How to Prepare for this Life Altering Choice

Those who have never experienced an abusive relationship will never had to answer the question, "Why did you stay?"  They will never understand the challenges that come from taking back control, from leaving the financial security, from giving up the dream of a better future.  For some, it was safer to stay because at least then, worrying about children visiting an abusive parent without the other parent able to act as protector is incredibly scary.  

Still, at some point, actions must be taken to get out...safely.  

Pack a ditch bag.

• Be sure to pack all important documents (birth certificates, passports, insurance information, social security cards, banking information, marriage certificate, copy of driver's license...)
• For future paperwork, you may even want a copy of his driver's license, the license plates, and pictures of him (I had to provide pictures once during a hospital stay for security so they could recognize him on sight.)
• For those with children with special medical needs, be sure to include spare supplies.  I took to driving around with a ten day supply of all her medical needs.  (bags, gauze, tape, food, spare feeding tube, extra cord to her pump...you name it)
• Clothes.  Just a few outfits will suffice.  
• Cash.  Have at least $75.  That's gas and a cheap hotel...maybe a few meals from a dollar menu.  (I can give you plenty of ideas for how to raise that cash in tomorrow's post.)
• Spare phone charger.  (enough said...)
• List of all phone numbers you may need in an emergency.  (At one point, my phone was a brick.  Having access to the numbers I needed meant that I wasn't crippled.)

Proof.  Have it.  Keep it safe. Use it.

• Pictures speak 1000 words, especially in court.  I created an album on my phone labeled 'Proof.'  When lawyers needed pictures, or police, or Victim's Assistance, I had them at the ready to share.
• I also had screen shots of text messages, and his computer activity.  
• Keep a list of any and all incidents, along with witnesses.  Mine...was a journal.  Having accurate details and dates made a huge impact on my credibility.
• Receipts.  I have them.  Tons.  

Feel free to add to this list, note anything I have forgotten or may have overlooked.  Let this be a jumping off point, a first step to planning a safe departure.  

What else would you need to leave?

This time...the continuance was on the other foot.

On December 3rd, I sat in the courtroom, shaking in fear at having to see him again.  It was the first time in a good week and a half.  Since then, I had sworn out a warrant for his threats of violence and he'd been arrested at 11:30pm while he slept on the couch.  Yes, the police were on the phone with me while it all went down.  

My neighbor left work early to come sit with me, offer her support.  It helped.  She calmed me down, as much as anyone could given the circumstances.  That first circumstance would be his presence, the next was that he asked for a continuance, based on his inability to meet with his attorney.  That's what he said.

I knew otherwise.  He couldn't even wrap his mind around the idea that he was supposed to be in court until the neighbor sitting beside me, supporting me...her husband warned him that he MUST be there.  So, he probably hired an attorney minutes before. Given that I had run into him in the lobby and overheard his conversation where he was making the appointment to meet at 9am, the very next day, my belief was more than valid.

Later, when the judge asked my feelings about the continuance, I was finally able to say what years of Law and Order prepared me for.

me: I object.

Soon, I realized I was allowed to make an argument to follow that objection.  So, my grounds for the objection went like this:

"Your honor, I object.  The defendant had ample time to hire and meet with an attorney.  In addition, I'm not entirely sure why he needs one to begin with.  The burden of proof is on me, whereas he merely needs to tell the truth.  And finally, I am concerned given that he has already violated the Ex Parte Order."

Heads turned.  Jaws dropped.  Apparently, I was convincing in my portrayal of a lawyer.  But not convincing enough.  

judge: Noted.  We'll continue the case until December 11th.

I was pissed.  Yes, pissed.  Given that he was forced to turn over his house key and was reamed out for selling items that are joint marital property, on account of EVERYTHING is joint marital property in North Carolina, I was supposed to be happy.  Plus, he was threatened with MORE jail time if he violated the order again.

So, over all, it was a win.  The 11th was a win, too.  After hemming and hawing, much back and forth, I won that order of protection.  He agreed to no visitation, no contact with me or Kenna for a year.  In North Carolina, that means we will be divorced before we ever are allowed to speak to one another again.

That brings us to the 20th.  I had been subpoenaed to testify against him for violating the order of protection.  It's complicated...the history of the orders.  Meeting with the DA was frustrating.  I was brought into another conference room while she tried to get the background on a case she planned to try minutes from now.  The justice system is neither systematic nor just.  This I now know all too well.

At first, she planned to drop the case.  Why waste time if she didn't think she could win? So, I did what I have been doing a lot lately.  I calmly, quietly, burst into tears of frustration.  No matter what he did, he always seemed to win.  This was only further evidenced by the fact that I had been served moments before.  And I was still reeling from the fact that he thought he could have full custody of Kenna, that he was the better parent.  Ah, but if I tell you all about that now, whatever will I blog about tomorrow?  

Instead, the focus...

My tears must have swayed her some, softened her stone cold heart.  Suddenly, she was willing to subpoena the deputy who served him to prove that he was the liar liar pants on fire that I had pronounced him to be.  After much discussion and running about, a little research with the deputy who had served me moments before, his case was finally called.

Wait for it...

The state asked for a continuance to find this mystery deputy.  The defense objected.  And this time...he knew the crushing blow of the continuance.  Next time we face each other, I would simply crush him.

Then the DA walked me over the date for our trial.  Yes, now...we go to trial.  Let me preface this by saying...I can't make this crap up.  I am suddenly living a Lifetime movie. I'm hoping it's the one where justice is served, not the one where the woman goes psycho when the broken system fails her. The trial date?

Valentine's Day.  

Yes, we face off on the four year anniversary of the day he asked me to be his wife.  That random proposal when he was so desperate to keep me, to win me back.  That time when he was thinking so clearly, when he realized what he had in me...long before he blew it, stopped caring, and broke my heart with as little concern as he had our bedroom windows.

So, I'll take all the advice I can get.  And in the coming days, I'll be sharing all I've learned.  It's a lot.  More importantly, it's not meant to be a secret.  I'm there for you.  And soon, my foundation will be, too.

New beginnings.

At the moment, I'm struggling to embrace the changes.

Part of the problem is that I thought our relationship would never end.  It always seemed like no matter how bad things were between us, we found our way back to each other. Only, given the circumstances, that's not going to happen anymore.  

For many years, I overlooked the signs, his flaws.  Loving him as deeply as I did, I made just as many excuses for him as he made for himself.  Because of that, our teamwork in denying his culpability, I feel the guilt he never did.  So many of his actions were mistaken for love and devotion that he managed to manipulate and control me while I rolled over and allowed it, completely exposing my underbelly to him.

Soon, I had quit my job to help him pursue his dream and became completely dependent upon him financially.  Then we married and my dependence was complete.  We had a daughter who had the distinction of being born incredibly small...record setting small.  With that came much extra care, much stress and strain.  He couldn't be the center of my world.  He had to transition to making her, making his family, the center of his.  I'm not sure that ever happened.

The next act of control was dressed up as a gift: my cell phone was added to his plan.

"Now I own your number," he said.  "You can never leave me."

In response, I laughed.  It was funny.  How could owning my cell number ever keep me from leaving if I really wanted to go?

After that, it was the vehicle.  We traded mine in, he added cash earned from the business we both worked, and when all was said and done...registered and secured in his name, he reminded me of my place once more.

"You can't leave with my car.  I guess you are good and stuck now."

Unfortunately for him, I never thought like that.  Towards the end, when enough was too much, I reminded him of that.  I told him that I was only with him because I wanted to be, that I didn't need him.  By then, it was true.  I was an author, self-published on all the major platforms: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Apple, and Smashwords.  My success could afford me a modest lifestyle.  And hadn't he always promised to take care of his child?

So, one Saturday night just before Thanksgiving, it all ended between us.  After more than a month of strained relations, after I had already filed for and dropped one order of protection, and after I discovered that he was back to all of his old ways...it was finally, forever, completely over.

"Go in the house," he commanded.  "You are in time out."   

Of course, as a grown woman, I wasn't one to go willingly into time out or anywhere else I didn't want to go.  That's why I refused.  When my objections were met with threats of violence, I finally headed inside.  Though it had been years, he had hit me once before. One miserable night that we had both vowed to forget suddenly came rushing back to me.  I was tough, but I didn't always want to be.  Just because I could take a hit and remain standing, it didn't mean that I wanted to ever repeat the experience.  So, I went into the house...left him stewing in the garage.

Ironically, I went to push the button and publish my latest novel, Shards of My Heart, the story of the last month of our life...his downward spiral, the abuse, the challenges I had faced, how hard I had tried to get him help...it was all in there.  When I was done, fifteen minutes later, I ventured back out into the garage...and he was gone.

The Find My Phone app told me he was at a local bar.  That was my cue, my sign, my chance.  I left.  It took me less than half an hour to pack everything I needed for the next couple of weeks.  After all, I had already followed the doctor's orders and made ditch bags for both me and my daughter.  Our important documents were already together.  Despite the fear in my stomach, the pounding of my heart, the tears that welled up in my eyes, I knew this was the right thing to do...even if it was incredibly painful.  Still, despite everything, I didn't want to leave him.

After all this time, I still wanted to believe that the man I had fallen in love with was still inside him somewhere.  If it had just been me, I probably would have stuck it out, but I had Kenna...this precious soul that needed my protection.  Her father was simply too dangerous, this loose cannon.  Life with him wasn't like walking on egg shells.  It was more like walking through a mine field, never knowing when one misstep was going to blow up in my face.  Suddenly, that was over.

With a heavy heart, I called the police, filed a report, and took out a warrant for his arrest.  The charge was communicating threats.  That was Sunday.  The following day was spent in court.  All of it.  From the time I filled out all the paperwork and was given a hearing on the 1:30pm docket, to the afternoon of waiting to plead my case to the judge.

Want to feel terrible about life?  Tell your story in court, have the judge pick it apart, dissect it for all to hear, then watch the reactions of those in the room.  I'm pretty sure I was clinging to shreds of dignity by the time I left.  Kenna was in the court day care, her first experience of that nature...ever.  I had no choice.  Then, with my copy of the order in hand, I collected her, gathered my belongings from a friend's house, picked up my sixteen year old son from his father's place, and headed to my mom's place on Florida.  It promised to be a nine hour drive from North Carolina.

I'm not sure where I was or when the idea started to take root, but soon enough I realized what I would need to do to recover.  Time and again, because of the situation I had been labeled a victim.  That doesn't even come close to describing how I see myself.  It was a distinction that I was at odds with.  Instead, I saw myself as a survivor.  Now, I would survive in style, doing what I love.  Somehow I would find a way to help others, other mothers with special needs children who weren't in a position to escape to a shelter, who needed medical equipment and supplies that couldn't be found just anywhere.  

The role that fit me best was always one where I provided hope, and spread love.  

It was time for me to start a foundation.  Meet the Destination Sweet Haven Foundation.  Our mission is to help those with a broken past build a brighter future.  We will provide long term housing solutions, therapy, and counseling.  Soon, we will have Sweet Havens all over the US.  

Help us achieve our goals.