Before the Chapter of Change

I met my ex-husband in the police academy. He was the kind of man that made me feel like I was the only person in the room. I was put on a pedestal. It felt like true love. It was the first real romantic love I had ever known. It was a very fast courtship. We met in January of 2004 and were married on March 17^th, 2006. I was pregnant with my daughter Amber pretty quickly and she was born January of 2007. My son Hunter was born February of 2008.

My ex-husband drank a lot. I didn’t really know much about alcoholism. And I took my vows seriously. For better or for worse. Sickness and health. When my relationship with my ex started to deteriorate, I figured it could be fixed. That if he just stopped drinking, we could talk rationally about things. Not everything would be an argument. Not every discussion would be exhausting because of how little sense he ever made.

There’s a lot that happened in my marriage that I never talked about. There are still things that happened that I’ve only just started talking about. It’s been almost 11 years since we separated, and I still find myself embarrassed, scared, and weak from the whole thing. Which in and of itself is just not me. So, it throws me off when I relive everything. When I come to terms with things.

The first time he ever hit me was on our honeymoon.

Not many people know this. Even to this day, I try to minimize the abuse I endured in my marriage. I’m not sure why exactly. I know it’s a combination of things. Mostly embarrassment. Mostly because I hate that I lied to so many people during that time of my life. Not because I wanted to lie to people but because I didn’t want people to know the truth. And the truth is that my ex-husband abused me for years. It wasn’t physical abuse all the time. It was definitely emotional abuse. It was definitely financial abuse. He controlled me.

We went to Punta Cana for our honeymoon to a resort which was all-inclusive. That meant we drank our faces off. We went to dinner one night and met an incredible couple who were celebrating their wedding anniversary. We talked for hours, laughed a ton, and then we went to leave for our room. The husband and wife both hugged us goodbye and said something about how we were a beautiful couple and best wishes.

As my ex and I were walking to our room, I could tell something was wrong. He left with a smile and now he had anger on his face. I had a good buzz and I knew he had drank a lot, so I didn’t know what happened because we were having a great time. Then, out of nowhere, he called me a slut. Of course I got pissed and used some expletive words about how he should not be talking to me like that. And that’s when it happened. He pushed me against the rock wall. Held my shoulders against the wall and spit in my face. Then he said, “I could kill you down here and no one would know.”

            Great honeymoon… right? Doesn’t everyone get their life threatened by their husband on what’s supposed to be the most magical trip of their marriage?

            A staff member walked by and he let me go. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back to our room. He apologized immediately. Said he must have had too much to drink, forced me to have sex with him to “make it better” and passed out. The next day it was like nothing happened. He was the picture-perfect husband for the rest of the trip. He was the man I had “fallen in love” with. I figured it was the alcohol and he must not even remember and so I didn’t bring it up.

            It’s taken me a really long time to admit that my ex-husband forced me to have sex with him. That didn’t just happen on our honeymoon. It happened throughout our entire marriage. Even now, I know it’s rape. I know I should use that word. But as a victim of domestic violence, I know I can’t verbalize being a rape victim as well yet. Society’s always taught us that husband and wife belong to each other and sex is expected. That’s how we make babies. So, I looked at it as though I had to, even when I didn’t want to. People will read this book and tell me I’m wrong. That I can’t be raped by my husband. I’m here to tell you that it happens. It happens a lot. I’ve investigated it. I’ve helped get people charged with it. I’ve lived through it. But, I still can’t say it about myself.

Just after we moved into our new home, my very first purchased home, Amber was about five months old and she was going to be baptized. My ex was drinking all day and when Amber was napping he snapped. All of a sudden. I say this to people and they’re like, “how is that even possible?” I don’t have an answer. My ex was two different people. One way when he was sober and one way when he drank alcohol.

He came inside and he was angry. This was pretty common. He was either happy or angry. Hot and cold. No in-between. No dimmer switch. He was yelling, and I finally said I had enough and that I couldn’t take all of this anymore. I was so unhappy, and I knew it. Wrong move. Very wrong move. He grabbed me by the neck and held me against the wall. His fingers being gripped around my neck was scary. As he squeezed tighter and pushed his hand against my throat, I started to not be able to breathe and I started to get fuzzy in my head. Then a tear fell from my eye and he just let go. In that moment, I couldn’t beg him to stop. I couldn’t yell for help - but a single tear fell, and he stopped.

He went into our bedroom and grabbed his shotgun. He sat at the end of our bed and held it under his chin. When he was mad he would make this face. I’ll never forget it. He clenched his jaw and would make his cheeks puff in and out. He would either close his eyes tight or he would stare ahead blankly. I was scared. Really scared. And my baby girl was sleeping in the next room. I felt helpless.

My mind runs a million miles a minute. In that minute, I remember thinking things like - what if he turns the shotgun on me, what if he blows his face off, what if I lose my job or my baby girl, what if he misses and it goes through our wall and hits our daughter. That kind of fear isn’t something I can re-create in words for you. It paralyzed me. I knew I had to survive that moment. Then I would be able to figure the rest out.

            So, I dropped to my knees in front of him and told him I loved him, and that Amber loved him, and that whatever was going on we could get through together. He would always question the fact that I loved him. I know now that’s because he doesn’t love himself. But then, I wondered what more I needed to do so he would know I loved him. What was I doing right? What was I doing wrong? This was my every day. Walking around in my own home, working my ass off at work, trying my best to be a good wife, and it was never enough.

            After a little bit, I got him to give me the shotgun. I unloaded it and placed it next to me as he cried in his hands and I continued to kneel at his feet. I held him as he cried. He talked about how fucked up he was and how his life sucked and made him this way and also how he didn’t know how to fix it. Then he turned to me and told me he was molested as a child by a priest.

            Throughout our relationship, he always told me how much regret he had about his mom dying when he was so young. He was in his mid-teens and she passed away from cancer. His last conversation with her, he made her feel bad about being sick. He used to say that so much of the reason he was mad at himself was because of how he treated his mom before she died. He also said his dad used to beat him and only him.

            Here I am, kneeling at his feet, I just pulled a loaded shotgun from under his chin, and he tells me that he endured sexual abuse as a kid. And when coupled with his mom dying and his dad abusing him, I felt like I needed to save him. And that even though moments earlier he was holding my throat so hard that the life was literally leaving my body, that it was all forgiveable because it wasn’t really him. None of it was his fault. If he had a better childhood – if he had MY childhood – none of this would be happening. He needs counseling. He can get better. He loves me. That’s why he let go. That’s why he let me take the shotgun. That’s why he is crying. This isn’t the man I married. I married the good one. This one was the sum of everything shitty that happened to him.

            And so I stayed.

            I thought about leaving. I thought about a plan to get out. I had to make it through Amber’s baptism because 100 people were coming, and I didn’t want anyone to know. In my mind, I tried to rationalize everything and stick it out and see how it was going to go. The next day, I woke up and had strangulation marks on my neck. No amount of makeup could cover it up. It was May. Couldn’t wear a turtle neck or a scarf. Especially as a cop who had a mandatory uniform. People knew. My Captain questioned me. I played it off. Not sure how convincing I was but the conversation stayed a simple conversation.

I’m not proud of the lies I told. I look back now and realize if I had told the truth to just one person, maybe everything would be different. But I was scared. Scared of so much more than I can even write about. I came to find out later that I wasn’t the only one lying. My ex was never molested by a priest. He was never beat by his father. These lies he told me were all a part of the manipulation. He used these lies to control me. To keep me. To alienate me. I lost who I was because of that control.

Prince Charming was back after the shotgun incident. Like full force. He had called his insurance about counseling. Cut back on the drinking… or so it appeared. He was engaging and sweet and remorseful and openly discussing what bothered him. Very strange for us. So, I was optimistic. And I got pregnant four days later while he was “trying to make it better.”

Hunter is 12 ½ months younger than Amber. My ex-husband was amazing to me when I was pregnant. My growing belly was a symbol of ownership to him. Again, all about the control and the image. And yeah, it took me a long time to realize that’s what it was. But it made him feel like a man. And I was helping create a human life that loved him unconditionally. I was a pawn in his sick world that he moved - whenever he wanted - through his lies and through fear.

I hated myself back then. I hated who I had become. I hated the exhaustion. I hated being married. I felt like a failure. I felt like a horrible mom for bringing two kids into this toxic environment. I felt like I had no control. Something needed to change. Unfortunately, it took him doing something even more horrific for me to flip the coin.

The Chapter of Change - October 16th, 2008

October 16^th, 2008

This is the day that changed me as a person forever. Let me say that again. The day that changed me forever. When I first wrote that line in my blog I felt the weight of it. The very real truth in it. Like - that day was my defining moment. Most people say that the birth of their child(ren), or the death of a loved one, 9/11, or a traumatic event is the thing that changed them. While all of that’s true for me, October 16^th, 2008 was the biggest change of my life.

It was after midnight when my ex-husband came home. Unbeknownst to me, he was very, very, very drunk. I found out later that this was an every night occurrence on his way home from work. His shift as a police officer was the afternoon shift. He always worked until 1030 or 1130 at night and I was asleep for a couple hours by the time he got home.

I woke up to him yelling and rambling and then he turned the lights on in our bedroom. He kept saying, “I’m done.” In my mind I was thinking, “What now? Here we go again.” I was thinking that maybe he was done with work or dealing with whatever was going on at that time. See, my ex was, and quite frankly still is, great at painting the picture of him being an innocent person and turning the focus onto him as the victim of circumstance. Zero accountability has ever come from him UNLESS he felt it would benefit him.

We had been having problems. He was stressed at work. I was stressed at work. Being a police officer is stressful. Being parents of a 20 month old and an 8 month old is stressful. We argued a lot. He drank a lot. It always led to an argument. It always led to me having to console him and me spending countless hours until the alcohol wore off for rationalization to kick into his brain. I look back now and I can see that it was more than just he and I being stressed. He is an alcoholic. Although at the time I had no idea what that really was. I don’t have an addictive personality. I don’t need a drink. I like a drink every once in a while but I know when to say when and I don’t need it to function. He needed it. But I didn’t see that until it was too late.

He was also having more problems at work than he ever let me know about. He had been suspended at the beginning of his career, and of course I heard his version of the story. So, he was still angry about that suspension and felt like he had a target on his back at work. He kept saying that he was making too many arrests and everyone was getting pissed at him because he was doing that which meant other guys and girls had to pick up on all the calls for service. In reality he was just as big of an asshole at work as he was at home.

What I didn’t know was that he was facing charges for an unlawful arrest with excessive use of force and planting evidence on someone. He had probably gotten told about it the night that everything happened with me. I blame his agency for what happened partially. It’s been something I’ve been holding onto. But I guess back then no one realized that if there were these huge problems at work that maybe someone should check in at home.

I would like to say that October 16^th, 2008 is all a blur. But I can still see every detail in my mind as if it just happened. I still have nightmares. My ex-husband kept yelling and saying he was leaving. I got out of bed and went into the living room. I could tell he was drunk. And he was mad because the “bears had gotten into our garbage” and he just kept rambling. I had enough of the arguing and I needed to sleep because I had to leave for work at 5:45 am. So I said, “Do what you want. I am going back to bed.”

That’s when everything changed. That’s when the monster I married showed himself.

He grabbed me by my shirt and threw me on the couch. He took his legs and kneeled into my throat to the point where I began to pass out. Then he hit me. Closed fist across the face and said if I screamed and woke either of our kids, he was going to kill me. And I believed him. I had never seen that look in his eyes before. It was rage. And I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.

For the next four hours I was nothing to him but a whipping post. He took his belt off at one point and threatened to hit me against the legs with it because that’s how his father used to beat him so no one would see the marks. He got a kitchen knife and wrapped my hand around the knife and made me hold it and told me I had to kill myself because he knew he would go to jail if he let me live. He continually strangled me until I started to lose consciousness and then he would stop and scream more. His face would be pushed against mine - forehead to forehead. He would yell and headbutt me. Over and over. I was scared to scream because I believed him that he would kill me and even worse - hurt my kids. I was scared to pass out because I was worried he would turn his rage onto the kids - my innocent babies who I now knew would never enjoy a full innocent childhood.

Early on during this whole night I saw his gun in his waistband. It was just stuck in there. No holster. I thought so many times that I was going to try to grab it and defend myself. I never did. I was too scared he would be stronger and I was still hopeful I had a chance to get out of this if I just waited for him to sober up. I took every part of his beating in hopes that I would live through it. But every moment was one full of paralyzing fear.

He berated me and said horrible things. He bit my face. He threw me to the ground and kicked me in the stomach. While I was on the living room floor promising not to ever tell anyone and promising that I loved him and only him, he pulled his gun from his waistband and held it to my head. That’s when he handed me the phone and said, “Call out of work and don’t say a fucking word about any of this.” I called headquarters and I said I was going to be out sick. I did this knowing that this gave him time to bury my body. I did this and immediately felt hope leaving me.

Then he told me to call my father and tell him goodbye. I refused. He kneed me in the back of the head and I went from sitting on the floor to laying in a ball on the floor. He placed a pillow over my head and said I would never see my kids again. I started to cry. And beg. Then I felt something hard pushing against the pillow and onto my head and I knew it was the gun. He told me he was going to kill me. He said there was no other way he would get out of this. I believed him. Then I heard him load a round into the chamber. The barrel of the gun pressed harder against the pillow and onto my head. And then I heard him start to pull the trigger. It creaked. Until I started writing this chapter, I had never remembered that creak before. The moment was so paralyzing that the only thing I could do was hear that small creak.

Then he started to sob and he fell to the ground. He cried for about a half hour while I laid on our living room floor, frozen in fear, in the same position. He passed out drunk right there next to me. So many thoughts raced through my head in that half hour. How am I going to get my kids out of here? How I am I going to tell anyone? What are my parents, coworkers, family, and so on going to think? How could I let this happen? How did it get this far? Could I leave him?

After he fell asleep I stayed where I was. I was too scared to move. Too scared he would wake up and still be a maniac that wanted me dead. Too scared that he would hurt my kids.

He woke up around 6:30 am. I was lying on the floor still in torn clothes. I was covered in red marks that were starting to bruise. Dried blood was on my face and arms. He didn’t mention anything that happened. He was quiet so I knew he was worried. Survival mode kicked in for me. I told him I had to take Hunter to the doctor because I thought he was sick. I was hoping I could take both kids by myself and go. He said he would take Hunter to the doctor if I could get an appointment. So, I’m thinking that left Amber and I safe but then Hunter wouldn’t be. Thankfully when I called our pediatrician she prescribed something over the phone and he wouldn’t have either of them alone.

Then I came up with the fact we had no groceries because no one was supposed to be home and I said I needed to go to the grocery store. He said he would go. Shit. Everything was backfiring. I gave in to him and said ok. I made a list of hard to find items that were scattered throughout the entire store to give me some time. I told him I was going to get in the shower as he was about to leave to go to the store. He asked if we were ok. I said, “We will be.” And he left. He took my keys with him. My plan was to wait til he was gone about 30 minutes and then get the kids and leave. But now I didn’t have keys to drive my car and now I was even more scared because I knew I had to call for help.

I made 3 phone calls over the next 5 minutes. The first was to 911. I called 5 or 6 times before I actually told the dispatcher I needed help. And even then I lied. I was so embarrassed. So worried about what was going to happen. So worried about my two kids and bills and work and other peoples’ feelings. I told her my husband and I were both cops and we had a really bad fight during the night and I needed someone to come to my house. I told her he was at the grocery store and I didn’t see his gun at the house so that he might be armed.

The next phone call I made was to my dad. I told him that we had a fight and I needed him to come get the kids because I needed to go to the police station. Then my phone started ringing from my ex husband. And I was ignoring it. And the texts started coming in. And then I got scared again. I told the dispatcher she needed to have the police hurry because he knew something was going on and if he got back to my house before they got here I didn’t know what would happen. I never got a chance to thank that dispatcher. The steps she took to ensure my safety without me knowing what she was doing, truly may have saved my life. She sent the police to the grocery store, found his truck, and they waited for him to exit.

The third call I made was to my Captain. I told him that we had a domestic, my gun was in my locker, but that I was going to get a restraining order. He told me to let him know if I needed anything and then twenty minutes later, my two captains were at my house to help. They walked in and I was still in my torn shirt, and my house was destroyed, and I was swollen from being beat and from crying so much. I felt even weaker right in that moment than I had the entire time my ex was threatening to kill me and beating the shit out of me. Two men who were my superior officers and who I was supposed to be strong in front of were seeing me at my weakest moment.

When my ex walked out of the grocery store and saw numerous officers from different agencies waiting outside looking at him, he turned around and put his hands behind his back. It was as easy as that. It was as if in that moment he had admitted his guilt. They didn’t say anything to him. They just started walking towards him with their hands on their guns and he stopped the cart in the lot, turned around, and put his hands behind his back. He didn’t have his gun on him. He had left it in his car. Maybe he was more scared of coming home to me having his gun and shooting him with it. Or at least that’s what I like to think because it gives me a small amount of power back from that time. It took me a while to figure out why that small belief was so important and I think it’s because he knew I would never allow myself to be a victim again. And that he knew I was strong even in my weakest moments.

The rest of the day was a blur. My dad came and got my kids and said something to me that still hurts to this day. He said, “Do you really want to do this?” I was mad at him right then and there and there have been very few times I have been mad at my dad. He was looking at me and he knew me. He saw my shirt and the red marks and that I was crying. He knew I wasn’t someone who would do something like this unless I had to in order to be safe. Why now in the moment when I was trying to regain some strength did he say something to make me feel like I should question myself? I now realize that it was because he didn’t want to accept what just happened to me.

I went to the courthouse and I was there for what felt like forever. I had to recount every detail. That was really hard. I was amongst my peers. Fellow cops. In a cold environment. That courthouse was old, and it smelled. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t slept. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. All I wanted to do was go to sleep and hopefully wake up to this all having been a bad nightmare. I told them everything that happened that night. I was so determined to be strong that I didn’t tell them about the other times. The honeymoon. His suicide attempt. The control. I wanted out of there so I told them what I needed to, I got a restraining order and I left.

He was charged with criminal restraint, terroristic threats, two counts of aggravated assault with a weapon, and two counts of possession of a weapon for unlawful purposes. Bail was set very high which his dad posted for him so he could be released. Except the judge who found probable cause for the charges added some stipulations for his release. He had to undergo a psychiatric evaluation for starters and then he could only be released into a rehab facility.  He was released less than 2 weeks after he beat me to go into a 28-day rehab. Then he decided to testify on his own behalf at the grand jury hearing, which landed him additional charges of kidnapping and perjury.  His bail was increased and again his family posted the money to get him out of jail. I don’t think I slept for a long time. I had my kids in my bed with me in fear that I would not get to them in time if he broke into my new house. I left the house we had together. I couldn’t go back there. It wasn’t a home anymore.

He later took a plea deal for a six-month jail sentence to which he served 2 months and 1 week. Yup.  2 months and 1 week for trying what he did. And yes - I was angry. At times, I still am. I’m going to talk more about what has happened since his arrest in the chapter Aftermath.

I don’t share my story to get sympathy. I share my story so people realize that this can and does happen to anybody. I missed every sign that this was an abusive relationship from the beginning. The hundreds of calls and texts a day. Him going through my phone. Him getting mad at me when I didn’t answer fast enough. Him never believing me. I barely saw my family anymore when we were together. I was always made to feel guilty. I didn’t really talk to my friends anymore. I wasn’t allowed to go out. He made me feel guilty about wanting to eat healthy food or go to the gym. I was constantly apologizing just to keep the peace. I wish I had seen all of that before October 16^th, 2008 but hindsight is 20/20.

I refused to be a victim. I refuse to be labeled as a victim. I am a survivor. I am an advocate. I have turned the worst day of my life into so many positive things. I am able to relate to victims on a more personal level. I have helped women out of abusive relationships because I can relate to them. I have worked closely with our volunteers who come to our headquarters to aid victims. I have spoken to groups of people about what happened and try to show them what an unhealthy relationship looks like. I show people that it does not matter what color your skin is, how much money you have, how you grew up, what you look like, or even that you’re a cop. You can still be a victim. I know now that it was not true love. It was obsession. It was control.

I have two amazing children from my first marriage. I am so thankful for them. I’ve learned that I didn’t let this happen. This was not my fault. I have let myself love again. I have not allowed October 16^th, 2008 define me. I allowed it to change me for the better. I have found true love. My husband, Matt, is a man I want my son to emulate. He is my everything. He is gentle yet strong. He is understanding. He holds none of my past against me. He loves my children and I unconditionally. He knows how to disagree without fighting. He is respectful. He is passionate. He is honest. He loves me for exactly the person I am. He has helped me create a life and a love that mimics the ones my parents live. Above all, he understands that I take on so much because of everything I gave up while with my ex husband. He supported me getting my college degree after college degree. He never makes me feel guilty about starting my own business, being at work, being my daughter’s girl scout leader, spending time with my friends, going to the gym, or anything else. He has given me the gift of true love. He makes me feel safe. There is a chapter about our love story because while every fairytale has a villain, it always has a hero as well. He is my hero.

Do not let anything or anyone hold you back. We are given one life and it should not be wasted. I am grateful. I am blessed. I am stronger. I am forever changed. I took the worst situation and I have flipped it into many blessings. That’s the power we all have. To flip the coin. Change the script. Live the life we deserve and want.