Transitions - a continuing tale

We will all go through transitions in our lives. They begin at birth and continue to occur through and including death. If this posting rambles a bit, I sincerely apologize as much is ebbing and flowing through my mind concerning the transitions which have taken place in my life. I honestly want to put everything in chronological order, but sometimes my fingers get ahead (and often behind) my thought processes!

I grew up in a very abusive environment - notice I didn't use the word "home." My two brothers could do no wrong - they not only were handsome, wonderful, smart, etc., etc., but they were perfect in every way imaginable. I understood hate and the damage it can do at a very young age. There are very few bones of my body which weren't broken during my childhood as a result of severe beatings for imagined wrongs I had commited. An unexplainable strength developed within my very being - best I can remember it occurred sometime after my grandmother died.

Girls of my generation were not taught anything about life. However, this girl was not permitted to get a drink of water without asking permission. There was no going to the ice box for a snack or having a cookie after school. The hours I sat in a straight-backed chair placed stragically in the kitchen until my mother determined I could do my homework, mop the floor, or be locked in my bedroom haunted me for years.

I had no idea what was happening to me on my 17th birthday when I started menstruating. I truly believed if a boy kissed me, I would get pregnant. I was not permitted to have friends come to visit and I definitely was not permitted to visit any of my friends' homes. I wasn't allowed to use the telephone - and if anyone called me, I was punished.

I always worked to "Help support the family." What I was really doing was maintaining a steady flow of booze for my parents. At the age of 14, I went to work at an ice cream parlor about five blocks away from where I lived. I worked there every summer until I graduated from highschool. Helen and Tom - whom I called Mater and Pater - were absolutely wonderful to me. The summer after completing my Junior year, I met a fellow! He would come in three times a week, always ordered the same thing, and always left me a five dollar tip. I remember telling my mother the first time I met this fellow "I've met the guy I'm going to marry." I had no idea what marriage entailed, I only knew it meant I could get away from my parents!

He was permitted to come to to meet my parents, and he literally asked for my hand in marriage. That evening, my mother accused me of being a tramp and began to beat on me. For the first time ever, I stood perfectly still and just stared at her with what, I am sure, was pure hate eminating from my eyes. As she dropped her fists, I asked her "You won't ever try to do that to me again, will you?" It was the beginning of what I thought would be a wonderful transition.

I'd saved money for a wedding dress - gave it to my mother so she could order my dress from the Speigel catalogue. The dress never arrived. I was forbidden to consider getting married in ANY church. My cousin gave me a suit she'd outgrown so I would have something nice in which to get married. On July 7, 1956 I got married by a Justice of the Peace in my mother's kitchen with my mother as our only witness. That afternoon, on U. S. Highway 1 at a rest area, my husband raped me in the front seat of his '49 Plymouth. After driving for what seemed like days (but was really about 15 hours) we ended up in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina where I was to babysit for my husband's sister - she and her husband were going on vacation.

I thought I'd gotten away from cruelty and abusiveness by getting married. What a wonderful life I would have! I'd found a nice job at a high-end jewelry store, learned how to drive, I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to eat it, I could talk on the phone for hours if I chose to do so, I visited friends and had friends come to visit me, and I didn't have to be around my parents unless I absolutely wanted to! But, this euphoric state only lasted for about six months.

My transition from abused daughter to happy wife never happened. I'd only gone from the frying pan into the fire. When it became apparent I wasn't pregnant right away, I was beaten and subjected to hurtful sex at all hours of the day and night. I had to quit my job because the viciousness of the attacks upon me left me with highly visible bruising. Then, my husband got drafted into the Army! For the next 12 years, I was pregnant for what seemed to be ALL THE TIME. I had six children and miscarried 4 times in between full-term pregnancies.

Our 12th wedding anniversary was celebrated with me in the hospital recovering from a miscarriage. We had already buried a son who died from pneumonia and a daughter who died from Crib Death. We had four beautiful sons aged 9, 5, 4, and 2. The next day, upon arriving home, my husband informed me he wanted to get me pregnant as soon as possible, because he was on orders for Viet Nam. My transition truly began at that moment when I responded, "You won't ever touch me again unless I want you to do so. You will never force me again or I will kill you." He later told me that for the first time, he was honestly afraid of me.

While he was gone overseas, I sought and received counselling. Imagine my surprise when I learned that being an abuser or being abused is NOT NORMAL. I was horrified to learn that I wasn't completely alone - there were many, many other women out there who were experiencing the same kind of abuse as me! And being told the only person who can really help me is ME set me back on my heels. When I was told each of us has a choice we can make concerning how we live - stay and continue to accept abusive treatment or leave and begin a new life free of pain.

He extended his tour of duty in Viet Nam for another year. During that second year of his absence, I hired an attorney to prepare divorce papers to serve when he returned. And, I kept him informed through letters of what I was doing. The day he returned and walked in the front door, I handed him the papers for him to sign. With no argument, he signed them, and the boys and I left and never looked back!

The two times I stood up for myself - against my mother and my husband - empowered me mightily. Never again would I be abused and mistreated by anyone for any reason. The transition from abused to empowered has sustained me to this day.