To the Woman Who Can Relate

This post discusses themes of domestic violence.

There’s something crazy that happens anytime you leave something that was unhealthy for you. A person, a place, a religion. Disillusionment is perfect description for this. Described as “a feeling of disappointment resulting from the discovery that something is not as good as one believed it to be.”

I’m always hesitant to write myself in a way that appears like I’m all “woe is me” or “I’m such a victim.” Because I’m not, but I am. But I was and so now I’m cursed with hyper-vigilance to see it when others appear to be trapped. I live a good life now so why bother?

I bother because I see it now sometimes in others and I can’t help but want to be an advocate. But it’s a delicate balance to tell someone “hey, I think you’re in a bad relationship,” so maybe they will just see themselves in my own story.

$695.

That was how roughly much I was taking home every two weeks back when I was about 20 years old. That was 10 years ago.

I had no debt. I paid car insurance. I paid my boyfriend my portion of the phone bill. Yet some how, every month, I had no money.

Thinking back, though it’s not easy to live on $1400 a month, I should have been ok with a partner who was also employed.

I don’t remember the exact dollar amount of all my expenses, but I can tell you, it wasn’t crazy. I didn’t drive a new car. My phone was second-hand so really I was just paying for service. The basement apartment we rented from ex-boyfriend’s parents was maybe $200 a month, if we paid.

He always had a reason he couldn’t pay and it somehow was always blamed on me.

“She spends it all.”

I bought food for us both.

“She is wasteful.”

I bought feminine products.

“She doesn’t know how to save.”

I had nothing left to save after I paid his expenses and mine.

I don’t know how or why, but at some point I was handing over my entire paycheck every week, minus $50 he allowed me to keep for gas and “lunch,” and that was that. He allowed me my own money. Because to him I was all those things above.

I believed him and I didn’t have anyone to consult with because in my mind it was him and I against the world. This was just how life was. Life was hard and you work hard until hopefully one day you can afford things.

That’s how I grew up, too. My parents worked and worked and worked and we rarely had “gas money.” I’d call up my friend to pick me up for softball practice and her mother always so kindly did. My mom, always appreciative, but I wondered, did they feel bad for me? Hauling me to and from practice because my parents couldn’t get me there. Good people.

So this is all I knew. Life is expensive and you don’t get things you don’t need. In the back of my mind I always told myself that one day I’d make it big enough to be able to afford fancy things, like department store mascara and shoes from Payless instead of Walmart. Incredibly low and embarrassing standards.

$830 every two weeks.

Now I’m making the big bucks! Promoted and moving to our own place, no more windowless bedrooms. I was so excited to wake up and and greet the sun instead of a lamp.

Rent: $700

Electric: $140

Water: $70

Insurance: $200

Credit card payment that ex convinced me to open and use for him: $30

Cat litter: $40

Food: $100

Gas: $100

Me: broke.

You might be thinking hey Liz, what about your partner, wasn’t he making money?

Yes and no. See, Mr. Ex had this creative way of never keeping a job. I’d complain or get upset and suddenly he was employed. Things got better and poof, back to not working and fiddling with his own business adventures.

So it’s all on me. I’m paying his phone bill, my phone bill, all these other expenses that come up. I’m years deep in a relationship that never gifted me the promised land. I was supposed to go to college. “Wasteful,” he’d say. I’m ashamed because according to my mother, I was a whore. A sinner. Satan reserved a bed for me, didn’t you see? I heard it’s warm.

“Dad, can I come live with you for a while? I can pay rent.” I’m 21 but inside I was 5 knocking on my parents door because I had a nightmare.

And I ran just like I did at 18. The gun no longer in sight. No longer sitting on the table to intimidate me from leaving. Mr. Ex no longer huffing in the hallway about what an exhausting woman I am because I had questions about everything.

You see I was not beaten with a fist. I was molded by my weaknesses; my naive nature taken advantage of. Religious trauma hung over my head as I prayed to God that one day I’d make things right. Manipulated into living a life where my sole purpose once again became survival. A relationship and an apartment sounded like freedom to 18 year old me. A relationship and an apartment became an anchor to a self-serving man that only saw me for the pitiful cushion in living expenses I paid for. I paid for everything.

“This place isn’t even in your name.” The landlord informed me when I called to responsibly ask about breaking the lease because I wanted to leave him. We split yet I still paid that months rent. Paying for everything yet nothing in my name.

I was once powerless but I can confidently tell you that I’m powerful now. I’m proudly confrontational about doing the right thing. The timid girl is still there sometimes, and sometimes I melt into those memories. But I will never tolerate that life and I’ve never settled since. I am only successful because I took back my power by doing the bravest thing ever - being willing to start my life over.

I’ve started my life over more than once. I’ve since gone on to earn two degrees, married a kind man who respects what I bring to the table, and together we own a home.

So now I see it, I see it everywhere.

Financial abuse is domestic violence. Emotional abuse is domestic violence.

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, in any form, please call 1-800-799-7233 or text 88788. Please reach out to a trusted friend.