Leaving The First Time

Alexandria was just 4 months old. I decided I'd had enough. I can't remember what the last straw was, but there surely was one. Maybe it was the time he came home so drunk his pants were on backwards. Or the 89th time he thought the closet was the bathroom. Or the day I came home from work to find him and several of his friends sitting around the dining table lighting up inside the house, while Alexandria took her nap nearby. Or the time he called me at work and said he needed $50 to get my car towed to the shop because he'd had a flat (which of course hadn't happened). Or the time I found lipstick (NOT my shade) on my pillowcase after I'd been out of town for the weekend. Or the night he drove my car to the drug dealers house, with Alexandria's car seat in it, and stayed out all night, leaving me no way to get her to daycare or me to work the following morning. Or the time he wrecked my car. I had eventually gotten to the point of sleeping with my car keys stuffed down in the corner of my pilllow case ...

Whatever the last straw was that first time, you'd have thought it should have been the last *last straw*. But it wasn't. It was just the first of many, many last straws over the years. I can't even begin to count how many times I forgave and forgot. Over and over again.

But this first time, I really thought I was serious. I thought this was it. I felt strong and found super human strength that day. Enough to carry me through that day and several weeks and months forward. But eventually I folded. I really loved this man with my whole heart. We had shared so many good times. And I knew his good side. I wanted him to be the great father to Alexandria that I just knew he could be. I think I gave him a million and one chances. Over and over again, I would leave, he would leave, I would make him leave, but he would always come back. Until the last time. But that's another story I'll have to tell you later. For now, let me tell you about the first time I left.

I called the Domestic Abuse Hotline I found in the phone book. They connected me to the local shelter. I called them, told them everything. They counseled me about what to expect, how long we could stay, the things I needed to be sure to collect before we left including important documents, etc. And they told me that when I was ready to leave to call the police, and that they would meet me wherever I was and escort Alexandria and me to the shelter, which was in a secure location.

The day before we left I also called UHaul to reserve a moving truck and a storage place to reserve a unit for all of our furniture and boxes of things that we couldn't take to the shelter with us, nearly everything but a couple of suitcases, a few baby books and toys. I called all the utilities, advising them that I was moving. And I contacted the owner to let him know that I had to break my lease. As I remember, he was very understanding. He let me out without penalty.

The morning we left, I had to act as if it were any other day. I took him to work and acted as if I would then drop Alexandria off at daycare and take myself on to work as I did many mornings. Instead, as soon as I'd dropped him off and taken Alexandria to daycare, I called in to work sick. I parked my car at the UHaul rental place, rented a truck and then drove to our house. I packed up everything we owned and loaded it into the moving van, all by myself. Beds, dressers, bookcases, boxes, clothes, tvs, dining table and chairs. Everything. Within a few hours I was driving to the storage unit to unload the moving truck. I kept what few personal possessions he had separate and put those in my car once I'd returned the moving truck. By the end of the afternoon I went back to pick him up from work and began driving towards his friend's house where I would drop him and his things off. He really didn't put up much resistance. I don't think he fully realized what was happening until some time later. After that I went to pick up Alexandria from daycare and then called the police. They met us as promissed and escorted us to the shelter. Most people to this day do not know that we spent time in a shelter. It was another thing that I felt shame and guilt over having to do, and never felt comfortable sharing with anyone.

Over the next couple of months I worked, saved up enough money to get a new place, and learned a little about domestic violence. But not enough. For many, many years afterwards I thought I had the power to steer things in the right direction, the power to love him enough to make him choose his daughter and me over the drugs, alcohol, abuse of me, etc. But I didn't. I tried everything I could think of. I now realize that nothing I could have done would have been the thing to make the difference. That was up to him, in his hands completely.

By sharing these stories my hope is that others will get a glimpse of what it is to be in such a relationship, the struggles, the hopes often dashed, but the strength that one can muster. And that by knowing me now, one can see that it is possible to get to the other side, to heal, and to move on to a better space.