An Open Letter to a Former Friend

I almost ran into you at the shopping centre today. Twice. 

The first time could have been written off as simply not noticing each other – a crowded shop, busy sales assistants, browsing clothes to select Christmas gifts. It’s easy to not notice someone you know as they walk by, especially if they’re not looking in your direction.

The second time is a little harder to pass off as a failure to notice each other. You were parked next to me in the carpark. We arrived at our cars to unpack our shopping at almost the same time. We loaded up our cars, dealt with trolleys, got ourselves and the child with us into the car and drove away, all without making eye contact or acknowledging each other.

I’m not sure why you made no effort to say hello to me. I can speculate, of course, but I can’t be sure. It could be anything from lack of interest, to feeling awkward, to disgust. We have a reasonably connected backstory, so I know it wasn’t because you didn’t recognise me. I’ve spent enough time at your house and we’ve had enough long conversations for there to be no chance that you mistook me for a stranger. You ignored me on purpose. 

I ignored you too, of course, but I know exactly why. You were one of the Christian friends who chose to disconnect from me and my children after I separated from my abusive husband. You’re one of the people who was supposed to be one of my Christian family who never followed up to make sure the children were okay, or that I was okay. I know that you were there to support my ex-husband, but you obviously chose to believe his version of events without any attempt to contact me.

I do wonder sometimes what version of events he shared with you and other Christian friends and family. I wonder how many of the actual facts he shared, or if he just gave you the same distorted self-focused version of things that he tried to convince me was the truth. 

Did he tell you I kicked him out of the house and took away his home, his children and everything he had to live for? He told me that, repeatedly, forgetting that I was there the night he left, when he crowded me into a wall and demanded that I hit him because he knew that I wanted to. I left instead and when I came home hours later he had a bag packed so he could stay at his parents. 

I am the one who ended the marriage, of course. I can’t and won’t deny that. I told him it was over because I’d finally realised that being with him had robbed me of all hope of ever being happy; because I’d realised that being with him was giving my daughter the message that her happiness was irrelevant as long as her husband was content with his life, and teaching my sons that as long as they were happy, then the happiness of their wife and children was of no consequence. I left him because he made me feel invisible and because I finally, finally realised that I deserved better than that. 

Did he tell you that he visited the house all day Saturday and every Thursday night to spend time with the children? Did he mention that I facilitated this by leaving the house during those times? Did he mention that he used his unsupervised access to the house during these visits to vandalise my belongings and go through my personal paperwork? Did he tell you he regularly spent time in my bedroom with the door closed even though none of his belongings remained in the room and I’d specifically asked him to consider this room as my personal space in exchange for me making the house available to him so he could relax with the kids? Did he tell you that when I changed the lock on the bedroom door, he threatened to break it down (in front of the children) unless I gave him access to ‘his’ room?

Did he tell you I was possessed by evil spirits (the only possible explanation for me saying that I didn’t love him and wanted to end our marriage)? Did you offer sympathy and prayers because he was the victim of spiritual warfare? Did you recommend he purchase books on how to cast out demons? (I know he bought these because he used my customer loyalty card to do so.) Did you know he believed he was getting direct instructions from God about how to convince me to return to my faith and turn my back on Satan? Did you know he did this in front of our children and told them that God couldn’t be with them if they were in the house with me? Were you oblivious to his distorted Christian ravings, or were you encouraging them? 

Did you know he touched me, repeatedly, when I told him not to? That he entered the house, repeatedly, when I asked him not to? That he sent me text messages, repeatedly, sprouting prayers and, when these didn’t work, demands and abuse and false accusations? Did you know that I had to contact the police, repeatedly, to find ways to keep myself and the children safe? Did you know? Did you care? 

Did you know that I endured 22 years of a marriage that made me feel insignificant, inadequate, and invisible and when it ended, people like you who I thought were my friends simply confirmed that I was all those things? Do you know that almost three years later, I’m still attending regular trauma/PTSD counselling to help me process the awful years of my marriage and the abuse that followed my decision to leave (and the childhood that taught me to believe that I deserved to be treated that way)?

Did you know that you weren’t alone in deciding that I wasn’t worth the effort it would take to get in touch to check that what my ex-husband was telling you was true? There was the woman I thought of as one of my best friends who told me I should go back to him despite knowing I was attending domestic violence victim counselling (because marriage is a covenant promise to God that can’t be broken). She and her husband also helpfully offered to pray for wisdom for my children when the kids asked them (and you) to not believe everything their father was saying and to not encourage him in the delusions sparked by his distorted faith. And the woman who thought I should see it as a sign that the relationship could be repaired that after years of saying that we had no emotional connection, my ex-husband was sad to the point of threatening suicide (repeatedly). Wasn’t that what I wanted? For him to connect with his emotions? I should be grateful and return to the relationship to support and encourage him to continue to be more emotionally aware.

And my parents, of course, who have accepted his version of events, informed me they love him as much as they love me and will offer him support, and who have abandoned me and neglected their grandchildren in order to show me that I can’t expect their love or support unless I do things their way. 

That’s why I couldn’t talk to you today. Because I don’t know what you know, and I don’t know if you’ve believed the lies, and I don’t know if I’m safe with you. Because if you’ve believed his lies, and if you’ve chosen to accept his words as 100% of the reality of our situation, then I can’t trust you. It’s not pettiness because you chose him instead of me (which is an insulting concept from all angles), it’s because you never even made an effort to see if the kids and I were okay. Not once. I can only presume it’s because he told you I didn’t deserve your consideration and you believed him. Or maybe you never really cared for me in the first place. Either way, I deserve better than your indifference and I choose to no longer connect with people who treat me with such disrespect and disregard.

I hope that you and your family are happy. I really do. And I hope that you really have been oblivious to all the things I’ve mentioned above (and so much more) that have been my reality for the past 3 years. I hope that you’ve already stepped away from my ex and his toxic narcissism and distorted faith. You deserve better than he is capable of offering. 

I hope all these things, but I’ll probably still pretend I didn’t see you if we come across each other again at the shopping centre. I’ll feel bad about it (as I did today), but ultimately I’ll choose protecting myself over making sure I don’t offend you. 

Accepting that I am Broken

Several events recently have forced me to accept that after decades of fighting to be strong and confident in a relationship that constantly made me feel insignificant and invisible, and another 15 months of an emotionally manipulative separation, I’m not simply emotionally battered and bruised, I’m broken.

I want to write about it – about what it feels like to not be able to trust yourself, to be vulnerable to so many emotional triggers, to be constantly debating with yourself and analysing your thoughts and emotions in an attempt to discern the reasonable from the irrational.

I want to describe what it’s like to accept that you’ve been a victim of abuse and all that means – the sense of weakness and failure and frustration and guilt. I want to share how it feels to realise that the only counselling that provides meaningful support and comfort comes from domestic violence and trauma specialists.

I want to describe what it feels like to stand on the sidelines of public debate about how evangelical churches handle abusive relationships, reading comments by those who are criticising the presentation of research, deflecting attention away from the main issue and feeling offended by the suggestion that Christian communities would condone any kind of domestic abuse. I want to share what it is like to listen to these discussions while feeling overwhelmed by the memories of my own failed attempts to seek help from leaders of the four different churches I attended during my marriage.

I want to describe what it feels like to have some of the most significant people in my life look at me in my most vulnerable moments and tell me that they think I’m self-absorbed, selfish, lacking in faith, unnecessarily emotional and inappropriately focused on my own happiness. To have my father tell me I only think of myself and my mother say that she can’t bear to be in the same room as me, while they mention that they are willing to invite my abusive ex-husband over to their home for dinner. To have Christian friends pass judgement because I’m not valuing the preservation of my marriage ahead of my own emotional wellbeing. To face a wall of silence from people I assumed would be the foundation of the network of support for myself and my children.

I want to share how terrifying it is to encounter an unexpected emotional trigger that leaves me shaking and in tears and feeling so incredibly isolated. What it feels like to be curled up on the floor having a panic attack feeling weak and fragile and hating myself for not being able to control the flood of anxiety that makes it so hard to think clearly.

I want to write about how much I hate that my brokenness impacts on those I love.

I want to talk about all of these things and more. The thoughts swirl in my mind and I want to share them, but when I sit at a keyboard suddenly the words are flat and meaningless and convey none of the intensity of what I’m feeling. It’s just another part of me that is broken.

I’m hoping that accepting that I’m broken and making the effort to get the words out more regularly – dull and lifeless as they are – will help me to reach a place where I feel less shattered and better able to pull the pieces together to redefine myself and my life.

Today I am broken, but hopefully accepting that brings me one step closer to feeling restored.