I totally love true crime podcasts and TV shows. And so many times there are women who are threatened or physically abused and they plan to leave but it’s too little too late. I see these controlling narcissist husbands and children raised without either parent. There are so many facets of it that remind me of my own marriage. So many times I’m checking off the things happening in these murdered women’s lives that matches with what I lived through. And I’m lucky. Blessed. Protected. I left. I lived.

There was a time in 2006-2007 that I was afraid. I remember sleeping with my children. When I said I was leaving, he broke a 8 year period of no alcohol. He sat on the couch, pouring vodka into a glass and drinking it straight. Pour. Drink. Pour. Drink. It unnerved me.

For those months I gave up watching FBI Files and other such shows. It was too close to home. I didn’t want to see my future on TV.

And yet, I didn’t leave. I stayed until the date I had agreed to. The time he asked me to wait for. Spring. Spring when he could finish his commitments at his job and move to another location. I waited. More than 6 months living in the same home but separated from my husband. Nothing changed during the day or on the weekends. It was me and my children. They were 1, 3, 5, and 6 1/2. They were and still are my life. But in the evenings he came home. He was more sullen. More grumpy. More cross. More short-tempered. But I felt bad taking away his children months before he could move. I was manipulated into staying.

Several times my mom called from Florida to say that she felt like I wasn’t safe. Was I safe? Each time I assured her I was. And each time I knew I was lying. I didn’t feel safe. I feared for my life. Yet I never made any changes. I stayed. I waited. I lasted until spring.

I am stupid. I am lucky. I am alive.