She

Not judging a book by its cover, as we are often told is an arduous act as one’s facade can be highly pristine, making transparency through correspondence unattainable. If you looked at this woman who graces you with a smile and the most delightful personality, you wouldn’t see the struggle, grief, and pain that lay beyond her eyes. Some people never escape a life of dismay. They become numb to their perils and accept the hand dealt to them. And some make it through the horror, become more robust, and leave the life of treachery behind them. She was a beautiful rose that grew through the strongest of concrete.

She grew up a child of the ‘80s; when life as a child was supposed to be easy, it was sometimes unbearable for her. Her mother, filled with anger and hate for her for reasons she will never know, left her physically, emotionally, and verbally abused. When present, her father never said a word for fear of crossing her mother and possible repercussions. As the years went by, it was quotidian to her that this was her life. Seeing a so-called typical family who hugged each other and told them "I love you" was odd to her.

As a young teen, she was even more deplorable than those who were supposed to love her most. She was often kicked out of her home, leaving her nowhere to sleep. So she began sleeping with older men in exchange for a warm bed and money for tampons or other necessities. They didn’t respect her; she didn’t expect nor require it. She knew she was in no position for demands. After all, she had no respect for herself.

When she attended school, she was high or drunk while in attendance. Mostly she preferred cutting class and using the closest drug to numb her pain. Her drug of choice was cocaine. She started using it on weekends, then once or twice during the week, then daily, leading to her not taking a few steps without it. She had few girlfriends as a girl like her was told not to be seen by other mothers. It also bought such pain to see other girls loved by their mothers. The envious pain it brought on was unbearable.

By her late teens, her life had spiraled out of control. She avoided mirrors because she couldn’t bear looking at the person staring back at her. She had some jobs that helped, but nights she was left alone with no money, so she resorted to visiting crack houses in the projects, doing sexual favors for multiple men in trade for a gram of cocaine. She hated herself; she had tried bulimia, starvation, cutting herself, thinking why to go on, but she never could succumb to her desires to end her painful life.

When she was 16, she met a man five years her senior. He didn’t do drugs, had a college education, and seemed admirable. She didn’t understand why he took a liking to her, but he had his apartment and a warm bed she desperately needed. He tamed the beast inside her, kept her on track with life and school, and, most importantly, helped her get clean. She felt she owed him everything as he was her savior, the reason she was alive and well for once. As months went on, he didn’t deny her love nor a place to reside at night. She thought she was in love, for he was the only man ever to show her affection. She showed her gratitude by cooking, cleaning, and treating him as if he some sort of God. She knew she couldn’t lose him. The thought of going back to the life she once lived was unbearable.

When she attended a gathering with him and a few of his friends, she noticed he was bothered by her. She wasn’t sure why or what she did wrong, but she tried her best to satisfy his expectations. She made a few jokes, nothing towards anyone in particular, but it angered him as to why she thought she was good enough to exchange correspondence with his friends. His eyes turned black with anger towards her. She didn’t understand why, but it wasn’t a new feeling to her, and she became quite frightened. As they were driving to another of his friend’s houses, he stopped and told her to get out of his car; she hesitated to ask what she did wrong and why. His face was red, eyes were black, and a stiffness entrapped him as he got out of his car, walked around the front of her side, picked her up over his head, and threw her on the concrete. As she laid there crying in agony, he walked around to get back in his car as if he did nothing. He closed his door, started his car, and prepared to leave her on the ground lying there in agony. She feared losing him and succumbed to the embarrassment and ran to his side, begging his forgiveness though she knew not what led to infuriate him. Regardless, she begged for forgiveness. He finally accepted her apology, told her to get in the car rather than shoved her in the car, and drove off. The car ride was silent, not his friend’s, he, nor she spoke a word. Going home that night with him, she hesitated to get out of the car, but he looked at her as if she didn’t go into his apartment; it would only further his fury. So she went inside and acted as if she was walking eggshells not to aggravate him. Later that night, as they lay there in bed, he reached over and hugged her, told he’s not sure what came over him but never apologized. She hugged him tighter and accepted his nonapology, and held him close. She laid there wishing there would never be another day she would hurt the way she did that day, but days as those were far from over.

The next years were turbulent as she never knew the personality she was to arrive at once home. Not having anywhere to go, she dealt with whatever dismay was to come. Some days he was loving. Some days he threw her down a flight of stairs, and some he felt like choking her would be best. Some of the more embarrassing moments where he had friends over for cards or to watch a sports game. As they drank and enjoyed themselves, he also lent her to his friends for their sexual pleasure. Of all of the pain, suffering, and humiliation, she felt the worst was the verbal abuse. Having him say she was a whore, nothing without him, and would never go anywhere in life without him, etc., multiples times a day broke her down so badly she believed him. She accepted this was her life, she had a roof over her head and a man to support her.

When she was twenty-one, she became pregnant, they got married, and he bought a house in his name, of course-not hers. He wasn’t around much, and she preferred it that way, knowing she was safe from his abuse for the moment. They bought a beautiful girl into this world, and she wondered if she could protect her if she would be a good mother and an exemplary example of a woman. How could she be when her husband degraded her and beat her down physically and emotionally daily. She couldn’t hide this from her daughter and feared she would grow up to be just like her. Over the next couple of years, she suffered a few miscarriages, most likely from abuse, but the third time she became pregnant, she had a beautiful boy. She called him her miracle baby because she would never forget the night her husband dragged her across their living room floor at seven months pregnant. He got on top of her and choked her till she began to succumb to his fists. Something inside of her fought. She knew her kids needed her. By some miracle, she clenched her right fist and swung in a significant manner that hit him and knocked him somewhat off her. She then could catch her breath, crawl towards their bedroom, lock the door as he yelled, and eventually left the house for the night.

As she now had two-kids, she grew to realize her life was not about her survival anymore but that she had to survive for her children. She tried to leave a few times, but always came back. After all, she had no money and nowhere to go. She couldn’t rely on friends or relatives either as no one knew what happened within the walls of their home. She was too embarrassed to tell anyone what she allowed this man to do to her. Again, when someone tells you repeatedly that you won’t make it without them, you begin to believe them. He had a good job. He didn’t hurt the kids, supported them financially, so she gave up and let him go one abusing her because she gave up on herself.

Her children were her life; she spent day and night caring for them. Her husband would work, go out with friends or perhaps other women, come home late when the house was asleep, wake up before everyone, leave, and do it again. She didn’t care; she knew if he was out of the house, they were safe. She didn’t care about thinking of him with other women either. She just focused on her kids and trying her best to provide a stable home that she had been robbed of as a child. When her daughter was about four years old, she had misbehaved and was sent to her room for a time out. She went into her room, grabbed one of her books, came out, threw the book at her, and called her a stupid bitch, and then went back into her room. She was stunned at what just happened. She couldn’t move for quite some time. She didn’t know how to move forward with punishment for her daughter’s behavior. She then concluded that her daughter was led by example by her father. The everyday andragogy of her father’s abuse towards her mother taught her to believe that it is acceptable behavior. She felt ashamed and couldn’t believe how much of her husband’s actions influenced their children. She didn’t want her daughter to grow up thinking this is how a man should treat her. She didn’t want her son to grow up believing he could treat a woman the way his father did. She knew things could not go on this way.

In some way, after all these years of abuse, she started to feel a sense of self-worth and became stronger. She began fighting back in ways she never thought she could. He reminded her she was a whore and would be nothing without him. He even stated he made her, not her parents, he did. The words her used that broke her down suddenly made her stronger. One day, she was attending to the children when he came into the room angry over the amount of money she spent on groceries. He began yelling as expected, but she screamed louder than him. Her actions infuriated him as he wasn’t used to her acting so, he grabbed her by her hair and threw her headfirst into the living room wall. The force with which he shoved her stunned her for a moment, but she didn’t falter or cry. Instead, she stood tall, turned around, and said a few simple words. The words she spoke as she pointed in his face were, “that is the last time you will ever put your hands on me.” He looked at her quite shockingly and paused as she got her things together and took the kids out of the house. All that time, she had held it together, not letting him see the pain he caused her. She drove around the block, pulled over, and burst into tears. She craved an irenic life for her and her kids, but how? She knew that there was one person she could go to for help.

She found herself at her grandmother’s house. Her grandmother was the strongest woman she knew. She was petrified to tell her she needed help and why in fear, her grandmother would say to her to go home and make things right with her husband as she was from a generation in which divorce was not accepted. As she wept to her grandmother telling her every detail, begging for help to hire a lawyer, she felt hopeless again. She didn’t believe she would receive the help she needed; however, at the end of her story, her grandmother looked at her and said, “there are only two reasons you should leave a man. If he cheats you or beats you.” She found comfort in her grandmother and also was given the funds she needed to hire a lawyer. She retained her lawyer that same day and began the process of divorce.

It’s incredible how quickly a man can change his tune once a woman becomes liberated and acknowledges her self-worth. Still, alas, it was too late for apologies and promises of changes. After almost fifteen years of suffering, she divorced him, received child support and alimony, and then got an apartment for her and the kids. She went back to school online and got a job, and wanted desperately to finally set an excellent example of what a woman should be to her children.

Although she had left, her suffering was far from over. She suffered PTSD and had horrible nightmares that would wake her feeling as if he was choking her. She sought the help of a therapist and began recovering little by little. It wasn’t an easy road. She took one day at a time, but each day was better than the last, and she knew she was on her way. As for him, she knew she could never fully be rid of him as they brought two children into this world, which bound them for life. However, she made a promise to herself that she would never again let him disrespect her in any way, shape, or form, and that was a promise she never severed.