The day we got married, Bill greeted me in our kitchen with a slap across the face that was so hard it knocked me to the floor. He grabbed my hair and dragged me into the bedroom where he raped me. Afterward, he told me that now I belonged to him and I would do what he said, when he said it, and how he said it.

When he finished, he told me to get a washcloth and wipe the blood off of him. My blood. He then told me to clean myself up, cover up my bruise and to stop crying. Like a robot, I did what he said. It wasn’t until I looked in the bathroom mirror that I could actually believe what he just did. The man I married, the man I loved, just raped me and beat the crap out of me.

I wish I could tell you that I fought him while he was raping me. But I didn’t. I often had fantasies of fighting back and he was the one on the floor with me standing over him and kicking the hell out of him. But that was only a fantasy. The truth is, I became totally helpless, submissive in fear. Instead of trying to figure out how to escape this torment, I convinced myself I needed to be a better wife.

I’ve often asked myself why I submitted to that abuse? Why didn’t I fight back? Why didn’t I walk away or go to the police? Physical and emotional abuse was the norm in my childhood home. My dad ruled the roost. Although I never saw him physically abuse my mother, he verbally and emotionally abused her. And she submitted. He would go to the bar, mess around with other women, and then come home and accuse my mom of having affairs. I heard him yelling at her in the middle of the night. The next morning, she would make him breakfast and he would treat her like a queen. My parents groomed me to submit.

I believed that a woman stands by her man, no matter what. My dad repeatedly raped my sister and I witnessed it. My mom stood by my dad and sent my sister away. I believed that family business—adultery, incest, and abuse—remain in the home. Cover up the bruises and put on a happy face and pretend that life is good and wonderful. I believed that asking for help was a sign of weakness and that crying, complaining and getting angry was not allowed. I knew that if I did any of those things, more punishment would follow.

By the time I became an adult, I knew my place in the world. I was to be the submissive wife and I would do anything and everything in order to please my husband.

This became the norm with Bill. At night, when the kids were asleep, he abused me in the most sadistic ways. He always found a reason to hurt me—if the mailman said “Hi” to me, if a button was missing on his shirt, if my mascara was smeared—any reason to let me know that I was a failure and I needed to be punished. I would make him breakfast the next morning wearing a smiling face for my kids. Bill would greet me with a morning kiss and tell the kids what a wonderful mother and woman I was—a copycat of my childhood. It was so familiar and I knew what to do and how to act.

I used to believe that there were no warnings that Bill was Satan in disguise. During the six months we dated, he seemed to be everything I could possibly want in a man. But the truth is, there were warning signs from the very beginning. The signs were everywhere, but at the time, I didn’t see them for what they were since they were familiar and normal.

I mistook attention, jealousy and possessiveness as signs of love. I had a distorted belief of what a husband, marriage and love should be. I was so caught up in the abusive world and the false beliefs that come from that world, that when abuse was going on around me, I ignored the signals that were as loud as a fog horn or as bright as a neon sign.

Before we ever started to date, Bill was grooming me. We worked together, (that is where we met) and in the lunchroom he would point out the failures of my friends—people I had grown up with and now worked with. As soon as they were out of earshot, he would tell me about their weaknesses. In front of them, he was charming. They were users or they were bad parents or they would always take advantage of me. I never saw these bad points in my friends, but after a while I was convinced. Bill was the only good, honest person in that whole company and I shouldn’t waste my time on such riff raff. He separated me from my friends.

It was the same with my family. They were too good for me. My brother had too much and flaunted it. My sister had too little and was trash. My mother was too close and wouldn’t let me grow up.

In truth, I became his property. It didn’t take long before I realized that I was not capable of making decisions about people and I couldn’t trust anyone but him. Not only did my body belong to him, but my mind and my soul had his name imprinted on them and I was nobody. I became no one. I no longer existed.

As I look back on those times, I could honestly say that his jealousy made me feel all warm inside. To me it meant that he loved me so much and was afraid to lose me. Separating me from my friends and family meant that he was watching out for me and wanted to spend every waking moment with me. I was his girl. I was special.

The rest of my marriage to him was abusive in every way. There were no more hidden signs. They were out in the open now. I knew I was going to be beaten before it even happened.

I started to have flashbacks of my childhood. I started to see the familiar patterns. The false beliefs that I learned so well started to reveal themselves. I knew inside that these lies were the beginning of finding the truth of what a normal, healthy life should be. The more I healed, the stronger I became. I started to realize that I did have a choice. I was able to decide what was right and what was wrong.

Hopelessness and helplessness was being replaced with hope and strength. I needed to get out of this hell. I was strong enough to make plans and I was strong enough to leave. It took me three years to plan my escape and it was my friends and family who helped me do it—the same ones I walked away from. They saw the signs from the beginning and were waiting for me to give them the sign. The sign that said, “It is time.” The sign that said, “Help Me!”

Now thirty years later, with healing from my abuse, I am able to discern the signs. The more I heal, the more signs I see:

1. Abusers are extremely possessive and jealous. Those are not emotions of love. They are efforts to control. An abuser will not share you with anyone. They have to own you.

2. Abusers separate you from family and friends. If they can keep you away from supportive people, then you won’t tell others. (Deep down I knew this was wrong. Walking away and hurting my family and friends, kept me in shame. This shame kept me from asking for help.)

3. Abusers have rigid expectations of relationships. There is no compromise. You will behave accordingly and agree to agree with him/her. (I dressed the way he wanted me to. I cooked the way he wanted me to. I spoke the way he wanted me to. I pretended my marriage was wonderful—the way HE wanted me to.)

4. Abusers blame the victim. “He wouldn’t get angry if only I would do what he wanted me to.” (I was convinced early on that I was to blame for his behavior. I would get him so angry, that he couldn’t control himself).

5. Abusers act like they have a double personality. They can be overly charming or exceptionally cruel, generous or selfish. (I never knew what personality he would be. I spend most of my time trying to see what “mood” he was in and then trying to change it. I knew before the abuse happened. It was like a fog was surrounding me. I would prepare myself emotionally for what would happen that night).

6. Abusers are con men or con women. In front of others, they are charming and convincing. Cool and collected. (This was so confusing for me, because he would be so happy while entertaining others, but the moment they left, I got blamed for their faults. If someone said something wrong, I heard about it all night. I wouldn’t dare make excuses for them or their behavior. I soon learned to try and not entertain. Stay away from other people all together.)

7. Abusers stop calling you by your name. By separating you from your name, you are no longer a person. You are a piece of property. (The last time he used my name was the day we were married. From that day on, I was addressed differently: “Get” (Get me something to drink.) “You” (You did this and You did that) “F*&^*ing” (F*&^*ing Whore, Bitch, Good for Nothing, Piece of Shit, Worthless Piece of Crap, etc)

When I separated myself from abuse, I had every right to not trust any man. But, throughout the years, I’ve learned that life isn’t about living in fear. My life started when I began to learn to trust myself. Now I trust myself to see the signs and to listen to their warning. I’m not afraid of being around people because I’m not afraid of being hurt. Now, I know I can walk away before the danger starts. Abuse isn’t love; love allows me to make choices and decide what is best for me and who is best for me. The more I heal, the more signs I see now and especially the ones that were there all along.

Does this resonate with you? Please join in by leaving your thoughts and feelings about this topic and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments.

Related Posts:
Power Play: How To Recognize an Abuser
The Fear of Being Re-victimized
Life-Saving Anger
The Myth of Unconditional Love
Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?

Patty Hite is a facilitator of Overcoming Sexual Abuse. A survivor of emotional, physical and sexual abuse, Patty has been tenaciously pursuing her healing for over thirty years. She’s a passionate advocate for all survivors and dedicates her life to inspiring emotional wholeness in others. As a former victim of spousal abuse, she’s delighted to have found the meaning of true love, a respectful relationship, and support with her late husband, Lonnie. She’s blessed with four children and six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

by Christina Enevoldsen

I saw myself standing next to a long line of people waiting to have their requests fulfilled. I wasn’t in the line; I was standing to the side, waiting for permission to get in the line. I wasn’t sure if it was the sea of humanity who decided if I was allowed to enter the line or if it was particular individuals. I only knew that there were a lot of people standing between me and my fulfilled desires. That’s the image I had for most of my life.

When it came to healing from sexual abuse, I had that same sense. I thought I had done my healing work years ago, but when it became clear that I still had work to do, I didn’t know if it was “my turn” to heal. It was my habit to ask “permission” when I wanted to start something new in my life. I would mention my new idea to the people closest to me and wait for their replies.

When I talked about delving deeper into the sexual abuse history, I was particularly interested in my husband’s response. I knew the process would put the most strain on him and on our relationship. Don was unaware that I was asking for his approval; he thought I was simply asking for his support. But it was his approval, not his support that I wanted.

I’m not sure what I would have done if Don had questioned the timing or asked how long the process might take or said anything else that would have discouraged me. I probably would have shrunk back and been angry that it wasn’t “my turn” yet. I would have likely felt rejected and resented serving and serving others, not knowing when I could attend to my needs.

Though Don was extremely encouraging of my journey, I tried to keep my healing in as small a space as possible—only heal when nobody was looking. I wanted to rush through my healing or to hide it in a box. “Is this okay? Am I bothering you? Is my mess making you uncomfortable?” I didn’t want the unpleasantness to spill over into his “space”. He never expressed any impatience or displeasure but when would his patience run out? When would he tell me enough was enough?

This was my issue and it wasn’t fair that he had to suffer through this process with me. When Don married me, we both thought I “had it together”. He didn’t bargain for the drama that this process brings.

Though I tried not to let my process show, I’ve had sudden angry outbursts, I’ve been morose for hours or days, I’ve cried for unknown reasons. Don has been here through it all. He’s listened to me pour out memories, he’s witnessed me beating my pillow to smithereens, he’s held me when I’ve cried and he’s stayed out of the way when I needed to be alone.

His unwavering love made me even more nervous. I’d never been able to trust in anyone’s love before or to have a relationship that wasn’t based on what I could do for them. I was married to an abuser for twenty-one years before marrying Don and I was finally facing the truth that I never had my parent’s love. And in the thick of the healing process, I didn’t have very much to give. Since I thought giving and serving was my only worth, I was terrified of losing my husband’s love. I knew he’d never leave me, but the thought of him staying while not loving me seemed worse. My past experience was screaming in my head that I couldn’t trust him. His love would run out and trusting in his support was setting me up for a fall. I knew his permission to heal would be withdrawn at any moment.

After all the losses I’d already experienced and all the times I’d had a broken heart, I thought I couldn’t afford to find out if this relationship was real. How much pain and loss could I handle? But the more I thought about it, I’d already experienced so much betrayal and hurt that I couldn’t afford to settle for another relationship that wasn’t based on real love. I had to confront my fear that I’d be abandoned if I asked for real love. I finally acknowledged that I needed it and was starting think that maybe I deserved it.

Telling myself that it wasn’t fair to inflict my process on him was really just an expression of my fear that he wouldn’t love me if he felt slighted. It was true that he never asked for this and it wasn’t fair to him. But I never asked for any of this either. Should I keep myself in misery so he wouldn’t be inconvenienced? Should I deny myself healing to spare him its intrusion? I don’t have to apologize for my healing process or the things it brings up.

Why did he get to decide if it was alright for me to heal? I had to take back the power to grant or withdraw permission. Whether my husband violently opposed my investment in myself or he was my biggest cheerleader, it became MY decision.

If you ask my husband what has been the most difficult part of my healing process, he’ll tell you that there have been more rewards than challenges (isn’t he diplomatic?) and it’s true that he’s benefiting from my growth. But for once, it’s not about him or anyone else. This process is for me.

I’ve chosen myself first for the first time in my life. I’ve dared to put my healing before my marriage or my husband. It’s challenged all my fears and I’ve learned that my husband loves me. When I started this process, I didn’t know if I’d still have his love on the other side of this. But I had to decide to love me most. And what I got after that was the security of the love for myself, my husband’s love, and a very satisfying healing journey.

I don’t see myself waiting on the side of the line anymore. In fact, I don’t see the line at all. I know there’s nobody waiting at the front of any line handing out my needs. I’m the person handing out the answers to my needs. And I don’t have to wait anymore.

Related Posts:
My Sexual Abuse Invaded My Marriage
Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?
Do Kids Miss Out While Parents Heal?

Christina Enevoldsen is cofounder of Overcoming Sexual Abuse, an online resource for male and female abuse survivors looking for practical answers and tools for healing. Christina’s passions are writing and speaking about her own journey of healing from abuse and inspiring people toward wholeness. She and her husband live in Los Angeles and share three children and four grandchildren.

[read Christina's story here]

Does this resonate with you? Please join in by leaving your thoughts and feelings about this topic and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments.

by Linda Pittman

When I first met my husband, I was keeping a big secret—the story of my childhood sexual abuse. I couldn’t tell him until I felt safe and sure of his love—if that was possible. He is a good man, gentle, kind, intensely loyal and trustworthy. Sometimes it is still hard to believe that I have such a wonderful spouse.

My husband responded to my history with the expected concern but he really did not understand the impact that this secret would have on him:

• I would need constant reassurance of his love. No matter how many times he would declare it, I could never believe it.
• No matter how hard he worked at the relationship, I was too afraid to let the intimacy happen.
• There would be others who would share our bed, my former abusers and my wounded child in my adult body.
• This adult child inside of me would not know how to control my feelings or my body and sometimes not even be present in my body.
• He would not know what an unworthy, shameful and dirty person he really married. (This is how I really felt.)

I couldn’t let my husband know everything because he would probably reject me if he really knew the real me. I needed him and wanted him so badly. I couldn’t be dishonest; I just would leave out some stuff—it wouldn’t matter—it was in the past anyway.

My sexual abuse does matter and has had such a great impact on all my relationships—especially my marriage. I realized that my husband would not be able to stay with me unless I got help and worked on recovering—serious recovering.

My first husband was physically and mentally abusive, making the damage to me even worse. He needed to leave because he was not healthy for my children and me. As a victim of childhood sexual abuse, I had a tendency to choose abusive, manipulative and controlling partners since I had not experienced any healing from my childhood sexual abuse. During my first marriage, I could only acknowledge that the abuse had happened to me.

I had to learn to drop the fairytale “happily ever after” crap and realize that all marriages are hard work. As an abuse survivor my second marriage would be even harder work, but it could work. I owed it to myself, and my spouse, to do the healing work.

I was sexually promiscuous and aggressive while in our courtship as a way of hiding, but the business of real closeness presented itself to me now. I couldn’t continue using the excuse of what happened to me as a way to hide from a sexual relationship or emotional intimacy. I truly cared about my husband and I needed to be honest with him. My marriage needed this to survive.

I went to therapy for myself and involved my husband later, to help him understand the impact this had on me, and to teach him how to help me. I even found counselors who worked on a sliding scale basis.

I became aware of the lack of intimacy in our relationship because we had settled into an “all or nothing” way of relating to each other. We got together to have sex but we were not taking the time to talk, touch and just be close without sex. We did not talk about joint goals and how to get to them together. We did not have that deep intimacy that we needed to strengthen our relationship.

I began to feel resentful of this “all or nothing” thing and I realized one day that it felt just like the way my abuser treated me. My abuser never wanted to have anything to do with me unless it was sexual. What a wake up call that was to realize that my husband was nothing like my abuser but I was relating to him as if he was.

I knew that all my talking about my abuse was not enough. I needed help to learn how to relate to my husband and I had to learn how to change my perception of him. I went for individual therapy because I realized that the problem was mine, and that he could not fix the damage from the abuse—only I could do that.

I became aware that my husband was not able to know how I felt because I could not say or show how I was feeling. I wore a mask that had been in place for years to keep others away and to keep me safe. This mask made me feel less vulnerable. If I didn’t show others my true feelings, I couldn’t be hurt so easily.

The trouble was I also did not know my own true feelings. I had learned to “feel” the way others thought I should feel or what I thought was expected of me. My feelings had not mattered for so long. I had buried them so deeply that they were hidden from me as well. I could not let down the wall to trust him or myself.

I realized that to let down the wall between us and to trust him was to take a big risk. I learned all the head knowledge of my abuse not being my fault but I hadn’t accepted it nor had I learned to love and accept my body or me either.

My past taught me that I couldn’t trust anyone. My parents had betrayed me and so I couldn’t trust them. My first husband was abusive to me and had broken my trust again. I stayed behind that wall because I was afraid to trust my current husband fully. This inability to trust my husband would forever limit our relationship to a superficial level unless I dealt with it. The one thing I wanted was to be able to love and trust deeply, and I was the one who kept the wall up.

I went to group therapy for incest survivors, which helped me to go back into my childhood and to heal the child inside myself. I had to look at the ugly reality of what was done to me and how I had adapted to survive. There were memories that I had to look at that were terrible, but I was able to look at them as an adult. I was no longer that helpless child. I also had to get over the shame I felt and the shame of looking at my body.

At the end of the group therapy my husband was given the opportunity to learn about how the abuse had affected my relationships and me. He was able to tell me once again how much he loved me and if I would allow myself to trust him, he would work on giving me the things I needed from him. I had to commit myself to this agreement too.

I also learned that it was up to me to let him know what I needed and wanted and how to communicate by talking in feeling statements. I had to say things like, “I feel scared”; “I need you to just hold me”; “I do not like that”. I finally felt safe enough to trust him.

From time to time, we fell back into patterns where we were not practicing this communication of needs and I would have to stop and talk about my feelings. Sometimes life’s problems would cause us to focus more on them than on us. In the bedroom, I had to learn to tell my husband what I wanted and didn’t want without feeling guilty about my feelings or needs. I had to stop worrying about what he needed and wanted all the time and concentrate on my feelings. I had to do this slowly with little steps, as I felt comfortable to move forward. I learned to let him look at my body and feel safe.

We practiced lots of touching, talking and holding each other that was non-sexual. That was what I needed to build the intimacy in our relationship. I learned that intimacy is not just sexual, but involves the sharing of my whole self with another. This building of intimacy was a necessary thing for me in order to be able to fully trust him and to be more open in sexual intimacy.

I found that my husband really cared about what I wanted and needed. His love and caring was genuine, I just needed to believe it. When we were going to be sexual we had to talk about it beforehand, plan it, and anticipate it. We moved slowly at a pace I could be comfortable with. With each little risk I took, I became less and less fearful of being hurt. I learned that sex is a two-sided encounter, not just what he wanted but my wants also.

I had to learn to experience the thoughts of the abuse and my former abusive marriage and to not allow them to interfere with what was going on in the bedroom with my current husband. When those thoughts and feelings came, I needed to look around me and remember where I was and whom I was with. I gave myself permission to start over with my current husband, to learn a new and better way to be sexual, than what I had learned before.

If my husband had not been willing to be right there with me, I would have had to look carefully at the relationship like I did with my first husband to decide what was best for me. My marriage benefited so much; opening up the communication and my relationship and it gave me the best chance at a solid foundation of trust. There are only two people in our bedroom now, my spouse and me.

I found that to begin to heal my relationship with my husband, I had to start with me first. The most important thing I have learned is that as a survivor, I had to learn to know my feelings and myself. I had to accept myself and then begin to unravel all the false things I learned so that I could begin to heal.

It is hard work to get past all the ways I hid from myself and get rid the untruths I believed. Being honest with myself was the hardest of all because I spent years doing just the opposite. I found it is necessary to really have an identity apart from my abuse, it is there inside me and only persistence would help me find it.

Developing trust has been difficult but trust is mandatory for me in my relationships. I deserve to be happy, but it is up to me to choose happiness. Happiness comes from the inside of me and can come out when I feel safe, and can learn to trust. I have learned how to keep myself safe and to trust again. It is the most wonderful feeling in the world!

Related Posts: Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?
How To Support A Survivor of Sexual Abuse
Overcoming Sexual Abuse: My Healing or My Marriage?

Having experienced healing from sexual, physical and verbal abuse, Linda Pittman has found joy in encouraging others in their healing journey and tells people that it’s never too late to start. She’s been married to her husband for twenty-one years and has four adult children.  

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by Patty Hite

My son used to sing a Bob Marley song to me all the time and the chorus was, “Is this love, is this love, is this love, is this love that I’m feeling?” I never gave it much thought until recently, but wondered why I never asked myself, “Is this love that I’m feeling?”

I have had many relationships throughout my life and always thought they were based on love. I know I searched for love and I know I wanted love, but what I didn’t know, was why I never asked myself if it actually was love. It is only since overcoming some huge stepping stones in my healing from abuse that I was able to answer that question with my “now” husband.

I took the time to wait instead of jumping in with both feet and I questioned my motives and his as well. I felt confident that I didn’t need a man to make myself complete and I felt secure enough to know I could make it without one. But why didn’t I do that with my past relationships?   Why did I settle?  There was one man I married and the whole time we stood in front of the minister, I wanted to run.  I told myself that it wouldn’t work. And it didn’t.

My parents got divorced when I was fourteen and they constantly fought over me. Dad wouldn’t pay support and Mom would throw him in jail. He wanted full custody of me, but Mom said it was so he wouldn’t have to pay support. At the age of sixteen, I married the town drunk to escape the responsibility I felt because my parents fought all the time. My husband was older, had a job and could provide for me. I don’t remember ever telling him I loved him but I had a roof over my head and at the time, that was enough. He became abusive and extremely jealous and I left with a car and a Chihuahua.

My second husband was a friend I knew since grade school. I felt like a kid again when I was with him and trusted him because we were friends. I know I told him I loved him, but looking back, I think it was a friend love and not a spouse love. He started college and worked and I never saw him, so it wasn’t hard to leave him. I was bored and saw the world pass me by waiting on him to come home. I knew the grass was greener on the other side of the fence, and I wanted it. I left him with another car and a daughter.

My third husband was a bad boy. I wanted excitement and the ability to explore the world. He wooed me with talks of traveling out west to see the world. The day I married him, he knocked me down with a fist to the face, dragged me through the house by my hair and raped me. He owned me. He put the fear of death in me and controlled me and my daughter. I told him I loved him because if I didn’t, he would make me ‘love’ him. aI knew what he meant by that, so every day I poured out my love to him verbally, physically and emotionally. After ten years, I finally escaped. I left with no car, my daughter and my son.

I crawled back to my second husband, the friend. I trusted him and loved him; the problem was that I didn’t love myself. He was safe and I felt I could make our marriage work. I allowed him to reject me and not show me love. Early on we were affectionate and had two more children but shortly after that, the affection and attention toward me stopped. Affection was something that he showed toward me in public and I convinced myself that since I left him the first time, I deserved it.

I started healing from my child abuse during my third marriage but felt most of it was useless; trying to heal from abuse when you’re living in abuse is like trying to stick an egg back inside a chicken. It just won’t work. When I left him I was actually worse off then I was before.

Remarrying my second husband was a safer place to heal, but the more I healed and found value in myself, the more I realized that I deserved more from him. I was strong enough to talk to him about my needs and desires. His response was that he never loved me and only remarried me because of our daughter. I left, with a car and  the two younger children. I was told later by our daughter that he was molesting her the whole time we were married.

I then got angry. Not just angry at him for what he did, but angry at myself. Angry about the years wasted on others. I was angry that I settled for second best. Angry that I trusted this man, but didn’t trust myself. I was angry that my children paid a life-long price because I was too focused on getting men to love me instead of protecting them. Angry that I allowed myself to be abused and angry that I was too weak to say “Enough!”

It was because of this anger that I became tenacious in getting free. Researching my past and discovering that the women in my family had no value. I was told since birth that all I will ever amount to was a wife and mother and I was shown that in order to be a wife and mother, I had to submit and succumb to my husband. Affection and attention from men was only shown in public as this was the example shown to me from my dad toward my mother. She had no value for herself and spent every waking moment, taking care of her man.

Those days are over.  I do not have to be like my parents nor do I have to fulfill my father’s prophecy.  I am more than a wife and mother.  I do not deserve abuse of any kind.  Guilt and shame don’t rule my thoughts. I am a woman of value and worthy of real love.  I’m allowed to ask “Is this love?” and trust myself to wait until it is.

Related Posts:
Dating After Sexual Abuse: Is This Love?

Patty Hite is one of five facilitators of Overcoming Sexual Abuse. A survivor of emotional, physical and sexual abuse, Patty has been tenaciously pursuing her healing for over thirty years.  She’s a passionate advocate for all survivors and dedicates her life to inspiring emotional wholeness in others. As a former victim of spousal abuse, she’s delighted to find true love with her husband of ­­­­five years.  She’s blessed with four children and six grandchildren.

[read Patty's story here]

Does this resonate with you? Please join in by leaving your thoughts and feelings about this topic and don’t forget to subscribe to the comments.