Criticizing my parents is incredibly painful for me. They aren't here to explain anything, or defend any criticism, and I miss them so very much that any thought that darkens that memory makes me feel dis-loyal.
This all stems from a lie. A lie I told. Actually a series of lies. I didn't tell anybody when my first husband hit me. I kept it in. I knew or at least I belived that I was protecting him, myself, and that if I didn't tell anybody that I would be the only one to get hurt. And because I thought I deserved it.
You might ask what the hell would give an 18 year old the idea that she deserved to be beat by her 38 year old husband. Well because it had happened before. Not by either of my parents, but by someone else, someone else who had no right to solve an argument with violence.
My Mom had died by the time this all happened. But I feel that my Dad did not defend me as he should have. In his defense he probably did more than I know of, but to me, he wanted me to be strong. He told me that he always knew that I was the kind of person that could take whatever came my way, and that not all people are that way.
My Dad didn't do anything wrong. He was trying to keep his family together, and he had absolutely no idea what would happen to me in the future, and if I had told him what was happenening to me in my marriage, I believe he would have helped me.
But I chose to hide it, all for wrong reasons. I guess I could write a book, but really does the world need another book about some asshole cop who beat is young wife? No I don't think so, but what the world does need is a bit more understanding, more apologies and a lot less violence.
So now, years later, when I'm finally trying to deal with all this, who do I tell? The person who did it, he has spent his life thinking he was right, and I in my silence allowed that to happen.
Don't ever be silent my sisters and brothers! Never let anybody take your voice.