"After 2 months, things begin to change and certain inconsistencies in Michael’s lifestyle became more apparent. I started to catch him in lies about his daily whereabouts. He started canceling dates because he said he had to work late or his grandmother was ill."
Things You Can't Tell By Looking At Her ~
By Tasha Bovain
H
ave they no backbone or self -esteem.” I always wondered how women in abusive relationships allowed themselves to be victims. Until one day, that woman was me.
To those who knew me, I was a confident and vibrant woman who knew who she was and where she was going, but no one knew I led a double life. For a year and a half, I was secretly involved in a mentally abusive relationship.
At age 22, I developed a secret addiction. Michael (not his real name) was a trainer at my gym. I craved him like a heroin addict hungers for their next hit. We began dating in the summer of 2002 and were inseparable. Our summer romance was filled with late night walks, candlelight dinners and endless conversations about our hopes and dreams. I was intrigued by his mysterious lifestyle and worldly views. Little did I know his mysteriousness would almost cost me my life.
After 2 months, things begin to change and certain inconsistencies in Michael’s lifestyle became more apparent. I started to catch him in lies about his daily whereabouts. He started canceling dates because he said he had to work late or his grandmother was ill. Ironically, this was the same time females began to swarm around him like bees to honey. He reassured me they meant nothing and were just friends. I believed him because deep down I didn’t want to admit how insecure I felt. He began to play on my insecurities by flirting with other women, criticizing my body and ignoring me in public. When I confronted him, he would say it’s all in my head. I wanted to believe that I was the only one, but the strange phone calls on his cell phone and never spending the night told me different.
During the course of our relationship, I became pregnant. I always said in this situation, I would without hesitation, have an abortion. But as with most things, it was easier said than done. I knew I could not have the baby, but I wanted to create a stronger bond between us. When I told Michael, there was nothing but silence. His silence told me what he wanted me to do. Ultimately I decided to go through with the abortion. The procedure was $385. He gave me forty dollars and sent me on my way.
On January 18, 2003, I went to the free clinic and had the life sucked out of me. A friend of mine accompanied me for support. Upon entering the parking lot, I was greeted by protesters exclaiming abortion was murder. “Choose life, not death,” they shouted. For a moment I wondered if I was making the right decision. How would I live with myself, I thought. More importantly, how would I recover? As I sat on the ice-cold table and placed my feet in the stirrups, I became frozen with fear. I counted backward from ten with anesthesia pumped into my veins and repeated silently to myself, Lord, forgive me.
Immediately after, I drove myself home shaking, scared and bleeding heavily. I prayed God would take me out of the hell that was my life. From that day on, I was never the same woman. That day I lost more than a fetus. I lost a part of my soul.
The relationship should have ended there, but it didn’t. One night, the pain became too much to bear. I had returned home from a sleazy motel reeking of cigarettes and sex. After taking a shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Staring back at me was a woman who had just slept with a man who didn’t care enough about her to provide comfort after the termination of their unborn child. A man who told her to “get over it.” With a bottle of 80 proof vodka and a bottle of sleeping pills, I was going to end it all. Luckily, I wasn’t successful.
Throughout the relationship, I endured abortion, cheating, and attempted suicide. It ended when Michael robbed my home and vanished without a trace. Later I discovered he was living with another woman, had two children and was on probation from a prior arrest.
Many have said, “Why didn’t you walk away,” and “How could you be so stupid?” These are the same things, I said about women who were beaten and bruised. But unlike a visible scar upon flesh, no one could see the lashes upon my spirit.
It’s taken me 3 years to recover and trust again. With many lessons learned and self- love, I am on the journey back to me. I tell my story as a precautionary tale to young women who are involved in unhealthy relationships. There is a way out and the sooner the better. I began praying and reading the bible to feed my spirit while repairing the severe damage done to my self-esteem.
The most important lesson I’ve learned is how to be happy and feel complete without a man. Being happily single starts with creating a fulfilling life for yourself professionally and personally whether it’s pursuing your dream job, discovering your life’s passion or building a strong network of female friends.
No longer will I compromise myself for the sake of having a boyfriend. Getting involved with Mr. Wrong was more costly and devastating to my self-esteem than being alone. And being alone is not the same as being lonely.
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