“It’s 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 made that startling statement. I will admit my surprise to learn that it was a pastor who said it. I remember smiling to 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 friends and family their inclination to leave their abuser, they often hear something very different from what the pastor claimed. She’s more likely to hear, “What about the kids?”
There it is: an emotional trump card, a time bomb. Any convictions about escaping the emotional damage that she and her children might face on a daily basis are immediately shaken, and she is catapulted into visions of an inevitably disastrous future. Could it be that separating from 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 full decade after signing 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 recognize that some will question that statement and insist that a life of separate homes and the blow of a severe marital relationship are somehow more destructive. That is another person’s story to tell. This is mine.
When I finally left with our four children, the children were between the ages of 6 and 13. My relationship with my husband had deteriorated to the point where he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The five of us lived in a state of constant fear, and the children struggled with varying degrees of depression, anxiety, and anger, most evident in the two oldest. I did what I thought was right to maintain some semblance of normalcy, standing up for the kids when I found out my husband was too hard on them, diverting anger from him to me, and trying to create a “happy” home. The abuse had increased so much 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 will matter. 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 worth and rebuild our lives individually and as a family. The life we share now is safe and sound, nothing remotely like the hell we lived in before we left.
There were several things I was able to do for my children to help them move from that place of brokenness to a place of emotional health and stability.
First: I had to admit the damage.
In most cases, as we try to live in an abusive relationship, our tendency is to overlook, minimize, or outright deny the abuse. We rationalize that our abuser’s actions are simply consistent with masculine or paternal behavior. We remind our kids that their dad really loves them or we try to lessen their distress by using lame excuses like, “He doesn’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 break down and acknowledge 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 burdened by them), but to acknowledge theirs.
The night my children and I left, we quickly packed up our most vital possessions and loaded up my truck. I walked out with one last arm to see the children sitting in their seats in silence, tears streaming down each child’s face. So, I stopped everything, we went inside and we sat down 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 wrong. One by one, they sheepishly began 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, they were all empowered to speak. After they finished, I just told them, “I’m so sorry. That’s abuse and it’s wrong. We’re not going to live that way anymore.” The words absolutely seemed too late, but then again, 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. Attempts to hide the ball from John to address his addictions, abuse, and his wandering eye failed, in large part because my children now had the power to share their experiences with me. They began to tell everything, and when they talked, I listened, and they were grateful that I took their complaints seriously. Even my youngest daughter, who was only 6 years old at the time, didn’t hesitate to say, “Mommy, I need to talk to you about something.” She gave the children courage and freedom to identify actions and situations that they knew were clearly inappropriate.
It meant a lot of confrontation between me and his dad, and he hated that his coercion had been exposed, but now the kids and I were working together to acknowledge the truth and tell the truth so we could better deal with it. I took all the children to therapy, 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 took to achieve her healing and restore her sense of self worth; I wanted them to have it.
A woman who was trying to escape an abusive marriage told me how her teenage daughter was acting out and doing poorly in school, and the woman just wanted her daughter to stop it, 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 completely. I’m afraid the poor girl is simply begging, with her actions, to be seen and heard. Unfortunately, it seems her mother just doesn’t want to be bothered.
Third: Help them feel safe and loved.
I always wanted them to feel safe at home, but all that dynamic had been erased by the abuse. For example, on Saturday mornings, the kids and I would get up before their dad and have a great time eating cereal, sitting together in the family room, and watching cartoons. When we heard his footsteps on the stairs, I think a shudder of anxiety ran through us all and we fell silent. Sure enough, on the way down, John would start barking orders at the kids and telling us to flip the remote because we’d had enough fun and it was his turn to see what he wanted.
I never wanted them to feel like this 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 early to hang out with them later, to chat over dinner, help with homework, or be available to talk. I basically deleted my calendar. Apart from having lunch with friends from work or going out for coffee once in a while, my very intention was to restore their sense of security by being available to hug them, help them and listen to them, to remind them every day for as long as it took me. I wasn’t going anywhere. It was time and energy well spent.
I’ve heard of some parents who, upon breaking up, immediately move into the singles scene or live their lives as if nothing traumatic has 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 get sick or end up on drugs or alcohol or become promiscuous or end up with an eating disorder. They just need to know that they are safe and loved. If you have the opportunity to give it to him, do your best to do so.
Fourth: Walking 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 healthy, happy family where everyone felt safe, respected, accepted, and supported. We had family movie night on Friday and watched Disney movies and ate pizza and microwaved popcorn and laughed and sang along to the songs. We vacationed out of town, if only for a couple of days, just to rediscover what it meant to drive a long distance and listen to the music we wanted to hear on the radio, not live on one person’s schedule, really relax without pressures, dramas or guilt. All those simple things were so healing. My children were free to claim and live the life everyone wanted. And I wanted that for them.
It’s been a long, winding and rough road full of pitfalls, imperfections and struggles. The children are still aching and grieving from many of the injuries inflicted on them when their father lived with us, and ever since. But what we’ve accomplished together, and the healing, faith, strength, wisdom, character, and growth in my children’s lives over the last ten years, has been worth standing up for, worth 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 back at what my children endured, I feel a lot more guilt 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’s much better to be from a broken home than to live in one.
