reconciling things

March is a weird month for me every year and I always forget that until I am midway through March and wondering what the hell is going on. It’s like getting little whiffs of something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

Yesterday, with the month nearly over, it occurred to me why I was feeling a little…off. Yesterday was exactly 6 years to the day that my ex-husband walked out the door for the last and final time.

I’ve never told this story publicly, partly because it is no one’s business, but also because I always want to be fair in my telling of things and when things are fresh sometimes the emotions cloud the objectivity. But now, six years, intense therapy, a divorce, an annulment, falling in love, and an engagement later, I have loads of perspective. So, I will tell this now if for no other reason than maybe there is a woman (or man) stuck in a terribly abusive cycle who needs to be reminded that other realities are possible.

During March of Lent of 2019 I stood in the very back of the Confession line. When it was finally my turn I sat in front of the priest and said, “Father, I am not looking for absolution today. I don’t even know what to confess. But, I need prayer and I need to tell someone. Tomorrow I am giving my husband an ultimatum to get sober and get help or I have to leave. And I’m scared. I believe my life is in danger.” He listened. He prayed. He gave me a pastoral blessing. I cried.

The next day I sent my children to a friend’s house and had my husband alone. I made him a hearty meal. While he was eating I sat on the rug in the living room and I gave him the ultimatum. I had 911 already dialed in case I needed to hit call. Instead of lashing out he just sat in silence chewing. After a while he said he wanted to stay.

For a week he was a dry drunk. Not drinking, but angry as hell. The tension and the violence increased. And I prayed. I prayed so hard every day, every moment. I drenched my pillow in tears. The kids and I would gather in the dark in my room and whisper the Rosary. We had to whisper because if we prayed out loud he would become enraged.

Then on March 30 I noticed signs he had been drinking again. So I confronted him and he did not deny it. He was deviant even.

I remember it as if it was yesterday. He was on a ladder and I was standing in the doorway. And time stood still.

I have never been a brave person. I’ve been a people pleaser, a fearful worrier, and timid rule follower. I was raised to never be an inconvenience and to never question authority. In that moment, I just stood there looking at him. The kids looked at me. Were we going to do this song and dance again? How many times? Was this just my lot in life?

Somewhere within me there flickered a tiny spark of divine grace. I heard myself saying, “That’s enough. You can go now.” I didn’t shout it. In fact, I think I said it rather meekly. But there was a new conviction that had never been there before.

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”(Benjamin Mee)

He looked at me with disbelief. Perhaps he thought I didn’t mean it. But I did. Somehow in that moment I found my voice. I found I had a spine. I found a sure footing. I knew one thing and that was that this was enough.

He grabbed a duffle bag, shoved a random collection of clothes in it and as he walked out the door he said, “Just so you know, you’re going to be alone always. You think your fancy church friends are going to care for you? I promise you they won’t. You’ll be alone forever and no one will care for you.” He threw his duffle bag into the back of his truck and squealed out the driveway.

I gathered up my kids and some hastily made PB&Js and took them on a day hike with one of my “fancy church friends.” I don’t recall that we even spoke about my husband leaving. We just breathed the fresh spring air of freedom. Then I came home and slept so hard.

My life is completely different than that day. I grieved hard and for a long time. It was a tough letting go of a 19 year marriage and all the expectations that come with that. I did not want to be a divorced woman. I had to learn to embrace being misunderstood and being the villain in others’ stories. I’ve been on the brink of losing myself only to find myself in Christ. I wanted God to save my marriage, but instead God chose to get glory from my brokenness. And isn’t that the way? The way we think we can best serve God and fulfill out purpose is not always the way God has mapped out for our sanctification.

“I don’t have to paint myself a different color. Happiness isn’t holier than grief. God has created space for both. We can be both. We can be all of it.” (Nightbirde)

Looking back at all the things the kids and I have done that I thought were impossible. Supporting ourselves, working on the house, sending kids to college, taking road trips, embracing the Faith, building a life. We learned to operate outside of survival mode and to really embrace joy.

That one tiny moment of just embarrassing bravery.

That one little moment of cooperating with grace.

That little spark of grace was fanned into a flame of a passion for life and for my family.

If you are stuck in a situation you think impossible to change, might I suggest standing in the back of the Confession line and then telling the priest how scared you are. I promise something good (who knows what) will come of that. Maybe the seed of courage will be planted in your heart.