Starting Over

For the past couple years, I have (occasionally) maintained both this and another blog.  This one about my family, the other about my "other" life - the life of abuse, of depression, of anger and anguish.  The idea of integrating those two lives in one place - to show those who read my "family" blog and knew only that side of my life, the ugliness that lie underneath it all - was more than I could handle.  To be honest, even now, years after I have left the abuse, it is still hard to admit to people in my everyday life that it happened, and that I still deal daily with the after-effects of what he did to me, to my children and to our life.  I felt very strongly that those two sides of my self and of my life should remain separate.

But I have also come to believe that this kind of attitude is one of the things that allows the kind of violence I experienced to continue happening.  So many people have the attitude that these things don't happen to people like them, or people they know.  And it would really be a shock to them to find out they do.  Until people can see that domestic violence affects their mothers, sisters, neighbors, co-workers and friends, they have no investment in seeing that it doesn't continue to happen.  Until those of us who have been affected stand up and speak up, they have no way to know.

 I can't explain why most people in my life don't know about what I've been through.  I am not the one who terrorized my family and acted violently toward my spouse.  I am not the one who traumatized my children.  If I had been the victim of a violent crime at the hands of a stranger, I wouldn't give a second thought to talking about it with others.  Why is it shameful just because the aggressor was my husband?  He is the one who should be ashamed, not me (which is a whole other story in itself).

So I decided to start this blog over.  And talk about the realities of my life, not just the happy family-oriented parts.  Because all of it is part of my life, and part of me.  I have been through a lot, and am a stronger woman because of it.  And I am not ashamed of that.  Angry, sad, maybe. But ashamed? Not anymore.