To read all previously published parts, click on "Genny's Story" in the labels column at the left. Note that entries appear in reverse order, the most recent on top.
Genny experienced an abusive marriage. She tried very hard, she says, to please her husband.
Marjorie: But did you ever want to give up and just leave? Why did you stay?
Genny: I loved him, and I trusted him to love me. I guess I believed that if he just knew how hurt I was—because I did try to tell him—that he would understand. He did tell me he was glad I was not quarrelsome and that I had a tender heart and was so forgiving. But I don't remember a single one of those times that he told me he was sorry. He might act a little better for awhile, but then he would repeat the same cycle of abuse over and over again.
M: You've said, '"abuse." That's a very strong word. Why are you calling what you experienced abuse?
G: Because of what it did to me. It beat me down until I was not the same person any more, almost not a person at all. He took away my singing, he took away reading and sleeping and enjoying mealtimes. He took away my financial freedom and my own opinions and personal interests. He took away feeling at home in my own home. He took away the pleasure of intimacy. He took away the person I was and tried to make me into his "little woman."
M: And how did that make you feel?
G: At first, it wasn't too bad. I was able to tell myself, "Well, if this is all it takes to make him happy . . ." But the problem was, that didn't make him happy. The demands increased until they seemed to encompass every part of my life, and I was struggling to hold on to my identity. I remember thinking and even writing down my desperate thoughts, "If I do this—this whole 'please the master of the house' thing—I won't know who I am."
M: But you let this happen? You didn't set some boundaries about how he could treat you?
G: No, not really. You see, in the beginning, I wasn't calling it abuse. It was just a rough start at being married, I thought, and it would soon get better. It not only did not get better, it got lots worse. I didn't set appropriate boundaries because I didn't understand that we can do that. That we have to do that. The only thing I knew was to be silent and "submissive."
M: Uh-oh. That sounds familiar. You learned that—where?
G: At my mother's knee. And the church I grew up in. Women were "just" women," you know what I mean? But that was a very powerful idea because it was put in terms of this is what the Bible teaches. This is what God commands. Wives don't tell their husbands anything. They ask. And they listen. And obey.
M: What kind of boundaries might have been appropriate for you to set?
G: It doesn't really work to tell someone, "You can't speak to me like that," because in fact they can. It may be better to say, "You can continue to yell if you want to, but I am not staying in this room to listen." Not much is gained by demanding, "Stop being so critical," because that leaves the choice up to someone else. You might say, "If you continue to criticize this meal, I am going to leave the table." Instead of just remaining silent while her husband continues to rant about something that displeases him, a wife might say, "I would like to continue our discussion of this later when we're both calmer." Or "I won't discuss this with you alone any more; I will talk only in the presence of a counselor."
But be forewarned: Boundaries are almost sure to be pushed against and tested, or even ignored. I read Boundaries by Henry Cloud and John Townsend too late for it to be very helpful for my marriage, but it's not too late for the other relationships where I am learning boundary-setting.
To be continued.
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