Broken

(If you are looking for FYBF, it is being hosted by MummyTime today. Apologies to Lori. Thank you dear Brenda, for picking up the slack, xx)


Falling. I am falling. For so long I’ve held it together.

People shake their heads, “You are so strong,” they say. “How do you do it?”

The answer is nobody does this without a cost. For six months I have parented alone with no respite. For six months I have lived in fear, ever vigilant, waiting for the axe to fall. For six months I have followed the rules of the system, pounded on the door of the system, waited for the slow cogs of the system to turn, been let down by the system.

My brother flew out for a few days recently. The kids were overjoyed. There was a different energy in the house. I had forgotten what it was like to have someone around to help out. He played with kids. He helped put them to bed. He bought dinner and cleared the table. Little things, but they meant the world. I cried when he left.

I keep telling myself I must hold out a little longer. One day, this will all be behind me. But for now, I have to keep going for my children. Eventually, I’ll have permission to move and I can get out of this house with its dark history. In another month, I’ll be in Australia where I can breathe easier. These markers, they give me hope.

But my body has said no. It has put a stop to everything and simply refused to keep going.

At work I stare at the computer screen but can’t focus. In the mornings I stand in the kitchen and look at my daughter’s lunch box and can’t remember what I was going to do with it. The simplest of daily tasks seem insurmountable.

This morning I asked my friend to come into my office. I sat there and cried and told her I needed help. She was wonderful and helped me connect with the right people. Apparently, what I’m experiencing is normal. To be expected under such circumstances. In my case it’s the result of trauma, social isolation (what family I have is thin and far-flung), sustained, elevated stress and the ongoing threat of violence. It’s a wonder I’ve lasted this long.

Now I am leaving to stay with family, so that I can rest while they help care for the kids.

I haven’t talked much on my blog about what’s been happening the last several months. I’ve held off for fear of retaliation, either litigative or physical. I haven’t seen my husband for six months, but isn’t it funny how I can still be silenced by the implicit threat of backlash? Such is the dynamic of abuse. Don’t speak or else.

But not speaking has cut me off from one of the few support networks I have. Not speaking does not keep me safe, by any stretch of the imagination. Not speaking has impeded my healing. And now, months later, I am broken.

I have made the decision to talk more openly about the difficult things, the scary things, the ugly things. Here. On Wanderlust. And I am taking time off to let myself heal. Between the two, I will find the strength to move forward and do the hundred things I need to do to get to the other side.