Bite your Tongue.

There are many times where one will need to put this into practice. Often with total strangers, sometimes with friends and colleagues. Usually it’s with the people closest to you – family.

The people that supposedly know you the best seem to be the ones that overstep the mark on a regular basis.

I’ve talked many times on here about boundaries. My family overstepped every boundary I set for myself; they themselves rarely kept any.

From telling me every intricate detail about their private lives to offloading their problems at work on me or irritating friendship issues at every opportunity to the sicker elements of boundary crossing where they’d expose details of their bowel movements while I ate my breakfast or moaned about the constant itching they felt ‘down there’. How is that appropriate? Just because I am here doesn’t mean you can use me as your confidante, your doctor, your therapist.

I cannot give anyone medical advice and even if I could, it would be fairer on your child to see a professional.

As adults and parents ourselves, we too have everyday stresses and problems. I especially know that you need to find time to work through those sorts of stresses in order to get some happiness. You set personal boundaries to protect yourself, to assert your personal rights.

You can be close to a parent without overstepping these personal boundaries. You can share, talk and listen to each other but each of you know where to stop. You know when it becomes suffocating or stressful or inappropriate. Who would want their child feeling stressed out or worried to talk to them?

Not having a proper social interaction and taking a real interest in your children can massively affect them. My family on greeting me, never asked me how I was or what I had been up to – they only used the time they had to talk about themselves. If I dared to mention something to do with me I’d either be accused of and berated for being insensitive or selfish. This would only prevent me from ever offering any information up about my life so when things went wrong in relationships, work or home – it would solely be my fault for not opening up to them sooner.

How could I? It was an impossible vicious circle. If I revealed it all they’d use it against me or feel it was their right to delve as far as they could. Rarely did I receive anything helpful or thoughtful. Usually it was anger and criticism – probably why I don’t deal so well with it now.

I have bitten my tongue for many years and continue to do so now.

My father was a racist, homophobic chauvinist. He hated people from Africa, women drivers, lesbians, politicians, the police. He was critical, opinionated, angry, spiteful, dangerous and very tricky. Talking to him about anything was a risk. Sometimes it was a risk I had to take for my own sanity. In the weeks where he was ignoring me over some “mistake” I’d made, the silence was almost excruciating. If I attempted to make conversation with him he’d either leave the room or stay and utter nothing. He would not even look at me. He’d only break his stubbornness – his rancour – his belligerence if I weakened myself and asked his advice on some other mistake I’d made.

Power is everything to people like that.

When I do not speak of myself is when my family talk to me the most. When I show an interest in their lives, I am heard but only for an opinion on their matters and they’ll be pretty miffed if that opinion is anything other than supportive.

Conversation never flows with my family. Therefore I go through life biting my tongue.

Would be nice if others did the same (!)

 

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My very REAL life.

Things have been progressing slowly. My marriage, my job, my family are all moving in one direction – towards a united future.

I can’t be all ‘sunshine and rainbows’ yet. Whose life is that truly? Although in some cases, with certain people, I feel I have to portray that outlook. No matter how honest you are to yourself, some people cannot cope with the truth. They want to live in an idealistic world and only see you in a superficial light. It’s easier for them. Not witnessing the nitty gritty ins and outs of your life, makes their life run that bit more smoothly. This would be fine if these people were acquaintances but it’s difficult when they hold some standing in your life.

I spoke of the difficulties within my marriage earlier this year and was met with abuse. Abuse from strangers and people we knew.

To these ‘somebodies’, I had been too honest. I had crossed a line as a wife and taken some sort of revenge on my poor husband and even though I expressed his approval to my decisions, many fought against it. Many felt they could not accept that but it is what it is.

We all use different forms of expression. I too have lived a life of bottling things up, shielding my problems from others, avoiding truths and pretending life is okay.

As I fall into a new life as a mother, I want to set an example that it is okay to feel out loud. Nobody is tied down to read what I write by any means. If you do not agree, look away. I am not here to argue. Only to say how I feel.

My marriage in some ways is back on track. My husband and I have come through the bump in our road and made it to the other side. I cannot say that things are rosy – they aren’t. In fact, there is still some tension. He isn’t perfect and nor am I and I am still apprehensive about where our journey together will go. I want to vent and moan and be honest but am fearful to express my true feelings here as now there is an expectation of a backlash.

What a shame that my only outlet has been forsaken.

I haven’t written here for a while because of it. Unsure of what will provoke these ‘somebodies’, afraid of their response.

If you know my husband then you know him as a son, a friend, a brother, a colleague. Only I know him as a husband. Only we share what we share. I am with him every day and see every fault. I see the good things too. They are never forgotten but when I choose to mention the bad -the ONE time I choose to mention the bad – do not berate me.

Marriage is tough. God, it’s hard but I want to be married to him and I am glad we are being more open, more supportive and more positive with each other.

I am now looking after my daughter full time.

It’s a JOB. In every sense of the word but it’s the most wonderful,rewarding (and tiring!) job I’ve ever done and I’m grateful to do it. She is so funny and sparky and bright and kind – I could not be more proud of my little angel.

Motherhood has changed me. All I want to do is make her life wonderful just as she has done for me.

I hope all my followers haven’t deserted me and I promise to touch base more frequently from now on 🙂

Ros x

I’ll Find you in the Darkness.

I’ll find you in the darkness

I’ll shelter you from the storm

Travel far beyond the horizon

To keep your body warm.

You’ll find me in the darkness

You’ll carry me in the night

Set fire to the burdens

and keep our love alight.

I’ll find you in the darkness

I’ll keep you close to me

Walk hours till I reach you

and love you endlessly.

You’ll find me in the darkness,

You’ll turn my life around

To share a life together

In you my heart is bound.

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Do not judge me.

It is very easy to draw ideas about my blog, my life or anyone’s for that matter.

I write of my marriage’s demise and I speak of a time several months ago. My husband and I are truly working through whatever problems we have. I want it to succeed and I want us to feel the love we once felt so strongly for each other. Whoever reads this, please do not judge me. I’ve said it time and time again on wordpress. This is my outlet. It is my voice. I cope with the problems, the struggles, I’ve lived through much worse and held down a job, a relationship, a flat. I am no weakling as much as you say that “I need assistance”. Writing is my help – ‘self help’ if you will.

I do love my husband. Even through everything I tell him this. I want him to know this.

We are making concious steps to resolve our differences for everybody’s sake and I feel that we are getting to a better place. Yes, I suppose these posts are somewhat of an exposé nature and do ‘shame’ in a way but none are secretive. I do not do this behind his back.

So whoever you are who feels it is necessary to condemn me.

Don’t.

This blog is solely dedicated to telling people of the abuse I once suffered and of the life I lead now. You have options, please do not read it if it offends you.

Our demise – Part 2.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I realised I had ‘lost’ my husband. From the birth of our daughter he changed from being a supportive caring husband to a distant and depressed human being. We had decided that he would be in charge of putting baby to bed every day. He wanted to do it as he would be at work all day and would not see her but of course with this choice came responsibilities and promises. It came schedules and routines. It came remembering endless things that baby needed. Too many things for him.

Tired from work, he would enter the house. He would greet baby and take her upstairs. No Hello, no kiss, no acknowledgement of his wife. He would come back from one job and enter another. There were no questions about my day. He did not know that baby had been sick twelve times that day. He did not know that she had not kept down a single bit of milk or that I had not brushed my teeth that day. He did not know that I had cried several times that morning and that my ‘lunch’ consisted of two pieces of toast eaten over three hours. He did not know because he did not ask. For six months he did not ask. I was not myself for the first three months of my daughter’s life.

The doctors and health visitors had insisted that I should not take baby outside for at least seven weeks (until her due date). Out of panic and fear I listened to their advice and out of panic and fear, I only left the house five times in the space of three months. I could not leave without having a panic attack.

A few years back I had worked with babies in a day nursery; a job that I enjoyed very much. I gained a lot of ‘insider’ knowledge first hand and felt prepared for the future. However having my daughter seven weeks early threw every preparation I had into chaos. I will be the first to admit it – I struggled. I really battled through the first three months. My BDD (body dysmorphic disorder) seemed to be developing into a problem again. I felt frumpy, disgusting. I was angry I was unable to lose my baby weight. My confidence dropped.

My husband must have seen a change in me although he chose to ignore it. Instead he disappeared into himself, cutting himself off from me and only thinking of his own problems. I was shocked to find my caring husband grow into such a cold and detached human being. Christmas was a very unpleasant time for us. There had been a few incidents leading up to it where my husband had chosen himself over me and his baby. He had put his selfish needs first and begun leading a very separate life to mine. I discovered some real eye openers to the man he had become – a man I could not recognise. He wasn’t ashamed of his actions either although he managed to shed a few crocodile tears. I hate seeing him cry and not because it breaks my heart but because it’s the easy way out. Tears gain sympathy. He didn’t deserve that. His behaviour didn’t justify tears.

He chose to betray me in ways I find very hard to forgive.

He became cruel and nasty. A shadow of the man I once knew. He became defensive and verbally harmful, snapping and hurting. He became angry, aggressive and frightening. There were times I was truly scared. I hadn’t felt that kind of frightened since my Dad. That was the point I knew my marriage was over. The man I had once loved so deeply had reminded me of my Dad. He reminded me of what that abuse felt like. He reminded me what it felt like to feel small, neglected, alone. I vowed never to feel that way again and this man had succeeded in making it happen at a time that should have been the happiest in my life. I will never forgive him for that. NEVER.

The culmination of his abhorrent behaviour happened on my 33rd birthday. We, at this point, had no relationship. We barely talked to each other and if we did, it mostly referred to the baby. I was dreading my birthday. In past years, D had gone out of his way to make me feel special. He didn’t have to shower me with presents or do anything romantic, I was just treated very well that day – lots of cups of tea and putting my feet up kind of thing. He was thoughtful and considerate and I appreciated that.

This birthday was different. I asked him the day before, jokingly, if he had got me a card, fearing that he may have forgotten. I was right as he suddenly began to severely berate himself (something he had been doing often for the past months). He could have lied and said yes and then sneaked out later to get one. He could have made me feel like it was all okay out of kindness, out of thoughtfulness but my husband wasn’t like that any more. He’d rather wallow in his endless mistakes than make me feel better about a situation, than make the moment pass and move on after all, there were many times I brushed over his snide comments about me for an easier life. After the casual comment about the card, my husband was in a foul mood for the rest of the day. I put it behind me not wanting to ruin my actual birthday. I had stated I wanted a simple one.

Life was not easy with the baby and my confidence hadn’t returned but that did not mean I didn’t want my husband to not go to any effort. He had taken the day off work after all. Surely he was going to do something special? How wrong was I. The next morning I went into my baby’s room as she was cooing beautifully by herself. I lifted her out the cot and gave her some mummy kisses. My husband, groggy from his slumber, followed in. He made no eye contact nor spoke. I waited for the obligatory “Happy Birthday!” to fall from his lips. Instead, he yawned and sat on the bed in baby’s room.

“Don’t say happy birthday or anything please,” I remarked disappointed I had to remind him of what day it was.

“I was just going to!” He snapped.

Plenty of time had passed from when I had entered the room, it was clear he wasn’t planning on saying anything. Immediately I felt uncomfortable. He had chosen to snap at me at six in the morning really setting me up for what was about to come. Once downstairs with baby, D barely uttered two words to me. I felt incredibly uncomfortable and when my mum came in with a card I found it hard to show her any happiness. She knew something was wrong but it had got to the point where the son in-law she was once so close to had now become a very intimidating stranger to her. She watched him disrespect her daughter but of a want not to be shouted at or spoken to sarcastically (a trait my husband excels at) she often kept quiet. Their relationship remains on the brink even now.

Due to a hectic schedule with baby, I hadn’t given my husband any idea of the kind of present I had wanted or that I had even wanted one. Really I had hoped he didn’t need telling. I had hoped the man who always used to get it spot on would come through for me again. Instead, with my own money, I ordered a bag from a shopping site I like on-line and my husband ‘refunded’ me the money. It felt like my father all over again. My father never bought me presents for my birthday or Christmas as he never bothered to find out what I liked. He just handed me money (after negotiation) and then berated me when I spent it on something like shoes or bags. At his request and demand, I often ended up having to say a detailed explanation as to why I deserved a gift in the first place. After a while I begged him NOT to give me anything as I just couldn’t hack the events and interrogations that would follow.

I didn’t say anything that day to my husband when I opened the card I had told him to buy for me. I didn’t say anything when I read his meaningless message to me inside. I was too worried that if I said something his reaction would be far worse than his intent. Sadly, the rest of the day continued on that note. My husband decided to feel sorry for himself for most of it. Knowing that nothing was special and sensing how sad I was about it all, he decided to make me feel even worse by ignoring me. He couldn’t even try to make conversation with me. He just avoided me. I was distraught. What the hell was the point in taking the day off?! I could have gone out with my mum and baby for a nice lunch and had a great time. No, my selfish husband instead made the whole day about him.

It all blew up in the afternoon when over a late lunch I voiced my disappointment. To many, I’m probably sounding like a needy drama queen but my husband had made a big deal of my birthday in the weeks leading up to it. He gave me the impression that I would have a nice day organised by him. When in fact I spent the day looking after baby (as normal), depressed because my husband was ignoring me and scared of what explosion was going to happen later. As soon as I uttered the words, D blew up. Shouting, aggressive, storming off all in front of baby. I left her with her grandma and followed him into the living room.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this?” are the types of questions I could not avoid asking.

He paced the floor furiously and I realised the day would be ruined for good. He could not break from his anger, his rage and disappointment in himself had encased him. Seeing red he tried to push past me in order to leave the house. I wouldn’t let him pass for two reasons; one, I did not want my mother and baby to see him so agitated, it really was very frightening but to me, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before in a man and two, I was angry at this nasty person for wanting to storm out on me on my birthday! He gets to leave but I don’t. I have responsibilities even on my birthday and no amount of rage will make me leave my child. The day dragged on as my husband remained in his solemn, distant state. We did not utter a single word to each other for the rest of the day.

Until the evening, when at dinner, I just couldn’t keep my upset inside any longer. I lost it. I cried and shouted as loud as I could without disturbing our baby. I was distraught. Never had I experienced a day like it. Even the abuser attempted to make my birthdays a little pleasant. My husband however couldn’t even do that. I knew something was wrong in him, something quite serious was happening to him. He had become a monster and I was frightened. That night he made me frightened. I never imagined my timid, sweet husband who once loved me so much would make me frightened.

How do you draw a line under that? How do you accept his promise to change?

You can’t. I live day to day now concious that he might fall back into his destructiveness, fearing that he might become distant. He had a course of CBT (cognitive behaviour therapy) as communication was not something he ever did and it seems to have helped. It has taken nearly five months for me to even ‘like’ him again. He is trying, I can see that but every now and again I see glimpses of the cruelness and I begin to panic. I do not want a marriage where I fear my husband. I do not want a marriage where I am always anticipating his bad reactions, his anger, his spite. I cannot say I am hopeful. I can only say that I can see things more clearly now. I will not continue a charade of a marriage to please other people. I will not force a love that does not exist. If we are meant to be, then we’ll get through this. If he values the life we’ve built then he will change. I know I need to change too……if I can.

There’s a lot of ifs………… But no buts.

When history repeats itself.

Don’t you just hate it when you vow never to put yourself through such torment and pain again after years of abuse then after a moment of happiness, you suddenly realise you’ve allowed yourself to fall into the same damn pattern as before? Don’t you just hate it when you’ve fallen deep into a hole of despair when you worked so bloody hard never to be there again?

I have always spoken well of my husband on this site. For many years he was my main support (other than myself), but lately, things have changed. We aren’t the same any more. He isn’t the same any more. I write this honestly and with his ‘permission’. Previously, I have written about other people under pseudonyms or by using their initials. However, I do not intend to do this with my husband.

Last month, I set up an anonymous blog, revealing the truths about my marriage. It will be closing as I do not want to pretend. I suppose people will condemn that I am doing this so publicly but the one thing I will say about my hubby is he totally understands that wordpress is my only outlet. Whoever chooses to read this must also choose not to judge me. I have a voice and sadly I cannot always voice it to friends and family. I often feel like they are out of their depth.

I can voice it here as I know my loyal followers and readers understand.

My marriage is broken.

Our relationship has been crumbling these past few years and perhaps marriage was a way of denying that. We are two very different people and sadly, it has become apparent of late that perhaps we aren’t so compatible after all. That saying, I do love him – very much and I know he loves me. Our problems have reached a point where we have to question whether or not we should be together. The trust has completely gone. I never thought it would. My husband has made some really bad choices this last year and has gone through some big stresses and I have tried to be there for him and be supportive. But I myself have suffered too. Giving birth before expected sent me into a world of anxiety. I became house bound for over three months. I still have panic attacks now if I stray too far from home. That wasn’t and isn’t me. I haven’t had a chance to deal with my issues and unfortunately, they have been pushed aside as I tend to my husband’s needs.

It’s my ‘duty’ as a wife right?

What about my duty to myself? My duty to my child?

The people I have told support my husband as they know deep down he is a good person. However, it only reminds me of the time I reached out to friends and family when my father abused me. They too defended and supported my father as they only saw the side of him he wanted to portray.

I feel this is the same way with my husband. He does not show the world what I see. They do not go through my pain.

I hope now I am speaking truthfully and openly, I will have the chance to release some of the anger and hurt with the support I need.

Thanks for listening.

R x

I have O.C.D.

It’s an admission.
One I’ve kept private for many years. It’s appeared on occasion but generally it’s easy to keep it hidden. It’s not your average kind of O.C.D, I do not wash my hands 16 times after using the toilet nor do I have to check repeatedly that I’ve turned the downstairs light off before bed.
Life with my abuser left me with many problems. A lack of self esteem, negativity about my body, lack of ambition, fear of risks are to name a few. I like to think I came out of that terror pretty unscathed, I mean it could have been a lot worse. However mentally, it’s impossible and unimaginable to presume my mind and heart would not be affected in some way.
He left a legacy and I carry the reminder of what he did every day.
I have closure from him. I do not think about him. I do not care to talk about him. Time has done it’s job. I do however know that he’s had a massive impact on who I am now and sadly, I am left piecing myself back together again even two years after his death.
Today I admitted it to myself.
I have O.C.D.
I do not like my things to be moved. I cannot deal with my things being touched without my permission. They just need to be left as they were. It doesn’t bother anyone nor does it cause harm but today my family experienced my O.C.D.
I tried an attempt to explain.
Every day with the abuser was another day of being watched, checked. My room was forever “inspected”. What if it didn’t meet his standards? What if I had not put one thing back in it’s place? Well then I would know about it. He’d go in there when I was out or at work. When he could take his time finding faults.

He’d pick at everything. I’d come home to find my clothes, which had been piled up on my chair, strewn across the floor with a note saying,

“A chair is not a place for clothes”.

Or some shampoo bottles that were nearly empty – stacked on my desk. He’d point out that they should have been thrown away months ago but it was not his “job” to do it.
There were times he moved actual furniture in my room to find dust, to find mistakes. He’d do it through the entire house. He had to find fault.
I hate someone, anyone, moving my things. My personal things.
My counsellor told me that you cannot expect someone to come out of something like that untouched and perfect. O.C.D. is often associated with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I suffered a great trauma with him. He controlled every aspect of my life for sixteen years even down to the way I felt about myself. I needed to get the control back. It is a complete form of control.
He controlled my money, my health, my choice in friends, my relationships, my food, my feelings, my habits, my freedom, my choices, my insecurities.
My family can’t relate.
We have argued today.
They refuse to understand and continues to make light of these issues I have.
I cannot ever be perfect.
I wouldn’t want to be.