Janey and I met about 12 years ago when her faxed resume came into the temp/recruiting office I worked for, briefly. The firm specialized in placing receptionists, admininstrative assistants and general temporary help. The task fell to me to call Janey and tell her that it would truly be a miracle if we received an employment req for a Process Engineer/Trainer with software development skills like hers. I stalled until I could no longer avoid the call and around 5PM, picked up the phone. My plan...thank her, offer to keep my ear to the ground and get off the phone as quickly as possible. Short, sweet, done!
An hour later I heard my own voice asking if she had ever considered recruiting. Janey asked great questions, listened and was completely engaging...qualities I appreciate and admire in her to this day! Long story short, she was hired and a professional friendship was launched.
Over the years, Janey and I have worked together on a number of projects, and I owe my successful leap from retail management to the technical/software development world to her patient instincts and rolodex. Colleague gave way to casual friend and along the way, as we shared our stories, hopes and dreams, deepened into the very rich, close friendship we enjoy today.
Janey and I have shared a lot over the years and our relationship is a gift I rarely take for granted. But until last night, I did not completely understand the life circumstances that came far too close to preventing this friendship. You see...my friend Janey almost lost her life to a batterer. Here, with her blessing and in her own words is the first part of her story.
Which story?
When I was asked to tell my story about domestic violence, my first thought was, which one? Should I tell the story of how my upbringing made me a good candidate for such a relationship? Or the story about my abuser and the cues I missed early on in the relationship? What about the relationship itself – would that be helpful for others to read about? Finally I decided that there may be many stories, but the one I share most is the story of how I left.
Leaving an abusive relationship is a sad and perilous journey. The abusive chapter of my life is one that changed me forever – for the better. My subsequent recovery from the abuse put me on a path to become a healthier, happier and more confident person.
First, a word to those of you who may be in a relationship that you know, or suspect, is abusive. Each person must make their own choice about when to move on. However, please know that your top priority should be your own safety and wellbeing. If that little voice in your head is telling you that you are in danger and it’s time to go, listen to it.
Letting go
I had known for some time that things were not going to turn around. My husband had agreed to go to couples counseling, but his violent moods continued to worsen. You’ve probably read about the cycle of violence – the abuser always feels sorry after an abusive incident and there is a “honeymoon period” when he is again the charming man you first met and when he promises it will never happen again. Then the next time it may actually be worse. I had reached the stage where he was threatening to kill me in the bad times. I contacted our therapist on my own and he said he believed I was in danger and, breaking from his advice of the past, he advised me to leave.
I knew the therapist was right. The little voice was louder than ever and I was afraid all the time. As is often the case, however, it was still over a month before I actually left. I followed the therapist’s advice and made a plan right away. I planned what to take with me, writing a list and hiding it where my husband would not look. I planned when to go – he had a long commute to work and when the time came, I would stay home, confirm that he had reached work, and then go. But I sat on the list and the plan, still hoping maybe, just maybe, things might get better. Even though the exchange between abuser and abused can’t be defined as love, if you’re talking about your husband, hanging on and trying to make things better feels like love to you.
It happened on a trip to visit friends some distance away. It was a windy, rainy night. He got lost trying to find our friends’ home and his anger at me immediately escalated. At one point, although I was not fighting back (it doesn’t matter), he again threatened my life…and something inside me shifted. It happened suddenly. I can’t say I was calm, but the fear was different – in that few moments, after two years of going from fear to hope to fear, I let go of hope. I don’t know if it’s because I’d had the discussion with the therapist or because I’d made the plan to leave, but my hope in the relationship ended that night and the fear was now tinged with determination. I said to myself if I survived the trip, I would implement my plan to leave. And the determination stayed – from that night on, all of my efforts shifted away from making things better and focused like a laser on one thing: escape.
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