Giving Myself a Green Light

I gently tapped the breaks as my VW Beetle rolled to a stop at the red light. My hands gripped the steering wheel as wild emotions overwhelmed me. Fear. Regret. Hope. Sadness.

This 90-second stoplight seemed to stay red forever. My heart beat faster. I jumped when a familiar voice called to me from the lane to the right. Oh, it’s just Tony.

I smiled and waved, hoping he wouldn’t engage in conversation. When is this light going to change?

“Today’s the day, isn’t it?”

Those five words startled me. How did he know? Then I remembered that we’d spoken about this a few days ago.

Tears filled my eyes. I tried to muster the courage to respond. “Yes. I’m doing it today.”

His face softened as compassion filled his eyes. The way he looked at me made me realize I must look like a mess. The tears started spilling out. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw nervous red spots taking over the skin on my neck and face.

Then the light turned green.

It saved me from having to continue this uncomfortable conversation.

Tony was a good friend. But if I talked any more to him about this dreaded thing I had to do, I’d start crying even more. Then I’d never make it to my destination.

The long line of cars started moving forward. He called out, “You’re in my thoughts. Everything will be okay.”

I nodded through my tears and drove through the green light.

In that moment, it felt as if the green light and Tony’s gentle encouragement had given me the push forward.

I hated admitting it, but I had been debating with myself about turning around and not proceeding down the Boulevard. If Tony hadn’t driven up at that exact moment, I would have chickened out and gone home.

But he’d shown up. I had the green light to go. It was time to end things with Matt.

This wasn’t any ordinary breakup. It was six months of living as a shell of myself—overcome by his mental, physical, and emotional abuse.

Part of me was so angry. I’d always considered myself a strong, independent woman. How could I have been so weak to be controlled by a man for so long? He’d made me feel as if I needed him to survive.

Just that morning, I sat on the swing in the playground of the apartment complex where I lived. Thankfully, no one was outside as I cried and mumbled nonsense as my friend, Cathy tried to encourage me to break up with this man.

This man had taken a piece of my soul. He’d ripped out my heart and stomped all over it. And no, that’s not being dramatic. It’s the truth. Life before Matt I was innocent. Life now as I drove to his row home in Philadelphia looked bleak.

I judged myself for the things he’d made me do against my will.

Why had it taken me so long to leave him?

The only answer I came up with as I wiped tears from my eyes so I could see the road is that I thought I couldn’t live without him.

That makes no sense to a rational human being.

Yet in those six months, all rationality left me. The abuse didn’t start right away. He was smarter than that. He knew the way to woo me and make me dependent on him. He wanted me to feel like I couldn’t live without him.

And that’s exactly how I felt. That he was a drug that I needed so I could feel pretty and boost my self-esteem. All along I never realized that I had slowly been losing myself and becoming the person he wanted me to be—to fulfill his needs.

He never cared about what I needed.

I needed genuine love and acceptance. I longed for a safe haven. All I got was a long nightmare that dragged out for six months.

An image of the green traffic light flashed before my eyes. Tony’s calm confidence that I’d be okay washed over me.

I exited the Boulevard and turned onto the main street in his neighborhood. As I approached a stop sign, I stepped on the brakes to slow down. My mind wandered to that day when he forced me down on the sofa and leaned on top of me. The pressure of his weight and the coldness in his brown eyes had sent shivers of fear crawling down my spine.

I’d never seen that side of him. That happened after a few weeks of dating. Why did I stay with him after that incident? Why did I not break things off after he joked with his sisters—while I was in the room—that he’d make me Italian by injection.

His crude innuendo shocked me. Yet somehow, I felt powerless to leave him.

The sound of a car honky behind me broke me out of my reverie. I glanced in the rearview mirror and started driving again.

As I passed row home after row home, my nerves kicked into high gear. Would I be able to end things with him?

I slammed on the brakes as two young boys ran into the street chasing a soccer ball. Warm brown eyes stared at me as one of them called out and waved, “Sorry lady.”

I waited as they chased down the ball across the street. Seeing them laugh and kick the soccer ball in the nearby field reminded me of that day in Matt’s van. We’d gone to a friend’s party and then drove to Silver Lake. We sat in the back seat for a while just talking. Children played in the playground. A few kids played soccer on the grass.

I remember asking Matt to drive me home because I needed to use the restroom. He threw up his arm and laughed at me. “Go pee on the side of the van. No one’s watching.”

I’d replied indignantly. “I’m not going out there. Take me home.”

“No. Let’s sit here for a bit longer.”

I’d felt helpless in that moment. I’d thought about calling my sister to come to pick me up, but I didn’t call. I sat next to him with his arm around me. I was afraid he’d get mad, so I did exactly what he wanted me to do.

I was afraid he’d leave me.

After a few minutes, he unzippered his pants. He forced my head down. I meekly resisted. In that moment, part of me realized real love wasn’t supposed to be like that. Someone who truly cared about me wouldn’t force me to do something that I didn’t want to do.

Yet, I’d felt frozen in time. I had to obey, or he’d find another girl. Then I’d be all alone.

He nudged me a second time. I went down on him. Tears flooded my eyes. I tried to push myself back up again. This time, he held my back down and said, “Come on. Keep sucking. You know you want to.”

No, I didn’t, I kept screaming over and over again in my head. Finally, the ordeal was over. He was satisfied. I was disgusted and ashamed.

I came to another traffic light. Only two more before I’d arrive at his street. The red light seemed to put me into a trance, and I recalled the other incident. The one in my bedroom, in the apartment that I shared with my sister.

She was working that night. I was alone with Matt. We sat on the sofa watching TV. After about 30 minutes, he turned my head towards him and kissed me. Then he said, “Let’s go relax on your bed.”

I’d allowed him to lead me to the bedroom. My heart had started beating rapidly. Part of me felt excitement and the other part of me felt dread. What if things went too far again like that time in the van? He was bigger and stronger than me. I was at his mercy.

Somehow, he’d talked me into undressing. He had asked me to recline naked on the bed. I had obeyed like a naïve servant, wanting to please her master. My breaths had become shallow. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ear.

I was a virgin at that time.

He was not. He’d regaled me with all his sexual exploits. At first, his bad-boy lifestyle had intrigued me. Then I’d experienced his abuse and I’d felt trapped.

In that moment, I’d truly feared the worst. I’d thought he was going to ask for sex. If I’d refused, I knew he’d get what he’d wanted with force. He sat back in the recliner in the corner of the room. He said, “Start touching yourself. That turns me on.”

I’d had no idea what to do. My sexual experience had never gone this far. He said, “Touch your nipples with one hand. Use your other hand to rub yourself down there.”

I had wanted to cry, but tried to act like a mature, sexual woman. He’d quickly seen through my inexperienced movements and got tired of this exercise of his control over me. He’d said, “Get dressed. I have to go home now.”

Those words brought immense relief to me.

Yet, the tone he’d used mocked me and my innocence. He never valued my innocence. He’d always seen it as a way to control me and to seek his own pleasure.

I shook my head and tried to concentrate on the road. One more light and then I had to turn onto his street. Passing through the green light, I turned right and then pulled to a stop in front of his red-bricked row home.

I turned off the ignition and sat there. I couldn’t move. I thought again about turning the car on and going home. Being there right outside his house brought more memories to mind.

Why did I take nude photos of myself and give them to him? Thankfully, that was several years before I had a digital camera. That photoshoot in my bedroom was old school. I bet that photo shop clerk got an eye full developing that film.

Why had I allowed him to talk me into shaving my privates and going to a friend’s wedding wearing no underwear under my evening dress? Sure, those things are not bad—if you want to do them.

The difference is that he manipulated me into doing sexual things that I wasn’t ready for and didn’t want to do. It was abuse.

Tony’s face flashed before my eyes again. I took a deep breath and got out of the car. My body shook as I walked down the cement path toward the stairs and front door. I grabbed onto the iron railing as I climbed the steps.

Taking another steadying breath, I knocked on the front door. It seemed like an eternity before it opened, and he stood before me. I can do this. I can do this. That mantra played on repeat in my mind.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“We need to talk.”

Those four words spilled out of my mouth so quickly. They were the beginning for me and the end of us. In that moment, I saw him for who he truly was—my abuser, not my boyfriend.

I followed him inside. However, this time the fear inside me began to dissipate. Courage took over. I had given myself the green light to trust in me again.