I write this on the sofa bed I slept on for nearly 3 years. It is back to a sofa. I never use it as a sofa. It was step up from the air mattress I slept on before that when I was teaching Chinese kids English and making the step by step motion to get out.

It is Tuesday and on Friday the 18th of December, I moved my kids and myself out of the home we had been sharing with their father and our abuser.

If you have been following this blog then you know that Synclair is not my real name, but the pen name from which I share this part of my history.

Abuse is a funny thing. It hits hard. It dissipates. It is in ebbs and flows.

Let the fresh start begin.

The last several days, I have received an outpouring of love and support.

Nearly every time I open my front door, there is a new box. A package from this secret band of people, sending love and support and empowerment as I journey on this next step with my children. It feels as if this outpouring is coming back to me and also reminding me who I am – who I was…

For years now, the focus for many of my friendships has been on getting me out of this. My friends devote a lot of energy and time listening to me, but in acknowledging that, I also acknowledge that I have always enjoyed building a community and learning people, listening to them, hanging out with them and so this exchange is equitable.

But as I dig, the remnants of the abuse are there… a marriage that left me feeling as if I did not deserve these things, as if I was not worthy, as if I was a bad mother and even shifting the way my children interact with me, which was and has been the hardest thing to take in and what I will likely deal with and what they will likely deal with for the rest of our lives.

This is why I got out.

For them. For my future. For the giving I have to do and enjoy.

But I must receive I must sit back and receive and continue to receive because that is ok. Because my community is taking care of me, the way I took care of them, the way I have always wanted to be taken care of.

I can turn my porch light on. He had removed the bulb in both that and the drive way. Because of the electric bill and I’m sure there was a narrative about my being ungrateful. I hated coming back in the dark, but just learned to deal with it, and because we shared a porch with our neighbor, sometimes they turned on theirs, so that wasn’t so bad.

January 3, 2021 2:50pm

I’ve been on a healing journey the last several weeks.

Just before the moving day, about a week before, my dear sister-friend, one of the woman in my “Safety Thread” that began 3 years ago, encouraged me to create a list. Her big concern was that I was going to stress myself and create more tension the day of the move. By a week out, I was unsure about my ability to get everything out of the house… the moment to “pack a bag and go” was upon us, as much as I had tried to put that out of my mind.

After much encouragement, I started the list using my pen name, Synclair Stephens. She encouraged me to pamper myself – part of my healing process… I was in go mode and eventually sat down and added some things quickly. I’ve continued to add over time.

She told some people about me who wanted to support and shared with our Safety Thread and I shared with a small group. It spread to whom it needed to spread and people are still surprising me, which feels like the whole point.

The list is here.

People were also interested in sending cash, so I created a PayPal. It was live, but has undergone some challenges.

In the meantime, I re-vamped the Patreon I also created in 2017. Anyone wanting to send through PayPal can support by joining Patreon and deleting your pledge after a month. You can find that here., or send me message on the Contact Page

I admit, the awkwardness at posting all of this as if asking for a handout. That is the shame speaking of being in the abusive relationship – the shame that I shouldn’t have nice things and that I’m bothering people.

In reality, as my friend who encouraged the list has said many times, people want to help – they opt-in and so many others have been in this situation before. It’s ok.

It’s. o.k.

Happy Sunday

~Synclair

I should clarify a bit.  My husband assumed that I was enjoying myself, but I didn’t pretend that much… and he obviously wasn’t paying that much attention.  My pleasure was never his concern.  He asked how it felt, but in reality, I don’t feel as if he waited for an answer.  My boyfriend did the same.  I guess by the time I was married, I was used to it.

I was used to men wanting me and taking it, except for a few.  But why didn’t I wait for those men?  I think I could have.  They were in my life but focused on other things.  I was in some kind of hurry to create the fairytale.

I know now that the fairytale is … that romance is… is built.  It’s not falsely created and connections with people are nurtured.  I’ve always been able to nurture friendships, but with romance, I was in some kind of race, hungry for an affection I thought I’d never actually have but that did exist.  But not in the premature way we imagine in a fairytale.

But I digress here (as I often do)…

#metoo

I had a landlord once – he brushed his fingers along the outside of my dress and puckered his lips.  I used to imagine we had sex, not because I wanted to be with him, but because I wanted to take control of the narrative.  If I seduced him in my mind, the reality of his violation would go away.

But it didn’t.

Will our bodies ever be our own?  We carry life and give life, but will what we desire matter.

I  have purposely never given racial information on this blog, because as a woman, this story of being violated and abused defies race.  It happens to women and is based on our anatomy, first.  Our breasts are both a desire and a threat to the men who lust after them, potentially jealous of the babies who use them for nourishment.

Carmen Maria Machado’s “The Husband Stitch” describes a situation where we experience a woman who loves her husband deeply, but I found myself distrustful of him from the beginning because there was something of her he just could not leave alone…. the green ribbon tied around her neck.  It was hers… not his, but in the end, his curiosity took over.  Not to mention the extra stitch her doctor gave her after she gave birth… to make it nice and tight… so “everyone would be happy”.

…I repeat…

Will our bodies ever be our own?  We carry life and give life, but will what we desire matter.

It’s been about a week now and women are sharing their stories of sexual assault following the allegations against Producer, Harvey Weinstein…like Bill Cosby, women are coming out the woodwork.  This isn’t new… it’s been going on for years… and years and years… sexual harassment of any sort is sexual harassment. It seems to affect every woman (Except Mayim Bialik ) , no matter their race or socio-economic status.

Men want what they want.  They take it.  They don’t ask.  They feel entitled, and as a woman in the middle of a rollercoaster, I don’t have the answer.  I’m doing my best everyday to just make decisions that will affect the rest of my life, while focusing on the present.  I never knew I’d be in this position, which is the bittersweet taste life leaves in your mouth.

So to all my sisters… #metoo…. none of us are alone, but as we begin to build the community, what is next…?

I don’t expect to receive anything from him this year.  Last year, he made sure to emphasize how horrible a mother I was and while in previous years I had received rings and handmade cards, I knew that was over.

I’m ok with that.

I hope that next year we are laughing about this.

We must break to mend.  I don’t expect our mending to be getting back together, but rather being there for our children.  That is what I wish the most.  That is what brings me to tears.  An aggressive act from one of the kids just tells me how much they need me to figure this out.

This transition is the hard part.  I’m on the cusp of so much in my life professionally, but paralyzed by this marriage…. this abuse.  It’s hard calling it that. But someone who kicks things out of their way or slams anything in his path, with no concern for those sleeping is not an easy person to deal with.  Someone who makes it a point to let me know how wrong I am about anything from keeping house to having sex (when that was still on the table), is not a partner.

His rage seems to increase daily and the hard part is not knowing what exactly is upsetting him.  Communication is not one of his strengths.

So my wish is for this Mother’s Day to be the beginning of the end.  

We must break to mend.

We’re broken…

Let’s mend.

Happy Mother’s Day

Synclair

So… he has put his hands on me.  People ask and I say no… I say no because how do you say yes.

He hasn’t done it like Celeste’s husband, for example.

Tonight… moments ago…

It started as it always starts… very innocent… the kids were finishing their bath and they called him to take them out.

So there was my mistake right there, I should have just let him do it.  But I was feeling guilty.  I had been sort of in my writing hole all day… and sometimes if I don’t appear he grumbles under his breath.  It’s the grumbles that bother me the most… I guess it all bothers me, but the grumbles that I don’t do anything.  It’s designed to get under my skin, I know that… but in the moment… my blood boils…

So the kids wanted him but one was climbing out of the tub with suds still on him so I held his hand and said he needed to rinse.  He screamed… his usually scream.  He does that.

I held onto him until his father came upstairs.  The transition was peaceful and then I came back a few minutes later with pajamas after they were dried off.

Time for lotion

I got it out, but they wanted him to do it.  So my son took the container and handed it to his father.  But he doesn’t like that lotion so he used another that usually makes them itch… it’s not as moisturizing.

I made a comment, which he ignored and pulled the jar out for our daughter who immediately began crying.

I was frustrated.

They never cried when I did the lotion.  In fact, they usually wanted to do it themselves… lining polka dots on their limbs and rubbing it in.

I don’t understand why you’re crying.  Don’t let him control you… don’t be a chameleon.

I had hints of his language in my responses and I hated it.  I hated him for putting that language in my brain, even.

She continued to cry.  I finished and put a little lotion on my son’s back side, he then wiped it off and wiped it on the duvet.

[eyes rolling]

By now everyone is heading down to the kitchen and he’s commenting on how toxic I am…frustrated, I mock the way he says, “toxic” (childish, I know).

“They’re always smiling and happy with me, he says.”

Definitely not true.

Then he says it… that I’m raping the children by forcing them to put on lotion they don’t like.
Raping?!?!

“You wanna talk about rape, motherfucker?!”

I was pissed… I got close to him, but didn’t lay a finger.  Then he pushed me in the throat and I fell backwards on the kids table.

My son was crying.

I didn’t do anything back.  I insisted in a calm and firm voice that we needed to talk about this.  I also made sure he knew that I could have (and should have) pressed charges.

He didn’t take it seriously.

He doesn’t take this seriously and yet weeks ago, I called Legal Services and am just waiting for my packet… just waiting.

So he has put his hands on me…

I wait for these next steps to happen.  It has to be the last time.

When I started out with this blog in January,  my goal was to write here and eventually begin submitting articles and Essays under this pen name.  It took some time to find the right topic to pitch, but with the premiere of HBO’s Big Little Lies,  I was immediately drawn to Celeste.

I pitched a piece and it was accepted by Romper, the sister site of Bustle.  Romper’s audience: millennial mothers.

Read it here!

He is vaguely admitting it, but I’m not really sure.  Honestly, I’m curious.

I just want this to be over.

It’s funny when he tells me how if I’m not going to be a wife… and all I do is challenge him.

I don’t even know if I could classify it as a challenge.  If I have an opinion, it is usually shot down. And my opinion… my thought…that is the challenge…

But relationships – strong relationships are built on a back and forth.  We have no back and forth.

In sex he only wanted to be on top.  I think the one time I was he complained I was too heavy or I didn’t know what I was doing. All I truly remember is that awkward feeling.

I miss how fun sex can be.

Sex was never fun with him.  Never giggles I didn’t feel were part of my act.

The other men I had been with prior to being married had been interested in me. My hair, my body, my conversations, my orgasms.

He never cared if I had an orgasm.  Our discussions are like that.  He wants to be on top and doesn’t care what my opinion or idea is.

A lot of positive energy has died that way.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I am working on being Better than before… Before being “before” I found myself in this emotionally and financially abusive relationship.

If that sounds too much like a buzz word, then I want to be better than before… Before I found myself with two children that respond to a raised tone quicker than sweet talk because they have heard it more than I ever hoped them to.

Before I found myself afraid of going to sleep without my two children in our bed for fear that he might try to force himself on me.

Before my heart began to pound only after he approached me to rip the cup of hot coffee out of my hand because I was slow in offering our 5-year-old daughter an alternative sweater choice because I heard him tell her it was so big and then she came upstairs crying to change it.

Better than Before THAT…

I’ve compiled a number of blog posts over the last week, but things were not too bad with us.

Not too bad in this instance means that I was able to drink the coffee he made and that my heart pounded less from direct yelling in the morning or evening.

Not too bad in that I was able to block him out enough, but still, a moment’s discussion could turn ugly and here I was back to moving slowly… thinking my moves over and over again… Moving with apprehension.

Twice this week he reminded me that I was doing nothing with my life and that being a writer was not productive.  Not a productive way to raise a family.  Not a responsible way to be a parent.

Stop living your dreams

Something he reminds me of often.  I am dreaming in his eyes of the life of a writer.

But for me, writing is my way out.  The problem is that writing in itself is strategic once the writing part is done.   I lack the true emotional support to really even attempt this profession.

If I were another person or feeling so beaten, I might just give up.

But I’m not.

This discussion of a writer’s life was on a podcast I frequent, “Am Writing with Jess and KJ“.

They were breaking down this business of writing as discussed in a new book. “Scratch“.

Because this writer’s life can yield $0.00 in the beginning between articles and things, one needs to remain consistent in audience building and submitting and over time, the financial security will come.

As mentioned in the podcast, both Jess and KJ have husbands with stable jobs and they both noted their ability to be able to start over and focus on the writing career because of their spouse’s ability to provide financially as they gained more income over time.

It was a great episode that I encourage you to listen to if you are looking to understand the work that indeed goes into making a living from writing.

I hope to check out “Scratch” soon as well.

Their discussion only exposed my dilemma.  My husband puts me down for writing, calls it a dream and there are times I feel as if I am treading water.

But I know I am not.

His thing is making us confused (much like this administration).  Since I have gotten a handle on the kids’ sleep schedule, I see how insane our life was prior to my taking it by the reigns.

I was consumed in trying to get work done and my husband was just yelling at me for not being productive at home and waiting until he got home to cook.

Now, because I have no income, I found it impossible to cook something new.  I lacked the inspiration and to be honest, I have had to build a pretty thick skin surrounding my cooking.  Anytime I use a cookbook, I am often met with severe opposition and criticism.  Subconsciously I am pretty certain it is why I have avoided cookbooks, but with my crockpot Christmas present, I suddenly dived into a feeling of productivity that has remained.  This was also following the nearly two weeks of silence!

I have been monitoring my habits and ways around the home and early in the year I knew these kids needed a schedule so I did it!

If you’ve been following along, I have documented how much he hated it… how much he has kicked and screamed blocking it as best he could.

But now, he doesn’t fight it.  There are weeks he doesn’t fight it I should say. Sometimes the kids are already asleep when he gets home and he usually does not want to eat what I made, so he cooks his own dinner and sits alone.

Other times, our son stays up with him.  Or more like I don’t have the energy to fight him in both children so I focus on the one who has to go to school.
It’s been about a month in this schedule and things are certainly settling.

The kids enjoy the routine and I enjoy getting things done without the frenzy.

I also enjoy sitting down to do work and not feeling too guilty about missing something else.

The only frustrating part in all of this monitoring and perhaps it is no longer frustrating, is that it has taken this breaking point to get me here.

Without giving away too much of her book, Gretchen Rubin describes an obliger as someone who accepts outside rules, but doesn’t like to adopt self-imposed rules.

As an obliger, I respond to outside reinforcement / incentives.

I immediately recognized this as a trait that I had struggled with my entire life.

When examining my marriage, it is always some type of extreme behavior that gets me to make a change.

Not to mention, my husband is a true rebel. Hands down.

With this routine in place, so many other things have been possible.  I truly feel as if I am weeding through… Like Sleeping Beauty’s prince breaking through the thorny bush, I am clearing a path.  Removing mental and physical roadblocks and taking necessary steps toward my path to freedom.

The social work sounded friendly.  I was grateful to do it over the phone.  We chatted some and she put me at ease and then we got right down to business with what I needed to send in…

Panic began to set in…

Passports, pays tubs, SS Cards…bank statements.

Easy for myself and the children.  But he changed his bank account.  I had no access and that was the most important thing.  Taxes wouldn’t work.

We talked it through.  I panicked as she went through what we needed.

Sweet talk him

Not only was sweet talk not going to work, but the impression he would get from any sort of sweet talk was not a message I was even comfortable sending.

The paperwork needed was more than I felt comfortable getting.  It would have meant sneaking around and snooping for documents.

We talked through more than I thought she was maybe supposed to.  But she knew what was going on.

This is hurting you.

I could tell when you broke down and cried.

I felt the tears.  The rush of the answer, “No”… meant my magical solution was gone.  What was I going to do now?

That’s where women go wrong.  You don’t have to let these men know where you are going.

You’re not there to be abused

“Do I want to stay in this type of relationship”…  If he doesn’t want to give you the documents then you know the answer.

No need even pressing it.

She was doing her job and following the rules.  There was no way around it.

I’m not there to be abused and the only way out of it was separation or divorce.  That’s the only way I could eventually qualify…

So… next steps…?

But it is tough to keep it going the way the kids need and I worry about what will happen in the future.  I see hints of his wanting to destroy what I have been working on with the kids.  He pouts and purposely tries to get them to “play” … trying to convince me that an early bed time is “unbalanced” and will produce “unbalanced” children.

Time will tell but as usual, I do not have a good feeling…

One thing about me: I am a hopeless romantic.  It is part of my Love Language.  I love a relationship for the beauty it should produce.

I won’t say that my husband is a bad person, because I don’t believe anything is ever that Black and white.

He’s depressed and has a mountain of things that I probably don’t know about in his life.  He was never that easy to get to know the way I was had gotten to know other men I dated.

In that respect he taught me a lot about observing people.  Something I naturally did, but with him, I have needed to do it more and I still struggle.

Someone once tried to read his aura and he was blocking.  They couldn’t get very far.

It was a telling moment, and I have had many – over and over.  Telling moment after moment.  Stop sign after Stop sign…

I know that all the men in my life have served different purposes.  I have learned and continue to learn in some cases.  I value relationships a great deal and perhaps have needed to really value the relationship with myself before partnering with another.

I am well on my way to being a person I want to share with another.

I was unable to take care of my husband in this marriage.  He was unable to emotionally take care of me.  Sure, he provides – does that well – so well it can often be seen as controlling… especially to someone likes me who wants to talk it out.

Unfortunately he has never been one to put me at ease in that regard.  If I don’t like that he doesn’t communicate, he just doesn’t communicate.  He doesn’t try to make me feel better or feel that he has to.

He has never apologized.  He has done things that are his way of apologizing, but he doesn’t believe in it.

I used to feel bad about fantasizing about other men.  But in reality, he has never taken care of me in that way.

Some say, well you have two kids, and my response is that getting pregnant can be fairly easy.  It doesn’t mean there was passion or that I even felt taken care of.

I did my best to be present and I was.  I was there and I hoped he would see me, but he is hurt and has so many walls that I have never been able to break through.

He needs love, but he needs it on his terms.  That is likely why being a parent suits him.  He is in control and can dictate to impressionable minds that look up to him (literally) that his way is the right way.

But be careful…. once they decide they want to love a different way he often discards them.  Rejects that type of love as something they are not supposed to do.

That has been the frightening experience of raising children with him.  I have to combat the pink is for girls, blue is for boys mentality.

I need my children to be in a healthy and loving environment as soon as humanly possible.

I dream of it, but I really want to make it a reality.

Today I did quite a bit of daydreaming because as I become this person I want to share it with someone and I want to love someone in a way I have never allowed myself before.  The additional piece is that this person will love me.  Not the me he wants me to be.

The me I love so much…

So today’s horoscope via The Astro Twins  was pretty telling… I had been dreaming of someone… allowing myself that pleasure of a happy ending with an available someone.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

…Shed that armor, drop your guard and let your emotions rise to the surface. The cosmos draw out your sentimental side, so if you’re inclined to give someone else the wheel for a change, go for it. Relax your grip when it comes to your relationships, and you could find yourself awash in romantic or pleasure-filled vibes. Just don’t let your big heart get sucked into a savior dynamic with someone. Spend your precious time with people who have what it takes to fully participate in a healthy and sincere partnership.

So for now, I know I was in the right place with my daydreams today.

And I look forward to change and to love and to peace. Loads and loads of peace.

Synclair