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 has described beginning to discover that she was in an abusive marriage.
Marjorie: So then what did you do with your new understanding that you were, in fact, an abused spouse?
Genny: I did not want to believe that this man I had loved for so long as a friend was a person I did not even recognize. He was small and mean. I did not want to believe that, so I can't really blame the other people whom I felt would not be able to accept the truth about my situation. But not wanting to believe something and choosing not to accept the truth when it has been made obvious is a form of deceit, isn't it? I was grievously aware of Jim's double life—one man in public, a very different man at home. That is just so wrong. But I have recently come to a stunning realization. Without meaning to, I had been pressed into a double life too. At home, "walking on eggshells," exhausted, sad. Away from home, "Fine, thanks. Just fine." Smiling. Efficient at my work. Helpful to others. All my pain bottled up inside. And that is just wrong too. It is no way to live.
M: In your place, I think I might not have been able to survive. You must have hated to be at home.
G: I loved my home. I wanted it to be the place of safety and peace that I believe homes should be. I wanted to be there—and I couldn't stand to be there. I begged Jim to give me some time just to be there alone, and he said, "Yes, yes, of course," and then reneged on his agreement. My emotional conflict took a terrible toll on me physically as well.
M: In what ways?
G: I didn't sleep much, so I was always, always exhausted. I had severe back and shoulder pain that almost nothing helped. I had stomach aches, and my colon acted up. Sometimes I was so stressed while I was eating that a bite would stick in my gullet halfway down, and I would have to stop and breathe deeply and try to relax until the pain went away.
M: Did Jim notice any of this?
G: Yes, and he usually had an answer. "You're eating too fast," or "You're working too hard," or "Have you seen your doctor about that pain?" What I have to wonder now is if the effort to keep his two lives separate affected Jim in some of the same ways. He had lots of little physical ailments, but proudly repeated over and over what a doctor had told him many years ago, that he was strong as a horse. When I told my own doctor that the marriage had ended and I was suffering some physical effects, he said, "But don't think Jim got by. He paid." I guess our bodies know—and they react—when we are not living with integrity.
There is one big difference, though, between the duplicity of Jim's life and what I was doing. Jim purposely deceived. I was compartmentalizing my life, just trying to keep my sanity. It has been helpful for me to understand how I did this, and why it was necessary.
M: And were you angry at Jim?
G: Of course! But anger is a hard emotion for me to admit I have, because of my upbringing. Probably some of the time when I was feeling overwhelming hurt, I was actually angry and it would have been healthier for me if I could have recognized that it was anger. But it took awhile for me to be able to say even to myself, "How could he have done this to me? How dared he talk this way?" It was unthinkable to me at the time to say such a thing to him. So, much, much later, at the point where I could admit I was angry, some healing took place. When I knew what to call it, after awhile I was able to give it up.
M: And were you ever angry and disappointed with God? Did you feel He had let you down or even tricked you?
G: Well yes, I raged a few times, briefly, but He was always right there when I quieted down! After one particularly devastating revelation about Jim's life, coming after he was gone, I was storming around and God said—an inner knowing in my heart—"I saw you. I was there." To me, that says I cannot expect to avoid or get out of every distressing situation, but I will never be abandoned. I really did have a place of refuge, even though it couldn't be my home.
To be continued.
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