The Perfect Disaster

I have always wanted to write, and I am extremely passionate about sharing my story, but I often “get stuck” with my posts.  I sometimes wonder if I struggle with “finding the right words” because I am trying so hard to be PERFECT, but there is NOTHING perfect about “my story”.  I think the only way to use the word “perfect”, would be to say my past, my journey, my story is a “perfect disaster”. 

I often write with some very haunting words about being in an abusive relationship.  I may put off the impression that I “saw” how scary and damaging my marriage was, and maybe I did a little, but I did not truly see the extent of the damage when I left.  Truth be told, I did not leave because of the abuse.  I left because I discovered he had been having an affair with a close friend.  And after weeks of "trying" to convince myself that I could look past his infidelity, that I could FIX my marriage, I left the home we shared with the intentions of taking time to figure things out.  A week later, a week full of tears and confusion, my husband called and told me he was filing for a divorce.

I remember the devastation that followed once my marriage ended.  I was a disaster...catastrophic hurricane kind of disaster.  Thinking back, one disturbing blow for me was not COMPREHENDING that I had been in an abusive relationship until many years later.  I did not remember being repeatedly cussed at, or having my life threatened.  I did not remember being told that I was crazy and no one else would want or love me.  I had forgotten being pushed, shoved, and hit during arguments, windows and doors being punched instead of me during his fits of rage, or being forced to have sex against my will.  I didn’t have a “survivor leaving the abuser” plan, and even though I did leave, I didn’t want for my marriage to be over.  My story did not begin with hair raising stories of being beaten black and blue.  With time, it unfolded into the story of a very broken woman uncovering the truth and unearthing the strength to move forward with life. 

Strength comes in many different shapes and sizes, different people, and experiences, and can be blind to the eye or mind at times. During the aftermath and in the attempt to start over, forcing myself to push a little every day, I was surrounded with such love and support, with honest and caring people that wanted to see me soar.  My sweet mama sat and watched me for far too many days as I pushed food around my plate only to end up throwing it away because I did not eat a single bite.  She never gave up on me, and I am forever grateful…for more reasons than I could ever count.  In her efforts to keep me nourished and healthy, she convinced me to go to our favorite Chinese restaurant. Honestly, I don’t remember if I wanted to go, if I put up a fight, or if I even ate, but none of that matters now. On that day, in that old Chinese restaurant, a fortune cookie helped me look at life and myself a in a different light. I have never forgotten the words I read that day. “Courage comes through suffering.”  It was then that I grasped the fact that every ounce of suffering I had endured had been creating courage right beneath the pain, waiting to emerge when I needed it the most. One tiny piece of paper, four words written in red, became my mantra. I never imagined that I would have the courage to leave my marriage behind, or the courage to distinguish and understand all that I had gone through. I am beyond grateful for that one day, for those four words that aided in understanding how such immeasurable pain can transform into tremendous courage.  Sharing my story, my "perfect disaster", is a continuous reminder of how courageous I have become, and with time and more sharing, I will be reminded of the beautiful strength that is still growing within me.