out by the edginess and casualness and outside-the-box-ness. The creativity blows my mind. The attention to detail awes me. The pastor is actually phenomenal. I hang on his every word and he literally makes me want to be a better person. 

Today, though, I started to shift nervously in my seat about 2/3 of the way through his message. Something was making me uncomfortable. I was completely conflicted, because I was loving it. He was talking about sticking together when marriage gets hard. A few of our friends are considering or going through divorce right now, so it was hitting close to home. And although B and I are quite solid, maritally, the advice he was giving out was amazing and needed. Just how to treat each other and really love one another. 

And what not to do. And the more he talked about what not to do, how not to talk to your wife, I started remembering how it felt when someone talked to me with disrespect. In fact, I started remembering details of the way my ex-husband treated me. 

He started telling a story about a couple who had some serious struggles. Something flipped a switch in me. The tears were already in my eyes, but they fell down my face as he delved into this story. For the first time, the tears that I had in church weren't from my heart bursting from the music or the message, but from my heart hurting. 

Badly. 

I looked around, thinking that I'd bet my last dime that there was a woman in the auditorium who was living through what I lived through ten years ago. It happens more than you think, because abusers are typically the most talented wool-pullers around.  And it scared me to think that she was thinking that the abuse was her fault, and that this amazing pastor urging her to stay was probably right. 

So I started praying. Hard. I started praying that our pastor would give a disclaimer. Because I've been there. I've lived through it. And although I'm sure not everyone reading this would agree, I believe with all my heart that God wouldn't have wanted me to stay in that marriage. That God hates abuse as much as He hates divorce. (And for the record, that fabulous pastor agrees with me. I asked him.)

The problem is that women don't leave because they hear day in and day out that they are crazy. That they wouldn't need to be held down, kicked around, disrepected, screamed at, humiliated if they would just chill out, do the laundry, lose 10 pounds, keep the house cleaner, have sex with their husband more. They know that they are broken, but don't understand that we all are. They think that they should stay and after they hear it more times than they can count, they believe it.

I found myself talking to a wonderful associate pastor at the end of the service. (We were in a satellite location, so the lead pastor wasn't available.) And when I say talking, I mean rambling incessantly, because that's how I roll when I'm in any way emotional, which is far too often. I asked him if he could bring this to the lead pastor's attention because he has such a reach. And that I am absolutely positive that a woman who is being abused heard that message this week.

It occurred to me that while my voice doesn't reach as far as my pastor's, I have a bit of a reach too. I have a voice and every time I have posted about this, I get incredible emails. So I'm putting it out there again. Today I was reminded that if your marriage is hanging on by a thread, you should act lovingly, without unfair expectations, and God will meet you there to help you fall back in love. I give the preacher an "amen" on that.

But if you are being abused, or suspect that perhaps what you are enduring might qualify as abuse, you shouldn't stay. God wouldn't want you to be treated like that. He cries with you and hurts when you hurt. I'm sure of it. My brother, who is a police officer, tells me to this day that what I was going through was textbook abuse and he was sure the ending would have been quite frightening had I not left so quickly. 

I know it's hard. And it's scary. And you think that no one will ever want a divorcee. I thought it too. I remember post-counseling appointments, sitting on my apartment floor sobbing my eyes out, not knowing what to do. Even after a mixing bowl was thrown at my head and I was told I was worthless, fat, and lazy in front of my neighborhood, I waffled on the decision. 

But I left. And not one of the tears I shed today was wondering if I did the wrong thing in leaving; if I needed to ask for forgiveness for ending a marriage. It was worry for other women hearing the message. 

The pastor I spoke to today was kind and loving. He complimented my heart and explained that there is only so much time in a message. I get that. But every day I stayed in that marriage chipped a little confidence out of me. And I learned that the scars of those days don't fade as quickly or as completely as I'd thought. But dealing with the scars is better than those open wounds. 

Namaste'.

**************

As always, if you have questions or comments and you'd like to stay anonymous, you can email me instead of commenting at namastebyday@gmail.com.