“Hyper-criticism that began on her honeymoon turned into physical abuse when Moss bore the first of her and ex-husband “Gary’s” three children. Sexual assaults and marital rape later became commonplace, as did violence towards both Moss and her eldest two children . .  .Moss found Gary’s generalized violence, in rages and wall-punching, as damaging as actual beatings. After a particularly intimidating episode, when Gary punched a glass door panel and had to be hospitalized to stop the bleeding of his lacerated arm, Moss left Gary for the first time.”

Bob was not that bad. Let me make that clear. He never actually hit me, and I don’t think that I would call what he did rape. But two things: 1) I did not stay in my marriage nearly as long as Moss stayed in hers, and 2) he did like to punch things. I never, ever thought of it as abusive before, though. Once during a fight, we were sitting on the floor. I can’t remember why or what the fight was even about, but I do remember he punched the dresser right next to my head. He scared me at times with the forcefulness with which he would yell. After we separated, a trip to the emergency room involving Julieanne led to a fight where he ended up screaming at me in the middle of the parking lot, “You know I have self-control, because I just want to beat the shit out of you!”  He kept moving in a way where I felt threatened. I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me. I kept flinching every time he moved toward me. “Would you stop flinching? I’m not going to hit you!” he yelled.

It wasn’t like that all the time, but there were incidents. I’ve said most of this stuff that I remember clearly (or have evidence of, protecting me from any future litigation) before. Those two stand out in my mind, but they weren’t the only times I felt scared of Bob. I don’t even clearly remember other incidents. I only remember feeling afraid. I don’t remember how often that was. He never actually touched me, but the fear was there. He is much bigger than I am, and I had seen the force with which he had punched walls and dressers. I was always afraid that one day, he would hit me. Toward the end of our marriage, I became less afraid: I had known him long enough by that point to know it would probably just be the walls. You know what, though? I thought it was normal. I had the same fears of my father. My dad threw those exact same kind of temper tantrums. Only those would occasionally end in spankings.  Steve doesn’t ever yell at me that way, but I do flinch every time he gets upset. Not because it’s directed at me, but just because I am used to bracing myself for whatever it may be that comes. Steve doesn’t throw temper tantrums–I am just scared of anger, even when it’s not directed at me. I’ve learned over the years that even anger that I did not cause can quickly turn on me. I took a few shouting matches for my brothers over the years.

Anyways, back to Bob, even though I had learned that his temper tantrums didn’t end in personal violence during our marriage, just after we separated, I was scared that something would happen. He dismissed those fears: acted like I was entirely irrational and ridiculous. I actually believed him. But maybe I wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

Is it bad that I occasionally compare myself to abused women? I feel that so much of it was on the line. I don’t feel like I should compare my experiences to those who were actually physically assaulted or forcibly raped in ways I was not. But somehow, I identify with those women, too. It just doesn’t feel so cut and dried. Part of it is every time I think about it, I hear a script running in my head from the time we were dating. He told me his ex-girlfriend had dumped him and accused him of abusing her. He laughed about it. “Can you picture me abusing anyone?” I had giggled at the time. “Nope!” The picture he painted of this ex girlfriend: whore, liar.  . . now me. I now wonder what really happened. I’ve said all that before, too. Nevertheless, I picture him saying the same thing to his new wife: “Can you imagine me doing all the things Laura accuses me of doing?” No, of course not. Maybe an outsider’s perspective sees things more clearly, though? If I sound ridiculous right now, then perhaps we now know one of the reasons women stay with their abusive husbands. I don’t know.

Tell me what you think: do I need to shut up about this kind of stuff or stop the denial? One of the two. Of course, I would rather it be the former, because if I had to wake up and realize that what he did was wrong, abusive in any way, I would have to admit that is the kind of situation my daughter is in. What kind of mother knowingly leaves her child alone with that kind of person? Denial is easier when there is precious little you can do to get your children out of that situation. Well, regardless of whether or not it would have eventually turned physical and regardless of whether or not I am being ridiculous in my comparisons, I am so glad I got out when I did.

So many things in my life have improved over the last two years! Someone asked on a message board yesterday, though, about how those of us who have been through this kind of marriage feel about relationships now. It’s a good question, and made me think about the little things I do that I didn’t used to do. How I am a little more jealous and less trusting than I used to be. Here was my answer (with a few more details added):

I have a hard time knowing what “normal” is now. I have tried therapy, but since I’d had counseling classes, I already knew all the “answers,” and the truth is that there are no real answers. Steve is SO patient. I don’t deserve him as nuts as I am, especially about stuff in the bedroom. Since I bought the whole “abstinence” thing the first time around, I was sexually trained in a very abnormal environment. Even though I’ve been with my current husband for over 2 years now, I still struggle.

The truth is, I learned a lot of things I probably shouldn’t. I didn’t learn how to be a loving wife; I learned how to be someone’s fantasy. Which is nice occasionally, but it is not particularly fulfilling or meaningful. I learned how to degrade myself to fulfill what someone else wanted. As I am still a pretty modest person, this is embarrassing to admit, but I learned that when I needed love or comfort to go for sex. In my life, there was no cuddling. If I needed human contact, I went for the home run. Now there is human contact and warmth and I don’t know how to deal with it. It’s nice, but it’s not how I’m wired anymore. Sometimes, I ask myself, do I really want this or do I need a hug? It’s a very similar script to those who use food for comfort: are they really hungry, or do they really want something more? (Note: It’s not all Bob’s fault on this one. A good portion of it is that I was very, very naive. Some of the things he wanted were perfectly normal, but I had no idea they were expected in a marriage. I didn’t know how to perform, and I felt uncomfortable. Where he went wrong was the constant pressure he put on me to perform and how often. Stuff didn’t get weird until close to the end.)

And at first, I had a VERY, VERY difficult time trusting Steve when he was gone. Things in that area have improved much with time, but I still find myself paranoid that he is telling me one thing and doing another just like what happened last time. I do have some major trust issues. When he’s out, I wonder if he’s really where he says he is or doing what he says he’s doing. If a girl calls, I have to tell myself that he’s not Bob. I am very confused about the subject of porn, too, but find it difficult to discuss it with anybody. I honestly don’t know what is normal. I know there is a wide range. I know the statistics. But I don’t know what is normal for me, even. I became used to doing things I didn’t really want to do, so now that I actually have a better choice, I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to decide for myself what I like and what I don’t.

The Most Harm, Part Three: The Fallout in the Christian Community
I finally found the courage and left my husband. The hardest part of leaving was telling my family and friends that our marriage had dissolved.
I told my mother. She cried, but supported me. I knew she would tell people as she saw fit and did not take it upon myself to spread the news when I was still trying to get on my feet. To this day, my father and I have not exchanged one word about it.

Word did spread. A few weeks later, I received a phone call from my parent’s pastor. Without a “hi, how are you doing,” he launched into a thirty minute lecture where he grilled me about the reasons I left my husband, my sex life, and my faith. Some highlights of the conversation include the part where he told me “Now, you claim to be a Christian, and I am going to tell you how to act like one whether you like it or not.”

At another point, he asked me about whether or not I attended church anymore. “Yes,” I told him.
“Does the pastor know about your situation?”
“No, I just got there. I haven’t even met him.”
“You should talk to him about it.”
“I don’t think I would be comfortable with that.”
“Well, then what are you doing there?”
“I’m trying to heal,” I said.
“You don’t need to heal. You need to get back out there.”

After that phone call, I did not attend church again for five months, when I attended a very liberal Episcopalian congregation for awhile. I put his phone number in my address book under the entry “Jesus Police” in case he called back.

Another lady I had known and respected my entire life sent me several emails condemning my actions. She told me she could not think of a reason why it would be okay for me to leave my husband. Many months later, she wrote and asked me for forgiveness, which I gave, but our relationship was irreparably damaged.

I received multiple emails from my Christian classmates I had not talked to in years that followed some form of this format: “Hey, how are you? I heard about you and Bob. What happened?”

And the rest of what I heard from the conservative Christian community was silence.

Except for one friend. She heard the news and said, “Oh, Laura, I am so sorry! Why don’t you come out with me for some coffee, and we’ll catch up. You can talk about it if you want to, but you don’t have to. Just let me be there for you.” I am still very grateful for this.

Over time, wounds scarred over and I forgave many people for their hurtful responses. I only post them now to show what it’s like to be part of a Christian community when you do something they don’t like. How they kick you when you are down. How they take what’s left of your shattered heart and shatter it some more, then tell you it’s all your fault it’s broken.

I still refuse to set foot in my parent’s church. It used to be mine, too. I grew up in that church. They gave me beautiful wedding and baby showers when I got married and had Julieanne. They sent me cards when I attended college and left the country for a mission trip. When I got divorced, they gave me showers of silence and judgment. I had known some of those people for nearly 20 years, and nothing hurt worse than that.

(For more on how to actually be helpful to someone going through a divorce, check out this post.)

Click here for part 4.

New Year's Eve, 2006. I look older then than I do now.

Yesterday’s trip to the mall reminded me of the harm that can come from religion. Walking along, Steve and I came across a camera man, an interviewer, and another man sitting at the table. “Would you like to ask the Duggars a question?” the man asked.

“No, thanks,” we said,  but I began thinking. My parents loved Bill Gothard , as these people do. They tried to raise me in a similar way the Duggars try to raise their children. I wonder about those girls. What will they do without a college education? What if what happened to me happens to one of them?

People often ask the non-religious “Why be so against religion? It doesn’t hurt anyone!” Even ignoring the wars and prejudice associated with religion, religion can hurt people on an individual level. I am proof of that.

People who have been reading my blog for awhile have seen bits and pieces, but I have never put it all together. I have mentioned growing up in a fundamentalist home and marrying a ministry major at my conservative Baptist school. Together, we served in  professional ministry for about three years and later divorced. I talk about what it’s like to have an ex and what it was like to be a minister’s wife. What I don’t mention is what it was like to be married, and the very personal ways religion has harmed me through that marriage. Writing about it is very hard, publishing it even harder. This is definitely the most personal, intimate post I have ever written. I am a very modest person, so writing about the most secret parts of me is very hard to do. But I think it is necessary for others out there who may be in similar situations or who are parenting their children in the same way I was parented. The more people I meet, the more I see a need. So here it goes.

It began as a child. My mother worked evenings as a nurse, leaving me with my father and two younger brothers. At the time, my father definitely had more of a domineering attitude toward women. (I think he has softened some since, but am uncertain.) While he did not force me to cook and clean, he did have strong expectations for me to take care of my younger brothers. I can remember once he forced me to “serve” my brother a piece of pie I had made while tears streamed down my cheeks. During that time, he treated my brothers as “the boys” and me as just a girl. All of this based firmly in religious beliefs.

As people felt strongly about sex education in my rural high school town, I received very little of it in school. My parents did not discuss it with me apart from “the talk” and I was not allowed to watch movies with a higher rating than PG. Except once when I begged my mother to let me watch “Never Been Kissed.”  Sometimes I watched higher rated movies anyways when I visited friends, but we mostly watched scary movies and we were all pretty modest and shy about the subject. The most graphic sex education I ever received in high school came when I visited a long-distance friend’s house, and she and another friend discussed what the other friend had let a boy do to her. It’s not like they explained the mechanics, though, so I mostly just felt confused.

So there is the level of naivete I left with for college. I attended a private Baptist school, so there were not many temptations to go wild. By the time I had spent a year in college, I had never gone farther than holding hands. I had never smoked, drank, or done drugs (I still don’t do that, though). I followed the rules and felt quite terrified of what would happen if I broke them.

I bought the “True Love Waits” dogma hook, line, and sinker. The message is that if you wait, you will have a better marriage. You will please God. You will be glad you did, because people who don’t wait are more likely to get divorced and more likely to have miserable marriages. I met a ministry major my sophomore year, and married him the next summer. My parents approved.

We fought a lot, but we loved each other. Over the next couple of years, however, I realized that our love was not the kind of love that you need to sustain a marriage. We had no feelings for each other. What feelings were there, I believe had more to do with biological needs than emotional fulfillment and companionship. However, I felt, and still do to some extent, that love is not based solely on feelings. I also knew that we had hit a spot that many couples do as newlyweds. Plus, I was pregnant. So we tried to get along the best we could and have the best relationship we possibly could.

And really, this is a nice version of the story. If I was going to be completely honest, I would talk about how we were both sexually starved when we married. How eventually, the sexual expectations became ridiculous–at least once a day, and often more than that for several years on end. How sullen he became if I refused, or how he sometimes insisted to the point where I gave in. How sometimes he just did what he wanted anyways, even if I said no. How I simply resigned and pictured myself elsewhere toward the end. But it is still painful and embarrassing, and it gets worse.

All of these things about his near addiction level need for sex I would have known if I hadn’t waited for marriage. I began questioning how to talk to our daughter, because I didn’t want this for her. I didn’t want her to wait, just to find out she married a man who constantly pressured her to perform, and to do more and more things she didn’t feel comfortable doing. I began noticing the “happy” Christian marriages around me. Both sets of parents stayed together, and neither set was happy. They stayed for religious reasons. As time passed, I realized I did not want to be like Bob’s father, stuck in a marriage with a verbally abusive, manipulative, angry woman. I did not want to be a doormat like my mother.

But I didn’t know what to do. If I left Bob, he would probably lose his job. Things weren’t all bad. Plus, what about our daughter? What about money–I had a degree, but no job despite looking for a year. I had spent all of my effort in the church, leaving me with a moderately good GPA and absolutely no experience or extra curricular activities to shore up my resume. I had no job references outside the church. Church, in that respect, really hurt my career. That, too, gets worse.

I decided to stay and try to work it out. Everyone has rough patches, I reasoned. We moved across the state so I could begin graduate classes. Things began to run more smoothly.

But it didn’t last.

(Click here for part 2.)