"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.

Way Back Whensday...by popular demand

Some of my good bloggy friends have gotten wind that I once was arrested, and I promised to tell the story.

If you've been reading my blog for any amount of time, you know that I was married to a man who was physically and emotionally abusive. He was also what I have termed "financially abusive." He spent all of our money and constantly knowingly wrote bad checks to get cash. I. Could. Not. Stop. Him. Once, I had to ask my mom for $5 to buy a roll of wrapping paper. And he was cashing in his 401K to buy a tv.

So of course, instead of updating his license plate tags, he spent it on other “necessities.” Because my car was nicer, he constantly took it without asking. One day, while driving his car, I got pulled over for the tags and was written a ticket. I didn’t have the money to pay it, so I simply didn’t. Apparently, a warrant for my arrest was in the mail, but because it was Christmastime, the mail was backed up because of the holidays. I had completely forgotten about the ticket and had no clue I had a warrant.

One night, I was driving home from my job around 1 am and got pulled over for speeding. It took FOREVER for the cop to come back to my car after she took my license and registration. I started getting nervous and it struck me that I had that outstanding ticket. I immediately started crying. Finally, the cop came back to my car and I started blabbering excuses for that ticket. She refused to listen, told me that she was going to have to arrest me, and I lost it. It is safe to say that abusive marriages don’t exactly help make you more emotionally stable. I was sobbing...big, ugly, hiccuping sobs. As with every arrest, she actually handcuffed me, and called for backup. I was mortified. (Side note, in case you are wondering...my brother was not a police officer yet. He was still in The Academy.)

The officers were actually nice, considering I was being arrested. They let me move my car and take my radar detector (which obviously didn’t work anyway), and put it in my trunk. The woman cop was training another officer and the trainee actually sat in the backseat so I could sit in the front seat. All I remember from that ride is crying so hard, and because I was handcuffed, I had to wipe my nose with my knee. I can laugh now, but I assure you, it was not funny at the time…especially to someone who had never been in any trouble with the police.

We got to the police station and they took all my belongings, including all of my jewelry and my shoelaces. I felt like I was in a movie. They did me another "favor"…chained me to the desk instead of putting me in a cell. I was still sobbing so hard that they were taking turns coming and snickering at the hilarious little girl who just got arrested. They gave me my one call and I called the ex, who thought it was a joke. I started crying so hard that the officer had to take the phone and talk to him.

I had to be moved to the county jail, and I was driven in another police car. Apparently I had just missed the van that takes all the criminals together. (Can you imagine that blog post?) When I got to the county jail, they interviewed me to find out about my mental health, which was severely lacking at the moment. They FRISKED me, and I had to stand in some tiny little airtight booth in order to actually enter the jail. I am 5’4” and back then, I weighed about 95 pounds. I was standing between two very tall, very scary men and I was absolutely petrified as the doors shut. I figured these two men were certainly murderers and I was their next victim. With the doors shut tight, they could easily kill me and no one could stop them. Absolutely terrifying. Once I got into the jail, I thought I found one friend, who was arrested for DWI, and seemed nice enough. I was so relieved to have someone to talk to. That is, until she passed out on the bench next to me mere minutes later.

I was still crying so hard that the officer on duty called me up to his little booth and actually told me I really needed to stop crying. He started trying to make friendly conversation with me, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was almost ready to graduate with my master’s degree, and I was absolutely convinced that I’d ruined my life and I’d never get a job. He reassured me that wasn’t the case, and I went back to a chair and sat down, trying to calm down, but still gulping like a 4 year old.

I was amazed at how nice people were in jail. One girl came up and hugged me and told me that everything would be okay. Some guys about my age strutted up to me and asked what was apparently the pickup line in jail... “What are you in for?” They sat by me and talked to me about how great the upstairs of the jail was…you got cots and bologna sandwiches. Sadly, at the moment, that actually did sound heavenly.

Another man with the most amazing mullet I’d ever seen came over and sat down by me when the boys were called to leave. He asked what my bail was (another popular conversation starter), and when I told him it was $100, he told me that his was $10,000! Evidently, it wasn’t his first arrest. He told me the story of what happened; that the police came and got him from his daughter’s first birthday party and boy, was his wife pissed. He talked to me for the longest time, and was the only person who calmed me down. I am still grateful to him and have no idea who he was. Funny enough, I can’t remember why he was arrested. I wonder if I have a guardian angel with a mullet. Awesome.

After almost 3 hours of sitting in the jail, my bail had been paid and I was set free.
Apparently, I had accidentally taken my ex’s keys that night and he had to go knock on our neighbor’s door to ask to borrow their car at 3 am. While that wasn’t quite enough of a payback, it helped a little. Thanks, Karma.

Leaving: The Ending

To get background on this story, see Parts I, II, and III.

My divorce took forever, since X didn't want to pay any of the outstanding bills we had. I was stuck, because everything was in my name. I fought and fought until finally, my sweet lawyer told me that this wasn't worth it. My lawyer bills were more than our debt and I needed to throw in the towel and move on with my life.

So I did.

I took all of our debt.

I've paid off just about all of it, with help from the credit card company, and of course, B. It wasn't easy, but we did it.

Technically, I'm still paying for the engagement ring X gave me because he paid for it with "living expenses" money that was a part of my student loans. Ugh.

X wasn't quite finished, however. He had been driving a car that was in my dad's name that was originally mine. Although it wasn't paid off, he somehow bought a new truck and dropped the car off at my parents' house, with a note saying, "I'm finished with this." Nice.

My group of friends from college remained friends with X, and I think they still do to this day. I finally cut ties with the group by writing a letter to the friend who told me I was overreacting. I told her that if her husband ever mistreated her and her friends took it lightly, she'd be heartbroken. I said that I wished her the best, but if anything bad happened to her, I hoped she'd find more support than I did.

Luckily, I had other friends who stuck by me. I remain close to them to this day and am beyond grateful that they helped me get through such a tough time in my life.

Since then, 4 out of the 6 friends in that group have contacted me via Facebook. One even asked for my side of the story and apologized for not asking sooner.

Once my divorce was final, signing the paperwork felt like a weight had been lifted from me. But I still had so much anger inside of me. I was also still fearful of what would happen if I ran into him.

I remember seeing accidents on the highway and hoping that was X's car. I remember seeing a truck that looked like his new one and having a panic attack that he was still stalking me.

My relationship with B continued to grow and develop and we got engaged after about a year. We moved really quickly, especially considering everything that had happened, but I knew it was the right choice. Some people doubted my decision, even a therapist who said I needed to be careful marrying the man who rescued me, but I never had a doubt. I loved B and I wanted to start a family with him,and I didn't want to waste time when I was sure about my choice.

Considering we just celebrated our 5-year-anniversary and have two beautiful sons, I think I was right.

A couple of years after the divorce,I realized that holding onto the hate and fear was only hurting myself. I made a conscious decision to let go and forgave X. Forgiving him only helped myself. He didn't know or care. I know he's remarried and has a son and that definitely makes me less fearful of him. I still would do anything to avoid him, but I am at peace with that part of my life.

After all, if I'd never married X, I'd never have met B, nor would I appreciate him as much as I do now.

I'd never have known my strength.

I'd never have been able to help other people in my situation.

I'd never have known how painful words can be, and how to fight fairly.

I'd never have really understood who my real friends were.

I'm not going to lie. Leaving was the hardest decision I have ever made, but it was also the best. Divorcing an abusive man was difficult and scary and I'm still dealing with it in some ways. But if you are in a similar situation, know that you can leave. Your friends and family don't agree with the things your husband or boyfriend is saying, even if he swears they do. No matter what, you aren't causing him to treat you the way he does. It is not your fault. Once you get away, you'll find yourself stronger and healthier; mentally and physically.

Feel free to e-mail me at namastebyday@gmail.com if you have questions about yourself or a loved one's situation. You can also visit http://www.thehotline.org/ for national assistance.

Namaste.

Leaving, Part III

(Want the back story? See Part II)

When I decided to file for divorce, I knew I couldn't second-guess my decision.

An expensive downtown lawyer was recommended to me, and I met with him. I started the process, and asked X if he wanted to share a lawyer because of the cost.

"I don't want to share shit with you," he responded.

It was then that the abusive e-mails began. X harrassed me via my work e-mail nonstop. However, he wasn't the only one. His mother began to e-mail me at work as well. While I wanted to delete them without reading, I couldn't do it. I'd sit at my desk during my plan time and sob, reading these e-mails.

The positive part of the e-mails was that I finally had proof to show my mom. It took forwarding one abusive e-mail to her for her to agree that I needed to leave him. Anytime I doubted my decision, I'd read another e-mail calling me a fucking slut, a worthless piece of shit, and I'd remember why I was divorcing X.

One day, he left me a message saying that he was going to throw all of my stuff out on the lawn when he got home from work. My coworker and I left work early in order to move my remaining belongings to my parents' house. B and his roommate met us there to move the heavy furniture. Part of me wishes I could have seen X's face when he got home to find an almost-empty apartment.

While we were married, X also engaged in what I call financial abuse. We didn't make a lot of money at the time, and he had a serious spending problem. I took care of the bills, and he'd hide purchases from me. I'd send checks off to cover bills, and they'd bounce. Even worse, X would knowingly write bad checks. He'd lie about what he'd spent, causing even more stress in our marriage. The lowest point was when we started to get postcards saying our electricity was going to be turned off. Everything was in my name, and my credit was ruined.

During our divorce, X continued to run up bills in my name. He created a $400+ cable bill by renting porn on top of our already-late bill, and refused to give me money for it. His mother emailed me, saying it was my responsibility to pay it because I "watch Oprah too." (For the record, I don't even watch Oprah, nor does it cost extra if I did. Just sayin.) Unfortunately, I didn't get to take the tv because X had cashed in his 401K to buy it. Yep. You read that right.

My core group of friends continued to be friends with X, probably because their husbands were quite close with him. The friend who told me I was overreacting called me one day to insist that X really was a nice guy. She explained that he had spent the day at their house, helping her husband with something (I can no longer remember the specifics) and he really was sweet.

He wasn't sweet when he completely trashed our apartment before he moved out, which was in my name as well. When I went back to clean it before turning in the keys when our lease was up, the entire apartment was a wreck. X had dumped god-knows-what in the sink, on the carpet, and even the walls needed to be fixed. B and I spent hours there cleaning. I cried the entire day.

Once the divorce proceedings were in full swing, B and I went on our first official date. He had told me he had feelings for me just before I filed, but I didn't want to give anyone the idea that there was any other reason besides the abuse for my leaving my marriage.

The divorce took what seemed like forever. X fought everything and refused to pay for anything. Once, he said that if I came to the apartment, he'd give me some money and we'd work things out. My brother insisted that I tell him we had to meet in a public place, and when I did so, X refused to meet with me. I didn't realize how creepy that was at the time, but now, it gives me chills.

So although I had B, which definitely helped, I had lost my friends, my financial stability and credit, and my health. I weighed just over 90 pounds and had an ulcer. I was weak in so many ways as I had feared I would be if I left.

Fortunately, even though leaving certainly wasn't easy, it turned out better than I could have hoped. Stay tuned for the ending tomorrow...

Leaving, Part II

Part I to this story can be found here.

After that night in April, I didn't ever go back home, at least not while X was there. I definitely considered it, though.

I stayed a few nights at B and his roommates' place, and then moved in with my friend Becky for a while. My mom wanted me to come back home, but for some reason, I was dead set against that. Maybe it was because she kept encouraging me to try to work things out with him, or perhaps I just felt like I was failing by moving back in with my parents.

I remember feeling so conflicted. I had fallen in love with this man and I knew he was capable of being kind and funny. Because he hid his behavior so well, our mutual friends and my family didn't understand why I was leaving.

Therefore, I decided to try going to counseling with him. I went alone to the first appointment. The counselor seemed nice enough, and I told her my story, being honest when I told her I didn't know if I wanted to get back together. I didn't know if I could forgive him for the way he treated me. Once my vision was clear, it was hard to close my eyes again.

X and I attended the second appointment together. He cursed at me during the session, and I remember looking at the counselor, wide eyed, silently begging her to say something, but she remained silent. The one thing she did, however, say, was, "Gina, look at the way you are sitting. Your posture is totally different when you are around him."

I realized that I was completely slumped over, head down. She told me that in our first session, my head was held high, my back straight. That moment was another that pushed me a little further away from X.

However, I wasn't ready to give up on my marriage. It had been less than a year. I drove to B's apartment after the session and sat on his floor, sobbing. I told him how confused I was and that I was thinking about going back home. B told me that he was concerned for my safety but that he'd support whatever decision I made.

I didn't go home, but I started talking to X a little more. The verbal abuse picked up again. He'd call me at all hours of the night, often high or drunk, accusing me of having an affair, calling me names, screaming at me.

During that time, X also stalked me. He'd drive by B's (and other friends') apartment, my parents' house, and other places I frequented, trying to find me. He even came to my work and put pictures of us and a letter begging me to come back on my car. Once, I went home for the weekend when he was out of town. He left me flowers, candy, and a card, which stated he knew that his behavior was abusive. But when I'd talk to him on the phone, he'd fly back into his rages.

When I told my brother, Mark, who was in the police academy, about his behavior, Mark insisted that this was textbook behavior. He urged me not to go back home and told me that he believed that X was capable of hurting me at the very least. He also encouraged me to get a restraining order against X, which I did.

But not everyone was supportive of me. My entire core group of friends (who were also mutual friends with X) believed that I was having an affair with B or his roommate. One of my very best friends in that group told me that I was overreacting by getting a restraining order. I was devastated.

However, I knew I was ready to make the decision to file for divorce.

Unfortunately, that decision had a whole host of issues that came along with it.

Leaving, Part I

Like I said in my last post, when I blog about my first marriage, I always get quite the response. This time was no different. I got a few emails and tweets asking about how I finally left the marriage.

Honestly, I hate reliving it. I have been to some intense therapy and my last therapist helped me to stop thinking of myself as a victim. I don't think about my first marriage anymore...I don't even say his name.

But after thinking about it, I've decided to tell a little more of the story. If I can give one woman hope or help, it will be worth it. There's a lot to tell, so I'll break it into parts.

My ex, who I'll refer to as X, and I got married on August 31st. By December, I was miserable. I remember being at a small get-together with my friends from work and sobbing at the hostess' house. The response I got from them was interesting. Some of them told me that I didn't need to put up with the way he spoke and acted towards me. Others, however, commiserated with me by sharing their own jerky-husband stories. This made me wonder if all marriages were at least a little like mine.

My marriage continued and although I was open with X about how I felt about our marriage, nothing changed. Some of the more distinct memories I have are him screaming at me on our front lawn, throwing his cell phone at my head, and holding me down by my shoulders and yelling in my face. He even abused our basset hound..when he'd throw up, X would kick him.

If I was sick, he'd invariably leave to spend the day at his parents' house. I'd beg him to stay to no avail. Once, I had a terrible case of the flu and I needed something for my fever. He hightailed it out of there and my little brother had to come to my rescue with Advil and popsicles.

His goal was clearly to make me feel bad about myself. If anyone gave me a compliment, he'd invalidate it. For example, if someone said I was intelligent, he'd laugh it off, saying, "She is the dumbest smart person I know."

For a while, I'd advocate for myself, or at the very least, insult him back. After a while, though, I believed what he said. I distinctly remember being in the car with B and him one day, and as we passed some new construction, I asked what was being built. His response? "It's a Golf Galaxy, you fucking dumbshit."

Later, when I was hanging out with B and his roommate, B looked at me and said, "Gina, why do you let him call you names like 'dumbshit?' You don't even stick up for yourself anymore."

I argued, explaining that I had asked a dumb question, and B responded by saying that he had no idea what was being built either. His roommate added that the way X talked to me was unacceptable, regardless. In fact, he added, it was considered abuse.

Abuse.

Damn.

I hadn't really considered that. I just thought I was crazy and stupid and I was making him treat me the way he did. That was what he'd been telling me, after all. And according to X, everyone thought I was psycho...my parents, our friends...everyone.

Hmmmm.

I started hanging out even more with B and his roommate (who had since broken up with X's sister). One night in April, X called and demanded I come home because he had to get up early the next day. I explained that I had no place to be, and he immediately blew up. B and his roommate could hear him screaming at me through the phone, saying he was going to kick their asses and threatening me as well.

I hung up on X and the guys insisted I stay there. This was a turning point because up to this point, X was very close to B and his roommate. I agreed to stay, since the last time I went home when X was that angry, he kicked me out of bed so hard that I injured my shoulder on our wall. B gave me his bed and slept on the couch. His roommate took me out to lunch the next day. I had decided that I wasn't going home.

Little did I know, things were about to get worse.

I am 1 in 4

Dana wrote this post this week and it got me thinking.

It's been a while since the last time I posted about my own experience being 1 in 4 women who was a victim of domestic violence.

The last time I posted, I got e-mails and comments galore. Women e-mailed me asking for advice on how to help their friends, their sisters, themselves.

So I want to put it out there again.

I was married before I married B. In fact, that's how I met B. He was the best friend and roommate of my ex-husband's sister's fiance.

(Go ahead. I'll wait while you re-read that and figure it out. It doesn't really matter to the story, but if you're like me, you'll have to read it a few times.)

So I got married when I was young. I knew, walking down the aisle, that it wasn't the right decision. He was controlling and demanding but hadn't really gotten abusive yet.

However, some might argue that it was borderline emotionally abusive when he ogled a hot girl all.night.long right in front of me, making disgusting comments with his friends...at our wedding reception.

It was definitely foreshadowing to what the rest of our life together held.

Basically from the time we got married, things got worse and worse and worse. The best times were when we were in front of people because that man could pull the wool like no one I've ever met. People thought he was funny and smart and oh-so-sweet with kids.

He wasn't so funny when he was telling me I was a worthless piece of shit. When he told me I was fucking stupid. When he called me psycho. When I started believing everything he said. It's true when people say if you hear something enough, you believe it.

He wasn't so smart when our fights escalated to neighbors calling the police. When he'd slip up in front of friends and they'd tell me that the things he was saying were abuse.

He wasn't so sweet when he threw things at me. When he held me down. When he literally kicked me out of our bed for coming home past a time that he deemed acceptable.

Oh, and did I mention that he was 6 foot 4 and 275 pounds? And that at the time, I weighed about 100 pounds, tops? Yeah. Not that it matters, but it adds even more when you get that visual. I married quite a tough guy.

Upon leaving him, I was stalked. I was harrassed. I had to get a restraining order against him. I was literally afraid for my life.

And still....

I get why women don't leave.

I believed that it was my fault. He had to hold me down because I was crazy. I was kind of worthless. I deserved to have things thrown at me because let's face it, I was no picnic.

I've always struggled with anxiety and depression. So I felt like if I was a little more normal, he would be able to treat me better. What I didn't know was that this was cyclical. Being treated the way I was treated made me more nervous and sad. I know this to be true because from the moment I left him, I started feeling healthier and have gotten stronger and more emotionally stable ever since.

Don't get me wrong. I still have my moments. But they are fewer and further between when my husband is telling me I am beautiful instead of telling me I am fat and lazy and that his coworker is hotter than me.

If you know a woman who is being abused....if you even suspect she is being abused...

Tell her she's beautiful.

Remind her of her strength.

Explain that you are there for her, whether she needs a shoulder to cry on or a moving crew.

Just tiptoe into conversations, and when she defends him the first time, or the 59th time, don't give up on her. She wants the relationship to work and is holding onto hope that someday it will. But remember, if you hear anything enough, you'll believe it...and that goes for positivity as well.

Point out things he does that are abusive when you two are alone. If she's anything like I was, she may have stopped sticking up for herself and doesn't even realize it. She may be hanging her head in shame, hating herself and not knowing why. She may be thinking that everyone agrees with her husband when he says she's stupid. Ugly. Crazy. Worthless. Because he's probably telling her that all of her friends agree with him.

Do not judge her for not leaving. It's harder than you think and odds are, he's made her believe that she'll never make it on her own; that no one will ever love her; that he'll continue to make her life miserable whether or not she leaves.

You could make a difference that not only changes someone's life, but saves it.

Trust me on this one.

Namaste.

"Wherever a man turns he can find someone who needs him." ~Albert Schweitzer

I would like to preface this post by saying that I don't know what in the world I hit, but it erased my whole post. For the love.

It is Saturday night and I am still behind. I am currently folding laundry, catching up on my DVR recordings, and attempting to get caught up on my blog-reading. Don't be jealous. I know it's glamorous.

Like I mentioned in my last post, I am still behind on life in general (hence my lack of comments on your blogs...sorry friends!) but I have got to post about what happened to me today.

I went to spinning class this morning, and when I arrived, the classroom was so muggy that it was somewhat hard to breathe. I'd guess the temperature was about 80 degrees before the ass-kicking class even began. Needless to say, by the time the hour was over, I was drenched. I had sweat dripping off of my chin and my elbows. I had to towel off my entire body before putting my fleece back on. And yet, I stopped on my way out the door to sign up for the same teacher's class on Wednesday....at 5:30 am. I adore her and all, but her classes really are a bit torturous. I'm convinced she puts subliminal messages in her music.

But I digress.

I stopped on the way home at our local YMCA for a flu shot. B had told me that it took him over an hour to get one for L earlier that morning, but I thought I'd at least try. The flu is officially rampant at my work, and it's starting to get scary.

I pulled up to the Y and saw a line wrapping around the building. Sigh. I decided I'd see how long it took and got out of my car. It was in the low 50's today. I had to wait, outside, in the wind and cold, still damp, at best. I kept thinking this whole flu shot idea might backfire when I got sick from being out in the cold with wet hair. I kept telling myself, "Thank goodness it isn't raining." At one point, I actually said it out loud, and only one of the many people around me appeared to appreciate my optimism. Can't say as I blamed them.

I tried a few times to start a conversation with the woman in front of me, but she wasn't taking the bait. She was more concerned in demonstrating her irritation with her four and seven-year-old little girls, who were actually being quite good.

That is, until an hour into our wait when we finally made it into the building. I guess after an hour, she decided that it was socially appropriate to suddenly tell me that she was unhappily back together with her husband after leaving him for a year.

And that they hadn't had sex in over a year.

Because he had genital warts.

Which he said he got from a massage.

(I may or may not have asked in jest, "Just what did she massage?")

But then I found myself counseling this woman on emotional abuse, which she says she is going through. I shared my story with her. I discussed the fact that she didn't want her little girls to end up in a similar situation someday. Immediately, she started speaking to them in a softer, more loving tone.

Perhaps I was put next to her for a reason. If my teeth had to chatter for two hours and I had to hear about a random penis to make a difference in someone's life, I guess it was worth it.

Even not-quite-fairy-tales can have happy endings.

Four years ago, I made the best and scariest decision of my life to take the plunge into married life. For the second time. Although I was petrified to get hitched again, I kept reminding myself that if I hadn't gotten married the first time, I would have never met the man that I was supposed to marry.





You see, when I entered my first marriage, I already knew B. His roommate was dating my then-fiancee's sister. B was actually such a good friend of mine that he came to my first wedding. By the time I got married for the first time, I adored B, but when I first met him, I wasn't so smitten. He wouldn't make eye contact with me, no matter what charming tricks I pulled out. He hardly spoke to me whatsoever. I actually used the word "shady" to describe him. Later, I realized he was just extraordinarily shy...something so foreign to me.

As my ex-husband became more and more emotionally and physically abusive, I more often retreated to the apartment that was shared by B and his roommate, Steve. After all, they were the ones who first told me that the way my ex talked to me and treated me was, well, abusive. They had an open-door policy with me and I took full advantage of it.

Things got really, really bad at my home only a few months after I got married. I was consistently cussed out, kicked, pushed, held down, and things were thrown at my head by the bully who I married. It was starting to escalate, and it was then that I started looking for my own apartment. One day, at B's apartment, I was in tears, telling him my fear that no one would ever want a divorcee like me. It was then that he confessed that he loved me.

I. Was. Shocked. I didn't know what to do with that information. Because although, deep down, I absolutely felt the same way, I couldn't process it at the time. I was getting ready to leave my husband of just a few months. I mean, I hadn't gotten my wedding album back from the photographer yet. I was already as confused as a girl could get and now my head was spinning. To make matters worse, my ex had already started telling people that he was certain that I was having affairs with B and/or Steve. The last thing I wanted was for the lies he was telling to become true.



A couple of months later, after attempted (and sorely failed) marriage counseling between my ex and me, B and I were watching a movie at his apartment one night. I could feel the tension between us and my heart started racing. We got closer and closer, daring the other one to give in. We simultaneously moved in and the kiss was electric. I am talking fireworks. Steve walked in from work and we quite literally, flew across the room to opposite chairs, looking everywhere but at each other.

The next week, I told my husband (who was continuing to abuse me) that I was leaving. I moved in with another good (married female) friend of mine. One day, my ex called me at work and told me that while I was gone, he was going to take all of my things and throw them on the lawn. I left work, with a coworker in tow, ignoring the pleas of my police officer brother to wait for a police escort. I cleaned out my apartment in record time, sobbing at what my life had become. That weekend, my ex was out of town. I went to clean the apartment, since I was the sole name on the lease, and found that my ex had absolutely trashed the place in hopes that I would be punished for his actions. B came over and helped me clean the apartment until it was sparkling. I got my entire security deposit refunded!

Although we waited to tell people that we were together, the truth was that nothing could keep us away from each other. I listened to counselors who told me that marrying the man who rescued me was not a good choice. I heard Dr. Phil say that rebound marriages flat out do not work. I smiled when my friends told me to take some time for myself and be single before dating after my marriage. I ignored them all and followed my gut. And today, on our 4th anniversary, I remember again why I am so happy that I did.