Twenty Six a true story about d.v.

Twenty-Six…

            Point two miles is a lot of pace. We were fledglings really, the five of us. Paula and Martin ran together as the only couple from our group. Georgia  was up ahead the whole time, she ran two Iron-mans in the past and she can acclaim the prize of, “teaching,” our group of novice marathon runners. In fact she inspired it. Along with Georgia  there was Emily, our dear Emily, Rachel and myself. We were friends from another sport I call charity or in other words we were a group of young adults in our 20’s serving in our local community through our church on various assignments. We enjoyed volunteering. Some of us were also part of a soccer team that we incorporated in the local neighborhood, do-gooder, scheme we all had going on. The marathon was our splurge, after Georgia  introduced us all to the idea at a party. A few of us were asked to come into her office where she had printed off a clip from Runner’s World Magazine. There were more of us than just the five that ended up running, Nicole, Rhonda, Georgia  and some others were there too. I had no idea there was a lottery involved when I first heard the words, “Marathon and Run,” put together in a sentence Georgia  formed around her athletic face. I can still see Georgia , standing there, hands on hips, she still had a visor on from that days run and her Cloud cruisers from Switzerland, apparently world renown for keeping the miles from shedding feet. Her hair was cut short and her face a bit older than most of the kids in our group. I say kids because this event took place four years ago. Oh, how much I have changed from 3.5 years ago. I feel more like Georgia  now, the old mother hen. Standing there she let us eyeball the clip,

            Runner’s World Magazine

MOST ORGANIZED: St. George Marathon
St. George, Utah, October 2

Efficiency reigns at St. George. "Parking was easy. Packet pickup fast. Plenty of buses," wrote one reader. But what propelled St. George to the top of its class is the staff's dedication to good service. At the start, in the cold predawn hours at 5,200 feet, 70 mini-bonfires burn to keep the field of 7,200 warm. In 2008, when it rained on race morning, volunteers handed out garbage bags at the start. And at the finish, more than 50 certified massage therapists are on hand to soothe runners' sore muscles. Moreover, 92 percent of readers who rated St. George gave it top marks for the knowledge and friendliness of its volunteers.stgeorgemarathon.com

READER TIP: At mile 14, look left to see a 500-foot cinder cone, one of the volcanoes responsible for the region's lava rock.

Negating excitement was not possible. Aside from Erin everyone else played on the co-ed soccer team once a week on Friday nights. My husband and I along with Martin and Paula had started the team a few years ago. We managed to find a large group all within our age range from church and the local community. Everyone knew everybody and we all became close friends with our hard work and dedication. The funny thing is, being in your prime (around 25-35) means being in your prime right? Most of us had children on the sidelines and at least once a season someone’s wife was pregnant running around with an extra soccer ball. I have to admit when I was 26 and on my fourth pregnancy, I did the same thing. I ran around the field at five months pregnant, sporting my tummy with a camouflaging device called an extra-large. I am not sure why we girls did this? Was it to prove something or to sincerely help the team by scoring, “pregnancy points?” Regardless the bonding part had something to do with watching a mother return to the sidelines after six weeks and passing an infant from team member to team member before giving the baby back to a grandparent on the sidelines.

After we all agreed to put in we had to wait to see who would get picked. I half-wittedly put my entry in on the page Georgia  had also printed thinking, “No biggie, probably won’t get picked anyway,” a few months later my registration came in the mail along with a brochure. The first thing I noticed was the elevation.

The second thing I noticed was the length,

When Georgia  had casually mentioned, “marathon,” and set out a magazine article that had more to do with volunteerism and method than reason and logic. I overlooked the facts, like as in 26.2 miles for starters. I mean why didn’t I think of that when I sent in my packet? Or the fact that the elevation changed almost 3,000 feet over the course of the race? Granted it was all downhill but who ever saw an accumulation of hills with only one side. What goes up must go down right? The entire race was made up of hills, valleys, dips and rows and rows of scenic asphalt all barricaded off for spectators viewing. If it weren’t for the crowds on race day I am not sure we would have made it.

***

            Paula and I had become friends immediately when I moved into a new area in Marana, Arizona (just outside of Tucson). Primarily the reason being that we seemed to have a knack for kids, soccer and volunteering. Our husbands also seemed to be the type to get involved and help out and bring people together. We went on quite a few couples dates, concocted a name for a new team we formulated when the four of us realized we liked to play football in Brazilian terms. The name, Marana United, was our husband’s way of paying patronage to Manchester. We also delved into a couple of conversations involving an important trip to Europe to see a game once we one at least one championship. Like an end of the year party in another country. It was a fetching idea and quickly became one we all wanted to run away with. When Martin and Miguel (my husband’s name) were off at work all day, Paula and I met up for girl dates with other friends in the area and worked on some volunteer assignments for our church. Soon enough, we had become the type of friends that could count on one another. We swapped stories and secrets, you know the kind.

            An astute pen name would be, “heart understands,” for Paula. I could tell instantly that a little tear jerked at her eye when it came to kids. Upon my arrival to a new area I walked into the bishop’s office and asked if I could have a calling. At first it was just to teach a small class of about ten kids that were ages six and seven. This is where I noticed Paula mirroring me in another class. She had on a navy and Polk-a-dot scarf interlaced with a cardigan and knee high boots. I thought she looked very classy. She also seemed to be around my age, in her early twenties, I smiled at her and she smiled back. With our growing church, in an area with a lot of starter homes which may  have had to do with increased family attendance- which always seems to be the case with little ones, more help was needed. Paula and I were actually picked out, after a year or so had gone by, to head what we referred to as the primary presidency. In a primary presidency there is a group elected to facilitate the needs of the Sunday school, youth groups and activities for children ages 3-12. We both accepted our positions. Paula was the president and I was the first councilor. Then we added from there.

            One of the first things that bothered me about Paula was her bluntness. She had an appetite for learning and helping and sporting but she seemed to always say what was on her mind. I hadn’t noticed quite as much until about a year into the presidency she called me on the phone to ask a question about our other organization we mutually resolved together. She said,

I am not sure what to do so I called you. Are you and Miguel okay? I mean how do you put up with some of the things he says? Martin and I have been thinking about quitting the team?

I thought for a minute and answered back,

I am not sure what you are talking about exactly. I know he is hard on people and he takes the game to serious. Is that what you are talking about?

Paula answered back,

That is exactly what I was talking about. We are out there to have fun and all he does is cut people down. He keeps pulling girls out from the second half just so we can win the game. If we really wanted to win the game maybe we wouldn’t even play? I mean he doesn’t seem to want us, “girls,” around. Why did he choose co-ed anyway?

After listening to Paula finally get things off her chest I envisioned my husband on the field calling out orders and asking men to man the “exact,” position he had asked them to play out. No belly flopping out there he would say which meant you had to stay in your area when really who cares if Martin ran up to help Jared out. I was ALWAYS embarrassed. I was not the type to play by the rules. I was not a leader. I was the type to sit on the sidelines and turn red in the face when my husband did things like this. When he pulled out his formation dry erase board one night I wanted to run, far away and never look back. Instead, I teased him relentlessly, but he never seemed to get that he was making a fool of himself. So, I knew exactly what Paula was talking about, exactly. But, I loved this man and had thought he would grow out of if some day. I mean with good church type people around that knew how to treat others, maybe it would rub off. I wanted Paula to end the conversation with thoughts that I had for her. I wanted her to say,

            Maybe we can get together and talk about how to help him tone it down a bit. Maybe he just needs to feel loved. Maybe he is feeling insecure and we could talk to him kindly about it (you know, jokingly like I had).

Paula didn’t seem too interested despite the fact that we had other friendships due to our church calling that required collaborating outside the church in person for meetings at least once a week if not more. Paula sounded more spitey than usual and moved on to another request,

            Want to go to the mall for lunch or dinner tonight when our husbands get home.

I answered back what had become the norm in my family,

Well, I wouldn’t be able to get out the door until I put the kids in bath and read them stories. Miguel just can’t handle it.

Paula was on to something and her “lay it out on the table personality,” pushed her just a bit farther to trap me,

Oh, I see. Well lunch then. Do you mind driving into town around 1pm? I can meet you there, you can bring the kids.

I answered politely,

Well, you know Miguel doesn’t want me to go very many places without asking first. I mean we do meet already once a week.

Paula cut me off,

You know my friend and her husband just got a divorce and they both seem very happy,

Was all she said in response? I felt my tongue well up in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I thought she was a church goer? We didn’t speak of divorce when it came to family. I had four little kids under age 8. How could she do that to me?

The next time I saw Paula was at a friend’s house where a bunch of girls got together to watch, Bachelorette. They had a bucket of ring pops at the front door, I thought this was kind of cheesy but took one anyway and stuffed it in my purse. Paula and I ended up talking towards the end of the night. She said,

            So Martin and I were thinking of splitting the team. That way we can manage the team the way we want to and there won’t be any conflict.

It was all too much for me. I loved Martin and Paula. I wanted her to say something else. I wanted to see her big heart and charity. I wanted her to say,

Martin and I talked and we noticed what you were talking about. He does need help to learn how to change. We will try to be more accepting and teach him by example. I am sure if he felt less insecure as you pointed out in the conversation and more loved that he would come out of this super ego persona he keeps displaying.

No such luck. Paula insisted that they either split or Martin and she remove themselves as coaches. They just didn’t want to be involved. Martin had put in to run for some political agendas in the area. Nothing major, just the local school board, still his name was on the ballot and they would be polling soon. In the end, after talking things out, they agreed to stay and play but didn’t want any ownership. This seemed to actually be a move that put my husband in check. He seemed to finally grasp what I had been trying to tell him and toned things down a bit.

                                                                        ***

            Running is never a good idea when you live out in the country. Did I mention that all of my friends lived in this master planned community that was twenty minutes away from me? This is one of the reasons my husband had asked me not to do as much driving. It was adding up. Not that I could just sit on some acreage in the middle of nowhere while my husband was gone for long hours at work and school trying to press ahead in order to live the American Dream and stare at yellow walls and talk gibberish all day. By the time my youngest child was two, I desperately needed this marathon and a lot more company than limiting my gas and mileage could account for. Since, I could also agree that gas mattered I decided to do most of my running out in the country and only make the drive once a week on Saturdays. My husband agree to at least watch the kids on Saturday mornings, IF, he were in town. He worked for government intelligence so he had some missions he would get called out on. In those situations the jogging stroller and a neighbors help had to suffice.

Did I mention we had a large family? Our last and final baby made number four. It was what I had always wanted from a young age, to have the typical homemaker life. And that is exactly what happened. Be careful of what you wish for. Marrying a very traditional man allowed me to make only one request, “When we decide to have children, I want to stay at home,” I never said this again. We married at nineteen thinking we were in total love, it may have been puppy love at that point but who cares? Who can define love these days? I was the poetic artistic type and he was the captain of the high school football team.  I liked that he was powerful and not shy. When he wanted to do something he soared and took flight. I hated that I would clam up in large crowds and depend on others to introduce themselves. Regrettably, I detect (now that I am older and more mature) that this man derived so much crowd cheer for those few short formative years as the leader in a community sport that he never really quit inside. I mean if he wasn’t making sure that he was the hero of the game everywhere he went maybe the cheering would stop someday? I know it did for me.

After I had my last baby, Georgia  came up with this marathon plan just in time. I had quit nursing and needed something to do. I didn’t know it yet, but I needed someone to cheer for me too. All my life I had been cheering for the wrong team, the other people team. If you haven’t had four children from the time you are twenty to twenty six then you may not know what the word, “spent,” is but I could feel it, finally. I topped out at four children and a career head. A career head is what I call a husband that deems success as his only labor except if you have a stay at home mother the mother takes care of the children and that is her success. This is not how old fashioned I am, this is his scheme and I was backtracking the minute I realized, “career head,” you see before this I had imagined we were in a race. Once we got the house, the cars, the checkbook on a positive note, the career and schooling completed my single mother married job would be over. We would have our stability and sit in the backyard chasing kids around in our pajamas together not apart. I thought we were about to finish when he thought the game had just started. The game of winning and being the captain of the team.

                       

***

            When the lotteries came back most of us texted Georgia . She seemed to be the expert. Out of about ten men and women that were at the party that night and took a form only five of us were selected. My husband was never interested so I didn’t have to worry whether or not he made it. Georgia  was so stoked and excited. He mailed each of us cards with expert runner quotes such as,

“But I also realize that winning doesn't always mean getting first place; it means getting the best out of yourself.” 
― Me Keflezighi

And

"The body does not want you to do this. As you run, it tells you to stop but the mind must be strong. You always go too far for your body. You must handle the pain with strategy...It is not age; it is not diet. It is the will to succeed." Jacqueline Gareau, 1980 Boston Marathon Champion

And some CD’s she burned with her favorite running music. Folded neatly in each envelope was another print off from Runner’s World Magazine, it was our schedule.

***

            After Paula and Martin had made their point on soccer nights I felt I had a leg up in a way. My husband seemed to hush his tones a bit more even around the house. I decided I would assert myself a bit and tell him off if he gave me a hard time about running, “I do everything for these kids and for your career, this is the only thing I want, to run.” I held my ground pretty firm and if he did give me a hard time I made sure he noticed how Abigail did not want to be strapped for an hour in the seat of the stroller and how Katie missed her Daddy and how Isabelle didn’t like the neighbors and how Christian needs a Dad to show him how to mow the lawn. Then I left and joined the other Mom’s and occasionally Martin every Saturday for

 Weeks.

            Mostly it was just us girls which included myself, Paula, Georgia , Emily, Rachel and Rhonda. Rhonda was not part of the lottery and never put in but Erinhad invited her to, “just work out with us,” until we made it to the 15 mile marker. Erinwas a mother of six kids. I admired her greatly. I am not sure how she was able to pull things off. Later, after our race, she adopted two children from Ethiopia just because she felt inspired. That and her husband was a lawyer so it made things easier. She was also DIVORCED. I couldn’t believe it after I had met her. She was tall and slender and stylish. She always dressed in mod clothing and for six kids the children were all equally adorable. They too dressed in a casual urban style and always had manners and seemed to delight in their mother. She was a role model to me although I almost gasped when I found out that her first two children came from a different father. I even judged a little wondering who and what and why but I tried not to. She seemed normal enough and mostly I just felt sorry for her having to split her precious children up with a guy in another state. Rachel was the first one to sign grab an informational when Georgia  set a stack of St. George debriefings on her desk. Rachel had a free ride in college for running so nobody was surprised. Whenever we were too slow when we trained she would take off and wait for us at the end. She was like our hero leading the way in the night. Rhonda was Rhonda. She was a bit older than us and always tried to get in on our group. I wondered who had invited her but at the same time thought, well at least I don’t’ have to feel guilty that I didn’t invite her. It was just that she was a bit on the negative side and I hated having to hear about all her gossip about all the people that bothered her growing up. I mean we were all grown up right? Despite it, I love Rhonda to this day.

            One thing you realize when you start running above 12ish miles is that human beings are human beings. If you can’t handle that you probably shouldn’t run. One morning, I went with just Rachel through a neighborhood. We decided to meet at the end because she wanted to train faster than me. It was an awful experience. I got sick. I mean really sick. I ran to a person’s house that had their garage open and begged to use the bathroom. A STRANGER. Yes, I did that. You didn’t know stay at home mothers were tough did you? Well, that is not all. I am only one story and by the end of the marathon we all seemed to have a story up our sleeves. And sleeves could also just be where you wipe your nose on the home stretch. I mean you can’t bring a bathroom with you when you run that long. So, you just learn to deal. And eat jelly beans. Jelly beans are small enough to stuff in the smallest pockets of your bike shorts. They are also filled with liquid juice you find in energy drinks. When you are standing waiting on someone to puke their guts out you remind each other to eat jelly beans and you will get through the next hour. It was on one jelly bean bathroom break occasion that I learned to love Rhonda. Consequently, it was the last occasion we had to run with her. We had chosen to run uphill in the foothills to simulate the elevation changes of the St. George climate and everyone became sick on this run, everyone.

            What I do when I run is listen to music. I love my friends but I do not enjoy talking every step of the way. I would rather plug in and lose myself somewhere between where my feet hit the pavement and the sky is my limit. I love the endorphins I feel when I run and I just like to get lost in it all. This particular occasions, in the hills where the terrain was far worse than usual, I forgot my iPod. I had to run and listen to the girls talk. It made me feel a bit off and I did try to join into their conversations but it instantly irritated my normal rhythm so I just went up a few paces and tried to let their conversations fill my head with radio music.

            Rhonda, of all people, decided to ask Erin about her divorce. I couldn’t believe it and at one point thought about dropping back just to protect Erin from the humiliation. But that is when I heard Erin start to cry, “I needed this Rhonda. I just needed you all to love me today. I never told anyone this.” I slowed down after Erin finished her story, I felt like I was Erin for a minute, I didn’t want to turn around. I was afraid all the girls would see that I was going to cry. I kept telling myself, “its okay. Hold it in. Don’t cry. You’ll be home soon.” The story, the tragic story, about the abusive husband who never hit her but only told her every day of her life that she didn’t matter and that she shouldn’t ask to leave the house and that she should be lucky to get to stay at home was my husband. I couldn’t believe it, I mean I had never thought of abuse that way before. I mean in Emily’s story no one hit her, no one punished her physically, she was just called names to the point of not wanting to live anymore. I didn’t want to end up like that. I looked down at my shoes, the ones that Georgia  had told me would wreck my knees up if I didn’t fix them and remembered what he had told me, “you have a grocery budget and that is enough. Don’t even think you are getting new shoes after this.” They were worn so thin that you could feel my foot just beneath the surface when you moved it.

                                                                        ***

A few short weeks later, we ran the long 26.2 miles around a winding obstacle course that was filled with rusty colored sienna and yucca plants that dotted the horizon. Naturally, Paula, Erinand I ran together in our slower paced time division. There were signs all the way down the solid mass of people marking what time zone you were in, we stayed with 5.25 for the majority of the time. That meant you would be finishing the race in five hours and twenty-five minutes. Georgia  and Rachel were more expert runners so they just took off when they shot the pistol in the air. Martin, being a dedicated husband, tried to run with Paula for a while but gave up. It is harder to run at a pace that is not your own, even if it is slower. You would think going slower would be easier but we all have a natural rhythm and it is important to keep within that to stay safe.

One of the most amazing parts of the race were the people, younger, older, and handicapped, children and all walks of life. There was an older man with white hair pushing his son in a wheelchair, eyes glistening and keeping up with our pace (in fact later he passed us up). I looked around at the solid mass that stretched out twenty six miles wide. We were close enough to touch. We were close enough to hug. All of us- even the estranged. AT the top of each hill I would look down into the valley of the wide sea of faces feeling mesmerized by their beauty. I watched the faces wrap around the winding path of energy and love. I felt overjoyed by the hands reaching out to give high-fives on the sidelines and smiled at the strangers handing out cups of water we would later smash under our feet like they were godsends sent from heaven. Then Young MC chimed in on one our rest stops, I had decided I could go no longer. Georgia  had insisted to pay for some new shoes by the end of our training but I couldn’t be too late. My knee had already been stressed. And we had had plenty of money. If we had anything we had had money. I felt angry as I started contemplating quitting for the first time. I wasn’t a quitter I told myself but my knee screamed back, “I can’t take it, it hurts too bad.” This is when I blared the music to drown out the sound,

If you want it, you got it

If you want it, baby you got it (Just bust a move)

If you want it, you got it,

If you want it, baby you got it (break it down for me fellas)

It was the individual cheer I needed I guess. Not that Young MC is profound or anything. It was all I could handle when my knee started to ache. I didn’t press any other songs, I just repeated this chorus on all the uphill battles. We still had ten more miles.

            Erin was next, she stopped running. I hadn’t expected her to just sit down and cry. This I when I stopped repeating Young MC and scooped up Erin with Paula. We encouraged her to get up and keep trying and she just shook her head saying, “I can’t. I just can’t. I am dying.” “You are not giving up, we only have five more miles left,” Paula and I kept saying. “We will not leave you,” we said. Suddenly nothing else mattered but Erin and getting her up. Reluctantly she rose to the occasion. She drank some ibuprophen we offered her and took a few jelly beans I had stuffed in a pocket with some tissue paper for her eyes. Her paced had slowed down a notch or two and it hurt Paula and I to have to run slowly. We decided to take turns running beside her to get her to keep coming. Running ahead and back again to keep our legs moving at the right pace was like giving Erin life support. I forgot completely about my knee and Young MC. All I cared about was that she needed me and that she needed us. Each time I ran ahead I thought of things I would say when I came back like, “You can do this Emily,” and “You got this Emily, we are on the home stretch,” she was crying the whole way home. Paula and I ran circles around her on top of running the last five miles but what I would say is, “Erin ran circles around us, giving us a flame to live for,” in a sea of unfamiliar lives.

            When we ran into downtown St. George at the bottom of a 2,000 foot drop my mother, brother and husband were waiting for us. Emily’s father came bounding up to meet us two miles before we passed the marker. He was a big jolly fat man holding a sign with Emily’s name and face painted on it. Martin came doubling back to race with his wife after already crossing the finish line and Rachel and Georgia  through roses at us and gave us all our cheering back. When I stepped off the platform where everyone waved and took pictures my husband ushered me aside and said, “Why is your mother here?” I looked at him dead in the eyes, “Because she loves me, why else would she be here?” He didn’t want me to tell her where we were going to eat with our friends because he didn’t want to be embarrassed that I also had a mom. I told him to go away a year later, forever. I called our bishop and asked for family counseling. We tried three different councilors. Before one session, I found out in the car before walking in that he had also cheated on me three times during our marriage. I had no idea. Then he told me the therapist were crazy and that I couldn’t tell them what happened. He forbid me. I did anyway when we walked in and he lied, staring me down. I didn’t want to know anymore. I just wanted a divorce. I stayed in therapy and he walked away from all of it. I gained the support of my friends when they cheered me on saying, “no, families are everything but abuse is not and if someone doesn’t want to change then you have to change something.” As I left, he kept saying, “wait, I can change,” and I thought to myself, “It’s running a marathon either way, having four kids and not having a college degree completed yet, but at least there is a finish line up head. I really want to win this time and I am tired of running a three legged race with someone that makes me wear shoes that wear both my knees out on upward climbs.

Follow up:

Only two years later, I found out my ex-husband had not only lied about multiple affairs when I asked him honestly and went to counseling for three continual years asking him in the office specifically if he was, he also had stopped payment on our house for over a year without letting a family of six know about it. We ended up with no money and a house I had to sell myself with four kids under ten years old, while he stopped all payments for child support for over a year. During the divorce, that I filed for, he threatened with a weapon and also physically abused me with a weapon on his belt to the point of being left on the ground with my face dragged shoved into the gravel for trying to get away by hiding under a truck in the driveway. He had already  been asked to leave the house with a restraining order. Again after that he told me he took out four new life insurance policies on each of my children and asked me to take our more life insurance and name him as the beneficiary. The next week after he discussed life insurance with me, he attempted to murder me and my four children by professionally cutting and bleeding the brake lines to my vehicle when we lived just off the interstate with the speed limit at 75 mph. We barely were able to stop from crashing and possible fatal accident when the brakes went out with all four kids and myself when we traveled to the grocery store one day. This man still continues to be saluted as a prominent figure in American Criminal Justice and carries a badge and weapon to this day. He poses a threat to National Security. I have contacted every leader I know in America with this story to try to prevent anyone else from being hurt and also myself and children again in the future. I’ve been in and out of counselling and multiple safe houses since then because of weapon threats and violent threats that need to be secured at another facility. I have been trained to handle an armed assault and received therapy to be able to defend myself. I’ve also after three additional years of therapy and the kids in therapy been asked to go back to school to get my doctorate to become a therapist myself by three different therapist. The threats continue to this day and more than that, I am sad to say, I am publishing this to stop the violence. Please get out and stop d.v. . I do not speak to this person at all and have a restraining order and have moved out of state for my protection with my children. Please do not speak to him is my God given right to warn all of those I know and care about as this person has assaulted. That is all I can say. Freedom of the Press. Amen.

My reluctancy to write about the afterwards additional violence my ex-husband has done to me was only that I want anyone suffering abuse to stop where the story ends. If you are being treated similar to my shoe story or anything before it even gets to that level alone, please leave. You may be able to work it out is my humble prayer too if it is worth it and he has a good reason such as PTSD or Mental Disorders. I am very pro-marriage, but do not stay under the same roof at that point. Get out and seek counseling immediately. There are resources you can utilize. It doesn't have to get to the shoe level I talked about or worse the follow up truth of even greater abuse and even murder attempts on me and my children. Just leave, please. I want to pay forward all I learned and if it will help other victims... please utilize my testament. There is life outside of human bondage and sufferage from abusers like this (no matter what their rank and status). All people in this nation are important to God almighty God. You are loved. He will help you, if you seek him. Here is the link (click here) and number for the National Abuse Hotline for The United States Of America if you need it, I want you to call NOW. 

I wanted to pay forward what another woman blogged about when I was deciding to file for divorce also. I am LDS and when the abuse started every woman almost that I turned to told me to suck it up and stay and work things out. That is not the only solution and is not always right at all. I am very Christian conservative, but you need to feel it is okay in your Christian groups to leave a man, permanently if you are being mistreated especially! The woman's blog gave me courage to call a lawyer that very day and start on the road to recovery. I have searched for the blog since, however it is not published anymore as far as I know. There are many resources out there however, if you just try. Also, if you like blogs and want a second opinion on leaving, here is another one (click here) that hit home for me especially (years later) concerning Christian viewpoints that may threaten your ability to leave even (not that I do not understand holding on and trying in a bad marriage, but the abusive marriages have got to stop. If you do stay and make it, you are increasing odds for your children to become abusive or future victims of abuse also (just because of the stimulus from growing up believing abuse should be tolerated to follow God's plan on a forever eternal marriage to one man or woman). God bless you... you can do this! Call!

Thank you Dr. Brantley for pushing us as students in our creative writing class to write something more than just the fun memories. You are a wonderful teacher. 😊