Fiercely

I realize that Amy Schumer is a problematic figure. I am not endorsing her or relating to her uncritically. Rather, I am saying that in the course of reading her book, The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo, I figured out how to tell a piece of my story. 

Like Amy, I often find myself lying awake at night thinking about things from twenty or twenty-five years ago, wondering why did I say that to him, why did I buckle under that pressure, why didn’t I trust that good advice? For example, there was a friend I had in elementary school who was only ever super nice to me. He wasn’t popular, but he didn’t care. He was his own person, and he was wonderful. Every day during reading time, he would get to class early so he could put my book on my desk before I got to the room. He made me a lanyard one summer and mailed it to me (getting mail was a big deal). And even after we went to different junior high schools, any time I needed to talk, he would stop what he was doing and take my call. And I was not kind to him most of the time. I said mean things so the popular kids would notice me. Why did I do that? Why couldn’t I see through those dynamics and value real friendship where I found it? I never really got to apologize to him, even though we reconnected briefly in college. In sixth grade, we won the most likely to succeed award, and we both have PhDs and families now. I was foolish not to maintain that friendship. Stephen, I’m deeply sorry, I’m so glad that you’re happy, and I hope you can forgive me for not being the kind of friend to you that you always were to me.

And like Amy, my childhood was somewhat interrupted. My parents are happily married, but there were some rough years when I was younger. When we’re little, we think of our parents as infallible. When we learn that they aren’t, it’s disillusioning. My aunt recently said that I never really saw myself as a kid, even when I was one. To some extent she’s right. Yes, I played with dolls, and I rode my bike around the block. But I also trained as a figure skater, which gets really serious really fast. I did extra math homework over holiday breaks. And I started taking college classes when I was 12, enrolling in college at 14. That aged me.

And because of that, and because of the habits that I had to develop to get there, I was always a little different from my peers. I starred in musicals at church. I was in honors math and language arts classes. I won Bible Drill competitions (Google it). I earned dozens of skating medals. But I was also hella insecure. I was desperate to fit in, to belong. The kids at church had stay-at-home moms who drove them to play dates. The kids at skating lived near each other, across town from me. The kids at school lived near each other, across town the other way.

I remember spending a lot of my childhood alone. I was a latchkey kid. I’ve been responsible for my own rides, schedule, meals, and homework since I was 12. At the time, I felt very sophisticated, like I was ahead of the curve. But now, I realize there was so much more childhood to be had, that I never got to have.

And like many young women, I was just different enough to become prey. I was so blinded by desperation that I allowed dangerous people into my life. Predators look for people who are insecure and lonely. I also think some predators look for women who are driven and capable, and then try to conquer them, like some weird kind of trophy. They lure you into a false sense of security and dependency on them, and then they use it to control you and hurt you. And you don’t have a point of reference to realize that it’s not okay.

Amy has a chapter called “The Worst Night of My Life” that hit a little too close to home for me. She tells about her relationship with Dan, how she got suckered into a relationship with him, even thinking she was the one taking the lead, how even in the worst of it, she made excuses and thought that it would get better, and how it’s so hard to see a way out.

I have wanted to write about those times in my life, but I haven’t known how.

If you went to high school, college, seminary, or graduate school with me, then you know I’ve faced more than my fair share of abuse. A preschool teacher. A junior high boyfriend. A security guard at the skating rink. A high school teacher. My college boyfriend. My seminary relationship.

I’ve been spit on, shoved into walls, yelled at, trapped in rooms, targeted online by older men, stalked, threatened, molested in my sleep (twice), and raped. All by people I knew and thought I could trust.

I changed all of the names, but here are some stories.

Karl used to instant message me, especially later in the evening. He’d be that caring adult who was always there to listen, but then he’d say things that felt inappropriate. He’d say I shouldn’t come to school looking so cute. He’d tell sexual jokes. He’d want me to meet him after school after everyone else had gone home.

John was so nice to me when we started dating. He made an effort, made me feel really special. And then there was so much arguing. Somehow he’d always blame me for whatever the issue was. He got mean, and the dynamic turned to what I would do to deserve him. It was all about him, and my needs didn’t matter. During a mission trip, I told him that his interactions with another girl were making me uncomfortable, and he screamed at me as he shoved me into a wall because I couldn’t get it through my head how much he loved me. He raped me not long after that. Then it got to where he had time for me to make dinner and clean his apartment, but not time to actually spend together. He wouldn’t let me go into his closet at all, which I now realize was because it was full of porn. He hid his drinking from me, too. There was a point where he had dodged my calls for so long that I had to call him at work to get a hold of him at all, and he broke up with me over the phone. After being together for three years, most of which he treated me like crap, he dumped me over the phone. I later found out he'd been cheating during the last six months of our relationship.

Roy was supposed to be different. He’d had a troubled childhood, so he was misunderstood and recovering just like me. He would take calls from his parents for hours during our time together and tell me I wasn't good at being in a family if I couldn't understand that. If I wanted time to work on my projects, he’d call me a selfish bitch, yell at me, refuse to let me have privacy, spit on me, push me into walls, and throw things at me (just next to me to create terror but no bruises). If I locked myself in a room to get away from him, he would break in. He checked up on every little thing I did and everyone I talked to. He followed me around, even when I went to work. He put down the things that I was interested in, insulted my skills at my job, and held me hostage in angry silence, refusing to talk but not letting me leave the room. He yelled at me about how much he loved and supported me, and how lucky I was that he believed in me even though I wasn't very good at much. He'd spend all night in a drunken porn binge and then blame me for not being available to him. His pornography addiction was so severe that he was using on every single media device available to him, even at church. I thought we could work together to help his addiction, but he kept relapsing, worse every time. I thought we could talk it out, but argument after argument left me weary, exhausted, and content with survival. I learned to live in the box that he made for me, because life was hell if I didn’t. If I stood up for myself, he would quote scripture at me, like a weapon. When I would contest what he said, he would yell over me, repeating the same phrases over and over, even threatening to kill himself if I left him. Then one night, he tried to force himself on me, so I locked myself in another room to get away from him, after which he beat down the door and chased me around the house with scissors until the police arrived.

How could this happen? How could it happen so much? I’m smart. Really smart. I’m observant. I’m strong. Why did I fall for it time and again? Or, as my dad once asked me, “How did he trick you?”

I was so lonely, so afraid that I wouldn’t find where I belonged, that I tolerated destructive partners, just to have one. And they knew that and used it against me. They studied my weaknesses and insecurities, and when I started to think for myself or stand up for myself, they knew just how to strike. Amy said it well: “When you are an abuse victim, your logic and instinct can become warped. [After I was raped], I ended up comforting him for hurting me, even though it should have been the other way around…..I wanted to comfort him and make him feel like we were in this together.”

In those moments, I sensed things were more painful than other people’s lives seemed to be, but we could get through it, right? We can give and take. God wants us to forgive each other. It’s probably my fault, anyway. I absorbed it, all of it, in my Type A quest for growth and wisdom. I had no idea until much later that it was abuse. I still can’t point to the moment when it clicked for me. I remember friends trying to help me see the abuse. I remember knowing I needed to call the police. I remembering being scared. And I remember being determined to break free.

Getting out was a matter of survival. It really was that bad.

I have been to hell and back, and I’m still here, standing stronger than ever. I know who I am, and I am proud to be me. I am not afraid to be alone, so I don’t tolerate toxic people. And that makes me lousy prey. As Amy says: “He said he loved me, but every step of the way he’d hurt and sabotage me. I realized later he put me down so much because he was probably terrified that I’d realize he was nothing and leave him. Which is exactly what I did.”

Thirty damn years. Please don’t wait as long as I did to get out. Trust your gut. If you sense that things are toxic or unsafe, you're probably right. Get somewhere safe. Get help. Surround yourself with affirming people. It will be hard but not impossible, and I promise you'll find yourself again. And you will love yourself fiercely.

As Amy says, “I’m telling this story because I’m a strong-ass woman, not someone most people picture when they think ‘abused woman.’ But it can happen to anyone. When you’re in love with a man who hurts you, it’s a special kind of hell, yet one that so many women have experienced. You’re not alone if it’s happening to you, and you’re not exempt if it hasn’t happened to you yet. I found my way out and will never be back there again. I got out. Get out.”