“It is better to be from a broken home than to live in one.”
I wish I knew the name of the pastor I heard on the radio who offered that amazing statement. I admit my surprise to learn that it was a pastor who said it. I remember smiling at myself and exclaiming out loud, “Thank you.” Because what he shared is something that is rarely heard.
For an abuse victim who dares to reveal to her friends and family her inclination to leave her abuser, she often hears something very different from what the pastor claimed. You are more likely to hear, “What about the children?”
There it is: an emotional trump card, a time bomb. Any conviction about how to escape the emotional damage that she and her children might face on a daily basis is immediately upset and she is catapulted into visions of an inevitably disastrous future. Could it be that perhaps parting ways with the abuser will only make things worse? Is it true that a child is better off in an abusive home where both parents are present than in a broken home?
Today, a decade after passing my divorce decree, I have to say from experience that the pastor’s sentiment makes perfect sense. Having seen both sides, being from a broken home is far superior to living in one. I also acknowledge that some will question that claim and insist that a separate home life and the blow of a severed marital relationship are somehow more destructive. That is someone else’s story to tell. This is mine.
When I finally left with our four children, the children were between 6 and 13 years old. My relationship with my husband had deteriorated to the point that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The five of us lived in a constant state of fear and the children struggled with varying degrees of depression, anxiety and anger, which was most evident in the two oldest. I had done what I thought was right to maintain a semblance of normalcy, stand up for the children when I discovered my husband was too harsh on them, deflect his anger on me, and try to create a “happy” home. The abuse had increased so gradually over time that it was hard for me to see the magnitude of the dysfunction, the enormous weight of oppression under which we struggled to survive. Maybe tomorrow things will be different, I used to think. Maybe tomorrow it matters to him. Tomorrow never came. All my good intentions failed. Our lives never got better; in fact, they got worse and worse.
Looking back, I can see how each child uniquely responded to abuse, separation, and our recovery based on their ages, personalities, perceptions, and history. We have all had to work hard to regain our courage and rebuild our lives individually and as a family. The life we share now is healthy and safe, not even remotely like the hell we lived in before we left.
There were several things I could do for my children to help them move from that place of brokenness to a place of health and emotional stability.
First: I had to admit the damage.
In most cases, when trying to live in an abusive relationship, our tendency is to blatantly overlook, minimize, or deny the abuse. We rationalize that our abuser’s actions are simply consistent with male or fatherly behavior. We remind our children that their father really loves them or we try to lessen their distress by using pathetic excuses like “You don’t mean it” or “He’s just having a hard time right now.” What we are really saying is that our children’s feelings are not as important as their father’s right to treat them badly.
Once we finally get out there and acknowledge to ourselves the depth of the damage that has been done, it is vital to affirm the truth to our children; not to burden them with our stories (which should not be supported by them), but to acknowledge theirs.
The night my kids and I left, we hastily packed our most vital possessions and loaded up my truck. I came out with one last arm to see the children sitting in their seats in silence, tears running down the faces of all the children. So, I stopped everything, we went in and sat together to discuss the answer to the unspoken question: What was happening to our family?
After briefly explaining why we had to leave, I asked them what was going on with them. One by one, they began shyly to share their own experiences, things that had happened in my absence, terrible words that had been said, secrets that they were expected to keep. As each child shared, everyone was empowered to speak up. When they finished, I simply said, “I’m so sorry. That’s abuse and it’s wrong. We’re not going to live like that anymore.” The words seemed absolutely too little, too late, but on the other hand, I guess it was more like better late than never. The admission was critical, and I saw an immediate response in his eyes, visible evidence of hope.
Second: give them a voice.
The dance of dysfunction continued for many more months, even after John moved out and the kids and I moved home. John’s attempts to hide the ball to address his addictions, abuse, and wandering gaze failed, in large part because my children now had the power to share their experiences with me. They started to tell everything, and when they spoke, I listened and appreciated that I took their complaints seriously. Even my youngest daughter, who was only 6 at the time, didn’t hesitate to say, “Mommy, I need to talk to you about something.” It gave the children courage and the freedom to identify actions and situations that they knew were clearly inappropriate.
It meant a lot of confrontation between her dad and me, and she hated that her coercion had been exposed, but now the kids and I were working together to acknowledge the truth and speak the truth so that I could better face it. I got all the children counseled, so they could also talk to someone objective about their experiences and even share their disappointments about me as their mother, which they had every right to overcome. In many ways, he had utterly failed them. Whatever it takes to heal you and restore your sense of self-worth; I wanted them to have it.
A woman who was trying to escape an abusive marriage told me that her teenage daughter was misbehaving and doing poorly in school, and the woman just wanted her daughter to leave, and asked if I had any suggestions. I asked my friend if she had spent any time with her daughter to find out what was going on in her daughter’s life, knowing that perhaps her daughter was struggling with what was going on at home. My friend looked at me like I was from another planet and dismissed my question entirely. I’m afraid the poor girl is simply begging, with her actions, to be seen and heard. Unfortunately, it seems like her mother just doesn’t want to be disturbed.
Third: help them feel safe and loved.
I always wanted them to feel safe at home, but the abuse had erased all that dynamic. For example, on Saturday mornings the kids and I would get up before their dad and have a great time eating cereal, sitting in the living room together, and watching cartoons. When we heard his footsteps on the stairs, I think a tremor of anxiety ran through us all and we fell silent. Sure enough, on descending, John would start barking orders at the kids and telling us to turn the remote back on, because we’d had enough fun and it was his turn to see what he wanted.
I never wanted them to feel that way again. We had to rebuild and recover what we had lost.
Even though I was working full time, I arranged a tight schedule so I could get home earlier and spend more time with them, to chat over dinner, help with homework, or be available to talk. Basically, I cleaned my calendar. Aside from having lunch with friends from work or going out for coffee every now and then, my very determined intention was to restore their sense of security by being available to hug, help and listen to them, to remind them every day, for as long as needed, that I was not going anywhere. It was time and energy well spent.
I have heard of some parents who, upon separation, immediately jump into the singles scene or live their lives as if nothing traumatic had happened. Children are left in a constant state of doubt about what will happen to them and whether the custodial parent also intends to leave. And we wonder why they get depressed, or anxious, or sick, or end up using drugs or alcohol, or get promiscuous, or end up with an eating disorder. They simply need to know that they are safe and loved. If you have the opportunity to give them to them, do your best to do so.
Fourth: Walk towards a new and better life.
We talk about our future. We all knew where we came from. Now we had to decide where we were going. In the end, what we wanted was a happy, healthy family where everyone felt safe, respected, accepted, and supported. We had family movie night on Friday and watched Disney movies and had pizza and microwave popcorn and laughed and sang along with the songs. We left town on vacation, if only for a couple of days, just to rediscover what it was like to drive a long distance and listen to whatever music we wanted to hear on the radio, not live by one person’s schedule, really relax without pressure , drama or guilt. All those simple things were so healing. My children were free to claim and live the life that everyone wanted. And I wanted that for them.
It has been a long, winding and bumpy road full of pitfalls, imperfections and struggles. The children are still in pain and grief from many of the injuries inflicted on them when their father lived with us, and ever since. But what we have accomplished together, and the healing, faith, strength, wisdom, character, and growth in my children’s lives over the past ten years, has been worth upholding, and fighting for.
So what about the kids? That question made me doubt my instincts and live in fear of the future for far too long. In retrospect, looking at what my children endured, I am much more to blame for the years we stayed than for the years since we left. In truth, once we left, we stopped living a lie and embraced the truth: It is much better to be from a broken home than to live in one.
