This month, October, has always been an immensely important one for me. It's a month of remembrance, of solidarity among women. It's a time for reaching out, for speaking out, and for being there for those in need. It's a time for lots of purple, bringing donated items to domestic violence shelters, and women's empowerment. And for me, it's a time to remember who I was, who I will never be again, and the freedom I gained by walking away.
It's Domestic Violence Awareness Month and it's time for me to share the love, to tell my story, and bring hope to others. It's time, friends, for a bit of empowerment.
By now, this is no secret. While I was once very ashamed to admit it, I am a survivor of domestic violence. My ex-boyfriend was a well-respected firefighter, well over six foot, and the type of individual who typically went out of his way to help complete strangers. He was notably
handsome and for the most part, relatively charismatic and fun to be around. He was likeable and funny, from a good Italian family, and an extremely hard worker.
In front of people, anyway.
Behind closed doors, he was very different. He was a vicious monster hell bent on hurting anyone who crossed him, anyone who irritated him, or worse, anyone who caught him in a lie. (Namely, yours truly.) He was an insatiable instigator, completely unable to tell the truth, and
almost hyper vigilant when he was countered regarding anything. He was physically and mentally abusive, extremely controlling, and very quick to lose his temper. And although I ditched him after what seemed like forever and sought refuge in my singledom, I learned very quickly that despite what I thought, I wasn't the only one.
These men were everywhere. Everyone's favorite firefighter, and the main star in most of my nightmares to this day, was just one in a million. He was nothing special. And neither was I.
There were many like me, in fact. And when I began to share my story more and more, when I refused to be tightlipped about my firefighter ex-boyfriend for the sake of his alleged "reputation", when I made it my life's work to speak out against injustice against women, and even took a job in child safety doing so, people started coming out of the woodwork.
My co-worker was a victim of domestic violence and had even changed careers because it had impacted her life so much. Her goal was to empower women, she had told me, to let them know they weren't alone. And even to this day, although I came to know her fairly well, I never learned the whole story of what happened. Maybe she wasn't ready to share.
A friend of mine from a previous job had told me that she, too, had dated a man that everyone (myself included) thought was perfect. In reality, however, this allegedly perfect man was controlling and physically abusive. And strangely enough, a woman from my past, one of my few "approved friends" when I was with my aforementioned ex-boyfriend told me that she, too, was going through a divorce due in part to emotional and physical abuse.
My heart was breaking for these women, all of them, but for just one moment I was thankful. Because I wasn't the only one.
Some people say the past is prologue. -Martin J. Smith, Straw Men
Do I remember his birthday? Not per se. I remember the day,sure. But memories of us celebrating things are both very vague and far between. About his birthday, I remember specifically his ex-girlfriend leaving a special mixed cd on his car. Titled Birthday Bash, I recall finding it strange
that she found the need to celebrate him in some way, given that they weren't together anymore. I mean, he and I were actually living together at that very moment.
But I later learned that they had never really let each other go. So it wasn't all that surprising that she had left him a really personal gift. But that's a whole other story, one I'd rather not rehash. And I don't want to blemish the reputation of the woman in question because she turned out to be a pretty cool chick.
The reason I'm even bringing this up is because today is his birthday, if you can believe it. And here I am, cursed with a brilliant memory for dates and I can't help but find this all ironic. Of all the months,
am I right? And on a Wednesday?
Here's the thing, though: I have him blocked on Facebook. His significant other. His best friend (once our roommate). Essentially anyone I found to be even remotely close to him. I blocked them all. Maybe it was as a statement or maybe it was for my sanity. Every once in awhile, his girlfriend's/wife's/baby mama's/whatever she is currently labeled photography business will pop up as a sponsored post on my Facebook feed. It could be because a bunch of my friends have used her (which for whatever reason, I seem to take a little personally until I remind myself that she's not my enemy...), it could be because I'm in her "area" of marketing, or it could very well be that she paid to have her ad plastered all over Facebook. I have a business too; I know how it all works.
But do you know what I feel whenever that recommendation pops up under a high school friend's baby's picture? Nothing. I feel nothing. Even when I see his face, it's like I don't know him anymore. I once knew him better than probably anyone, privy to one of his darkest, most nefarious secrets, and he is just a stranger to me now. He has shaped me more than anyone ever has and yet, I feel nothing.
In fact, when that earlier mentioned "approved friend" reached out to me through my business, I remember panicking and thinking, "Oh my gosh, how did she find me?!" (As if my LuLaRoe business was somehow Fort Knox...) I was thinking of all the worst case scenarios like, maybe they got together and had watch parties during my live sales (I could totally see him sitting there, slurping a sweet tea, pointing out my many imperfections: I was fat, I had bad skin, I didn't take care of myself, I had let myself go, etc.) or maybe he somehow retrieved my address and was going to show up during one of my husband's overnights.
But then I thought, maybe everyone is over this but me.
I mean, let's be real: he certainly doesn't think he's ever done anything wrong, so I'm sure he's not losing any sleep. I made a very conscious effort to start life fresh, to completely remove myself from his wake. We are in different cities, as far as I know, and we definitely are not running in the same social circles. Most of my old friends respect me enough to not talk to me about him and for the most part, I've made new friends who know nothing of my past.
Everyone's moved on and so have I, right? I was employed to literally advocate for women, to educate people and their families about domestic violence. My ex was always claiming he was so busy saving people; he "had people's lives in his hands all goddamn day", right? Well, you know what? Now I did too.
Don't dwell on what went wrong. Instead, focus on what to do next. -Denis Waitley
One of my daughter's favorite things to do is dig through my book shelves and throw all the books around. She'll stack them in piles and then knock them down, she'll bring them to me and drop them on my lap, or sometimes she'll just flip through the pages. One day recently, she found a super old book that had a really thick bookmark in it. That didn't surprise me; I always carried books with me everywhere and was always using assignments or pieces of mail for bookmarks. I opened it up to check it out and almost didn't recognized the handwriting. It has definitely evolved over the years.
Do you know what I found? An awful, vengeful, angry letter that I had written to him. He, very obviously, never received it since it was still stuck in this book. (And to be real, he probably wouldn't have read it anyway. He just loved to rip my notes up in front of me. He had, and probably still does have, a flair for the dramatic.) And I'm telling you, it was like a Phoebe Halliwell caliber premonition from Charmed.
I remember that day. I remember that fight. I remember the circumstances of it all.
He was hurtful, as usual. He wanted me to know I'd made a mistake, as usual. He wanted it to be clear that he was having fun, that he was fine, that he was out celebrating, in fact. Because despite all the threats and the abuse, despite all the name calling and belittling, despite all the crazy stalking and harassment, he wanted me to be sorry. He wanted me, the entire Port Richey Fire Department, and probably the world, to know it was me who had messed up. It was me that would soon be full of regrets. And it was me that really did him a favor by dumping him.
Because, you know, I was crazy.
And in order to further accomplish this, to just really get his point across, he had one of his friends call me and leave a disgusting message. And this wasn't just one of his friends; he was one of my
closest friends, too. He had helped me move out of my parents’ house, he had given me a heads up when my ex was once unfaithful, he hung out with us almost daily, and eventually he even started dating a roommate of mine. This was a good guy, a guy who knew what kind of relationship we were in, but was far too loyal to my ex to get involved or intervene. And although sometimes I think he
wanted to step in, he knew what my ex could be like.
And after all, the first loyalty is always to your bro, right? There is nothing thicker than the blood shared between brothers brought together by the fire department. Those guys are disgustingly loyal to each other.
I was so hurt, not by my ex-boyfriend, oddly enough, but by the friend in question. He was above this, all of this, and quite honestly, probably sided with me, although he'd never admit it. I called him on my way to work and he answered on the third ring, hungover and snappy. "Do you remember what you did last night?!" I yelled through tears.
"Yes!" he yelled back and sighed.
I couldn't respond back. I was fiery and angry; I was drowning, and the attacks seemed to be never-ending. It seemed unfair that despite all I'd been through, so publicly and for all his friends to see (his
friends who were seemingly too respectful to intervene), I was the one being incessantly targeted by his sociopathic nature. And not even just by my behemoth ex-boyfriend, but by the people who were supposed to be my friends too.
"I'm sorry, Katie," he broke the silence finally, "he made me do it. I know you aren't those names I called you."
It wouldn't be for another couple weeks that I got a domestic violence injunction.
Moral of the Crazy: Call me sappy but I believed him all those times he said it would stop. I believed him when he said he was sorry (especially when he would cry) and I believed that he wanted to repair our shattered relationship. And sometimes, to this day, I wonder if all those things were true. A friend once told me, long after I had married, that he told her I was "the one that got away", and that I was undeserving of all that had transpired between us. "But," he insisted, "I really never laid a hand on her."
Something that I find so funny about most abusers, especially the habitual ones, is that they clearly know right from wrong. They know that abusing women is something shameful and embarrassing because they deny doing it. They are unwilling to admit that they've committed a violent act because they are able to grasp that it's reprehensible. I mean, my ex obviously knows it's unstable behavior and that's why he claims to everyone that none of it happened.
And yet, none of these abusers are bothered enough by this fact to just not beat their girlfriends and wives. And save us all a bunch of time.
Kind of interesting, right?
But all of this is neither here, nor there. My ex-boyfriend will never admit his wrongdoings or take accountability for his behavior and that's just fine. What matters is that he is good to the woman he's with now. Although, quite frankly, I do have my reservations about that. History does repeat itself and anger doesn't just grow legs and walk away.
I feel like it's noteworthy to mention, we all have children now. Having a child changes you in ways I can't fully convey. When I think about myself as a mother, I feel like there's characteristics I would
like to change so that my daughter doesn't learn them from me. I need to do something about my confidence and my assertiveness. I want to show her it's okay to feel good about yourself; that even, you should.
I want her to know that I don't look like some of the places I've been, that I stood up for myself when it counted, and that walking away doesn't make you a failure.
I mean, don't we all just want to be better people for them? Shouldn't we be able to show them we can forge ahead and forgive each other? And if nothing else, simply coexist? Coexist without steady conflict?
I don't know that I forgive him, but I'm past it. I'm so far past it, I can't even see it anymore. But this is not about him and if you think so, I'm so sorry, but you've missed the point.
I will never stop fighting for the justice of women, I will never stop educating others about domestic violence, and I will never give up hope. Survivors, I am here for you: to hear your words, to share your story, and to hold you close.
You've got me. And I'll never give up.
Life is about how much you can take and keep fighting; how much you can suffer and move forward. -Anderson Silva
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