We think we’re plugging along in life okay and then WHAM!!! We get hit right in the center of the heart with another grief emotion and we wonder what is happening. Such was the case with me. I really thought I was doing okay. Bills were getting paid. We had a house to live in. The girls and I had food on the table. My ex-husband was locked away, and I knew he’d never abuse another child again. All of these things are such positive things. Why, oh why, then was I feeling so rotten?

I could feel myself swelling up inside with feelings that I never wanted to feel. I felt jealous of those who had “normal lives.” I felt like I got cheated out of so much, and sometimes I’d find myself yelling at God that life was so unfair! I felt angry. I wondered when the anger would come, and let me tell you it did! “Why? Why did my kids have to suffer like this because of their father? That was NOT fair at all! They never asked for this pain, this suffering, this anguish, this humiliation. They were good kids. No, I take that back. They were great kids! They deserved more than this!” “God, do you hear me? Why? Why did you let this happen? Is this all part of your plan? Really? Is this what you planned for our lives?”

Innocent children have suffered tremendously because of the man I married. I never felt the emotions of remorse and sadness so heavily on my heart. This is not right. NOTHING GOOD can ever come from a precious child being abused. “God, why? You know I placed every bit of trust in you to help me find a righteous, godly husband. Why this one? Why send me to a man who abused precious children? Why allow these innocent ones to be hurt like this?”

My grief was all over the place. And, I do mean all over the place. At night when I turned off the lights and was alone in bed, my heart felt like it was literally bleeding. I did everything from cry out to God, to yell at God, to question the very existence of God. That’s just what grief does to a person.

Where does one turn during times like this? I certainly couldn’t turn to family members. They were suffering right along with me. I couldn’t turn to my church family. I felt as though I had none at this point. When John’s truth became known, I had already been ostracized from the church due to the lies he was telling. He made me out to be a crazy, horrible wife who was vengeful and had turned away from family and God. None of that was true, but not one member of my church family ever came to visit me to find out if there was any truth to what he was saying. Instead, they pitied John and left me struggling by the wayside. What a sad commentary!

For about the next two years following John’s incarceration I became very quiet — not sharing many of my feelings with anyone (who would listen?), and putting on a strong face in public. Sometimes we hide behind masks, and I became a pro. Why? Because I knew if I released all of these pent up feelings and this burden of grief, I would scare people. I would place a burden on my children, and I didn’t want to do that. They were burdened and wounded enough. I didn’t want others to see me like this. What good would that do for anyone?

And, so……I experienced the many, many faces of grief (anger, hurt, pain, frustration, jealously, hopelessness, unforgiveness, hate, and unbelief) all the while wearing my mask of strength. Maybe the mask helped me survive this life-changing, life-threatening storm. I don’t know. I do know this. Living the life as the spouse of an abuser is difficult. It’s painful. And, it is lonely. Very, very lonely. Living the life as an abuse survivor is the same. Very few people will understand. Very few people can honestly validate your pain. And, sadly, at times there will be very few people who genuinely care.

And, this is why I share my thoughts with you. I don’t want YOU to experience this kind of anguished loneliness. I want you to know that someone’s in your court. I want you to know that someone cares. I want you to know that someone understands.

I want you to know that you’re going to make it.

With much love until the next time,

Clara

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