My Recovery Journey: Forced into Hiding

When I was dropped off at the Orlando airport by my driver, it was so vacant and there

were very few people in sight. As I made my way through security and towards my gate, there was a Starbucks open and I b-lined it there. I hadn’t had an iced coffee since I entered The Refuge, mostly because the coffee there was the equivalent to jet fuel. All of the food was incredible, I am not complaining about the dining, but the coffee was so strong. I grabbed an iced coffee with salted caramel cold foam and let the flavor linger on my tongue. It tasted so good. I sent a quick text message that I was getting ready to board my flight and then walked onto a nearly empty plane to head to my layover in Detroit.

My first taste of coffee after leaving The Refuge.

When I landed in Detroit, I didn’t have a ton of time to get to my connection so I didn’t

look at my phone right away. When I made it to my gate to head to O'Hare, I checked my phone and there was a text from my abuser that said something to the effect of “I need you to call me. Now.” I was immediately riddled with anxiety. The first thing I thought was "what could my abuser already be angry about? I wasn’t even home yet, I couldn’t have done anything wrong to make him angry already". I picked up my phone and called. The first thing out of his mouth was “(my attorney) just fired me and it’s your fault.” I didn’t have any idea how that could be my fault. He explained to me that he had just sat in his attorney’s office and watched an interview that I did in the fall of 2019 with the state’s attorney and investigator.

I remembered it explicitly. After the article in the newspaper came out where I was being interviewed and publicly recanted my statements from when my abuser was arrested and publicly asked for the charges to be dropped. During that time, the victim’s advocate reached out to me from the State's Attorney's office to find out if I was okay and what had happened. I wasn’t alone when I received that call and told them I would have to connect at a later point. They let me know that they would be stopping by my office the following day to talk to me.

When they arrived, I left my phone on my desk and went outside to talk with them. They asked if I would be okay with going to another location. I let them know that I was fine with that, and I wasn’t going to bring my phone because my abuser had my location tracked on it and I didn’t want him to know that I had left work. We left to go to a different location and while there, I consented to speak with them while it was being recorded. We spoke about the reasons that the newspaper article was put out, as well as the other follow up media. We discussed things that had occurred at home since I moved back in with my abuser and the abuse that had taken place. I told them that I didn’t know what to do and I was scared but I just wanted all of this to go away. They explained to me why they chose to not drop the charges and that they would be there for me every step of the way if I needed it. We concluded the interview, I was driven back to my office and went about my day. I had let that morning completely slip my mind until I was on that phone call in the middle of the Detroit airport.

I got on the plane to head back to O'Hare. I wasn’t flying into a local airport because

there were fears that I would be noticed on a flight manifest, and I would be found and

subpoenaed at the airport. My stomach was in knots, and I worked on the breathing techniques that I learned at The Refuge the entire flight back. I got off the plane and we met in the baggage claim, he helped me get my suitcases and we went out to my car and began the drive home to Peoria. I honestly don’t remember very much of that conversation. I was definitely dissociating a little bit, something that I learned at treatment that I did as a trauma response when I was anxious or afraid. We got close to home and I was instructed to lie down in the seat so I wouldn’t be seen if someone was outside the house. Very few people knew that I was coming home. Those people consisted of my family, my abuser’s close friends and, I believe, only one of my friends.

It was decided before I got home that I wouldn’t be leaving the house unless it was “safe.” For the most part I was going to be staying home alone or in certain cases I was allowed to go to my step father’s home to see him and my sister. I was allowed to go to a couple homes of my abuser’s good friends from time to time because he said they could be trusted not to share that I was home, and I went to therapy, or rather, I went to therapy in the beginning. Every so often he would take me to Bloomington to eat. I left the house on a few other rare occasions, but not often.

Wrigley helped me through so much.

I arrived home early in the week and within a day or two my abuser was going back out

to spend time at their favorite bar with their friends. I spent a lot of time alone when I returned home and it was so hard. I had just been somewhere where there was such a sense of community and everyone was so supportive. I spent so much time outside which I loved. I met friends that that I could tell anything to and there was constant support when I needed it. When I got home, I spent a lot of time alone. It was just me and my dogs. I had left somewhere that felt like a giant supportive hug and was immediately isolated again. I had a very hard time with this to say the least. My therapist was concerned because I wasn’t able to fully use the skills that I had learned in treatment because I wasn’t around anyone. Shortly after I returned home, I wanted to see my step dad and sisters. My abuser was supportive of this at first and he informed me that if I was going to be leaving the house I would be always in the backseat and I would need to lie down when we would leave our home and also when we would return.

Seeing my family when I returned home and for the first time after my mom’s death brought

such a mix of emotions. It still didn’t feel real. I hadn’t seen her in the hospital after the accident. I never saw her with my own eyes, hooked up to all the machines for life support. I didn’t see her during the viewing that occurred before she was cremated. It still didn’t feel real. The first time that I went to my stepdad’s home, so many emotions came rushing back to me. At first it felt like maybe she was just gone somewhere and not home yet. When I saw my sisters, the tears began to flow. My mom and I had always been so close. We

definitely had our fair share of arguments, as all mother and daughters do, but for the most part we spoke everyday at least once if not multiple times. I spent a lot of time with her and my stepdad. I saw her, at minimum, once a week. She would come up to Peoria to get her nails done and we would do those appointments together. We would get dinner and a movie regularly, go shopping, or just hang out at her house in Lincoln. It was so hard not being able to pick up the phone and talk to her. That is still something that I struggle with today. Walking into my stepdad’s house, I was aware that this was the house that my mom was purchasing because she wanted to be closer to me. To help me get through the abuse and support me. The house where she told me I would always have a bed if I needed to escape from my own home. The house that we were supposed to sit on the back deck and drink coffee in. The house where we were going to swim in the pool. The house that was supposed to be my safe haven— and it was heartbreaking. She was so excited to move up to Peoria. The last text I had from her was telling me that she had just woken up in her new home and she was so happy to be in it and close to me and that she loved me. When I got there, she was no longer living in that house. She was gone.

When I was allowed to leave the house during the first four months after I got home, I left for

only a few reasons. Sometimes we would head out of town, generally Bloomington. In the

beginning I was allowed to attend therapy in person (it was in a different county), I was allowed to go to my stepdad’s home, I would go to a home of one of my abuser’s friends, and on a rare occasion, I was allowed to go somewhere else. When I would leave home, I was not allowed to bring my phone. There were concerns that the location was being tracked and my abuser was afraid that I would be located and subpoenaed.

I was yearning to be able to leave, to do anything outside the home. While at home, I was generally not allowed to leave the master bedroom. That summer and fall there were contractors in and out of the home for renovations and I spent almost all of my time in there as a result. I wanted to be able to sit in the backyard but there were fears that I would be seen so that wasn’t allowed either. The people that were allowed to know that I was home (other than my family and my therapist/Drs), PRAISED me for coming home from treatment “changed.” They would say all of the time that I was so much better than I was before, so much easier to be around and that they were proud of me for staying in hiding so that my abuser’s trial wouldn’t happen. They knew "he didn’t do those things”.

This was hard for me to hear, when I went to treatment I knew the things that I was working on and yes, I didn’t deep dive into all of the abuse that led up to the arrest because at that time I was so confused by it, but my sisters and my therapist were so concerned that I was in hiding, they constantly told me that it wasn’t healthy, and deep down inside, I knew this as well. Being around my abuser’s friends and family was so difficult for me. I struggled so much with being praised for trying to “fix” the wrong I had done by calling for help that night in July of 2019. I still had confusion about the things that I remembered from that

night and then the things that were told to me by my abuser that “actually” happened to correct my memory. This was something that I struggled to work through, and it was something that I spoke with my therapist about in all of my sessions.

Not long after I returned home, maybe within a month, some of my abuser’s friends were getting together for a pool party at one of their homes, I was allowed to go because there were going to be some people there that I didn’t know, and I wore a hat and sunglasses so there would be harder for me to be recognized. At this pool party my abuser drank a lot of alcohol, I didn’t drink any. I had previously used alcohol and marijuana to dissociate and after leaving The Refuge, I had abstained from any of those substances to stay clear and present in my life as part of my recovery. I would eventually begin to socially drink alcohol but I did it at a much lower level and for different reasons. On the way home I was concerned about him driving because he wasn’t sober, but it was made clear to me that I wouldn’t be allowed to drive. I would have to stay in the back seat and hidden. Things were said about the reasons why I had to hide and as usual it was “my fault” because I was the reason why this trial was occurring and I should have known better than to call 911 and get him into trouble.

By the time we arrived home I was anxious and scared. I rushed up the stairs and went to grab my cell phone and go to the spare bedroom. The spare bedroom was supposed to be my haven in the house. The agreement had been that if that door was shut and locked, I was to be left alone. I went in there and I locked the door. I was crying and very upset. My abuser tried to get in and continued to bang on the door eventually breaking the lock so it would open. He was yelling at me to not DARE call 911 again. He began to fight me and climbed on top of me to try and get my phone. All of his body weight was on me, and I was completely panicked. I don’t know what ended the altercation, but immediately my mind was taken back to the night in July 2019 when I was attacked and I called for help.

He eventually stopped attacking me when I, through my sobs, promised him that I wouldn’t call 911 or anyone else for help. After this incident he panicked and left the room. I called one of our friend’s for help, crying and panicking. This friend was one of my abuser’s close friends and was one of the people that I was permitted to see when I had arrived home. She told me to not call 911 and that she would have him leave and go to her house so he could cool off.

My dear Wrigley

Once he left, a swirl of emotions came over me. What had just happened was so similar to the night that I called 911 when my abuser was arrested for aggravated domestic violence. In that moment, when I was alone in the home, I sat downstairs in the family room with my sweet little Wrigley (my five pound Pomeranian) on my lap. He wouldn’t leave my side, he snuggled in and I just continued to pet him to try to relax. I knew then that what happened in July 2019 did happen as I remembered it. I knew that I wasn’t “crazy.” Every ounce of me remembered every bit of what occurred.

When I was leaving treatment, I had asked my therapist, when would I remember and understand what happened that night, when would I know the full truth? Her response to me was that I would remember when my body was ready to remember. The altercation that afternoon triggered my body to fully remember what happened that night. I remembered what happened and I knew that what had happened was exactly how I had explained it to the 911 operator when I called for help. It was as I had explained to the police that night. It was how I had shared it with the police the following day during my interviews. It was how I explained it to the advocate center when I was granted my order of protection.

I had so much fear come over me in that moment.

I made two phone calls that night. I called The Refuge and asked to speak to a

therapist on duty. It was the weekend so my personal therapist wasn’t available, but I spoke with someone that I interacted often with during my time there. This person knew my story. They let me sob and explain what just occurred. They wanted to know that I was safe, if I needed to call the police for help. I told them that there was no way I was going to call 911, the aftermath of that call the first time was too much for me to bear, I couldn’t go through that again. They went through my safety plan with me that I had established and they encouraged me to hold my boundaries that I worked so hard on while I was at treatment. After that call, I hung up and I reached out to my attorney that was representing me and my best interests throughout my abuser’s trial. I explained to him what happened and that I was afraid and that I wanted to accept my subpoena and testify at the upcoming trial. He and I spoke for a very long time and he told me that he was out of town and would be back the following day and would come to my home and discuss all of this with me. He wanted to make sure that I was safe, I told him that I was and that my abuser wouldn’t be coming home that night. I spent the rest of my evening at home, alone in my thoughts.

I knew what happened and I knew the truth and I had to figure our what to do with it. The next day, my abuser reached out to me asking if he could come home and talk to me about what happened. Eventually after some coaxing, I let him come home. I remember sitting on the couch in the family room and him telling me what happened. I also remember looking straight at him and saying that I knew what occurred, I also remembered what happened

the night in July of 2019 and I knew that I remembered it correctly. A lot of the conversation that we had that afternoon seems to run together in my memory. I do remember that he had done what he always did previously, he apologized over and over and swore it would not happen.

One of the skills I learned while I was at treatment was to find something to focus on to keep me present in the moment. For me, this was sucking on grape tootsie pops and jolly

ranchers. I would also hold onto my treatment coin. I would flip it around through my fingers, feeling the different textures, when I felt myself starting to zone out I would think about what I was feeling with my fingers and the taste of the sweet grape flavor in my mouth. Doing this would help me stay focused and present to what was happening in my surroundings and it would help me try to keep the severe anxiety I struggled with at bay. By the end of his pleading for me to not go to trial and to protect him and begging to come home, I gave in.

Art I created in an Alumni Zoom Therapy Session

My abuser used things that were happening in our life as what I now know were leverage and manipulation tactics. He told me that if I was at trial, then it would make him look

very bad. How would he possibly continue in his career? How would I be supported if he

couldn’t support me? What would happen to his political future. He let me know that he and his attorney would make their defense about the fact that I was mentally unstable. They would make me look like the problem. I would be destroyed publicly. This frightened me. Everything that happened after I was forced to recant my version of what happened that night in the media haunted me. The comments that I saw online stuck in my head. I remember seeing things online from women that I was taking away all domestic violence victims’ credibility, that I was an embarrassment for women, seeing people post that I was a liar and should never be trusted, people posted about my mental health; it was all too much.

While I was at The Refuge, my mental health was fully evaluated. I learned that when I

had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2006, it wasn’t accurate. The mental health

evaluation that I received by a doctor that my abuser’s attorney sent me to in the fall of 2019, was also way off base. When I was at The Refuge and I had medical professionals spending two months with me, learning my story, providing care, changing my medications, I was officially diagnosed with cPTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and a generalized anxiety disorder. Since early 2006, when I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, I was very, very heavily medicated. A lot of these medications caused a lot of terrible side effects and even created new symptoms. When I was at treatment, they worked to take me off of nearly all of the medications I was on and start me on medications for what I was actually struggling with. I was weened off of the benztropine based medication that I was on (Valium, Xanax), the massive mood stabilizers, plus an array of other things. My medications were changed to a majority of things that helped

with my anxiety and that were not addicting (unlike the Valium and other benzo based medications), medication to help with the incredible nightmares that I was having due to the abuse that I had dealt with for years during my relationship, and an antidepressant. That was it for psychiatric medications. Taking all of this into account, I knew that I was not mentally unstable. I knew that the things that I had been dealing with in my life at the time were because of my severe cPTSD.

It terrified me that they would make his defense all about me as a person. I had dealt with so much ridicule following his arrest that this was something that I was nowhere in any shape to deal with, especially following leaving treatment and my mother’s unexpected death. I told my abuser that he could come home. I told him that I would agree to stay in hiding. I told him that I wouldn’t talk with the states attorney’s office. I felt so trapped and afraid. I felt like there was nothing I could do to help myself and no one would ever believe me if I asked for help. I talked with my sisters and my therapist about all of this. They were worried. I was doing everything I could do to keep my head above water, and I was doing everything I could do to survive.

I was so lonely over these four months. I wasn’t allowed to talk to many people that were my friends because my abuser felt it was best if no one knew what was going on with me

(and that I was being forced to stay in hiding in our home). I spent my days upstairs in the master bedroom. I wasn’t allowed to engage in social media because I didn’t while I was at treatment and my abuser didn’t want anyone to see me engaging online. I did spend a lot of time communicating with other Refugees that I had met at treatment, and others I had met through our online alumni platform. I missed being at The Refuge. I missed being able to spend my days with the sun on my face, feeling the grass underneath me. I missed my beloved tricycle so much! I loved that thing and the basket on the back that I would drop my things into and zip around. I had dreams of getting one for home and putting Wrigley in the back and taking him everywhere. I missed my girlfriends and going out. I missed golfing and spending my summer at the pool. I missed being able to walk into a store and buy my own things like groceries and being able to wander through Target. When I first came home, we thought I was only going to have to stay in hiding for a short period of time. The trial was scheduled, it would happen, and I wouldn’t be found and the state wouldn’t have a witness and as (my abuser’s attorney) explained, it would have to be dropped. I had hopes that I would be able to spend some of my summer outside and enjoy the weather. The date for the trial came and was continued. I was devastated. I wanted nothing more than to feel any sort of normal. We were still in the height of the pandemic, but I wanted to drive myself somewhere and do anything other than sit in the master bedroom at my house.

As time went on, my abuser became more and more cautious about me leaving to go

anywhere. There was an afternoon that we were invited to head out to one of his friend’s

homes on a lake about an hour from Peoria to ride on the boat. I was so thrilled about this! I

was going to get to go out in nature, breathe the air, feel the wind on my face. Things like that were the smallest piece of normalcy I was able to experience. When we went to leave, my abuser pulled my car out of the garage with me lying down in back until we were out in the neighborhood. After we were a few blocks away, I sat up in the backseat. I was always so anxious and vigilant about what was going on around me when I wasn’t at home. We were working our way up the street and we noticed that we were being followed. I was instructed to lie down and my abuser started to go a different way and the car continued to follow. Next thing I knew, he was panicking and telling me that he was being pulled over and I was to stay lying down and quiet in the back. He pulled over to the curb not far from our home and put the window down. An officer came up to the window and began to speak with him. When my abuser asked why he had been pulled over, he was told that it was because he was rolling through stop signs. The officer ended up handing my abuser’s license back to him, told him to watch the stop signs and let us leave. Still to this day, I don’t understand how the investigator didn’t see me in the backseat. Deep down inside I wish that he would have seen me. I wish that I had been discovered. I wonder what would have happened if he had seen me? I wonder if it would have completely changed the next couple of years of my life.

Following this incident, my trips out of the house became even less. I did all of my

therapy and other doctor appointments through zoom. I spent a lot of time doing different virtual recovery groups and took every option I had to do The Refuge Alumni weekly zooms to be able to connect with other people. I was going stir crazy and wanted to not be trapped in my home like a prisoner anymore. I spoke with my therapist and cried to her that I wanted to go back to The Refuge. I wanted to be back with other people, I wanted to feel the freedom to be able to walk outside without fear of retribution or fear of being subpoenaed. I wanted to spend time with people that supported and cared about me. It was made clear to me by my abuser that paying for The Refuge again wasn’t an option.. In every session (I was seeing my therapist virtually usually twice a week), she kept telling me that she wasn’t comfortable with the fact that I wasn’t allowed to leave. She was very concerned about my mental health and my safety after the incident that had happened in the middle of the summer. I was so thankful that I had her as my therapist. It took me a long time to fully trust her and to know that she was there for me and not for my

abuser. At this point in my therapy every conversation we had was open and honest and I

showed her all of me. When I was leaving The Refuge and I mentioned to my primary therapist there that I didn’t know how I was supposed to go back home and keep going on, because I wasn’t “fixed.” She told me that The Refuge was the foundation that we had built and the real work would happen once I got home and continued my journey. My therapist was helping guide me through that work now. The problem was, I felt like a prisoner in my home and there was no way that I was going to be able to continue that work because I was so trapped inside the storm of my trauma.

Another trial was scheduled about two months after I had returned home. This was the

second trial that was supposed to occur since I returned from treatment. I had hopes that would be the trial where they would cancel everything. They hadn’t found me and my abuser's (first attorney) said that if they didn’t have me as a witness there couldn’t be a trial. That trial came and it wasn’t thrown out, it was continued, again. I was devastated. I

wanted nothing more than to be free of the home I was in that felt like my prison. That day in August of 2020 broke me. I felt as though I was never going to be free again and so terribly depressed and frustrated and angry. I remember expressing this one night with my abuser and some of his friends that I was allowed to be around. I also remember being told that this trial was my fault, because I called 911, I was the one that put myself in this situation.

I cried and moped around my home. My abuser just kept telling me things like: “fine, if you want to leave the house leave the house, remember this is your decision, I am not forcing you to stay here. Just remember, if you leave and you are subpoenaed, you will be the reason why I will no longer be able to take care of you. I will be in jail and you will have no one. Do you really want me to go to jail? For something you did? Do I deserve that?” My abuser would use those words, “it's your choice to be here,” “I am not forcing you to be here,” “you are the one that decided to stay here.” Those words were said, they were said to others, but the day I decided that I wanted to not be there anymore, that day it was made clear to me that I didn’t have a choice. The words that my abuser used towards me were manipulation tactics. He acted as though I had a choice in the matter, but I didn’t have a choice. I never had a choice.

The trial had been continued to October, that was two more months. Two months of

hiding, two months of being completely afraid, two months of missing out on my life and not being able to walk outside. I tried to find outlets. I read a lot of books. I started following a food blog that gave me fun ideas of things to make, I would create a list and ask for groceries to be picked up to be able to make some of the recipes I was dying to try. I did a lot of yoga. I practiced meditation. I did a lot of sudoku and word searches. I watched way too much tv. I would lie in my bed and snuggle with Wrigley, he was the only good part of being trapped at home. I loved my little guy so much and I missed him so, so much while I was at treatment. I ordered a gel nail kit and UV light so I could learn how to give myself mani/pedis at home. I had one of my girlfriends get me products to do my own facials that could be picked up and brought to me.

I spent a lot of time on an app for people in recovery called “The Rooms.” On this app I

would do all sorts of fellowship meetings. I actually found an SLAA meeting that I loved that was based out of the UK and continued to participate in it for a couple of years following. I would log onto these meetings, and I would get to talk to perfect strangers about what was happening in my world and how it affected me. We would all share and then we would close out the meeting with the Serenity Prayer. It was my way of trying to make a little bit of normal in my world that was anything but normal at the moment. I did what I could do to get by until the next trial date, hoping that everything would eventually be dropped, and my life could move on.

Sometime towards the end of September I found out that the sheriff’s office and the states attorney investigator went to my stepdad’s home and subpoenaed him. While they were there, I was told that they searched through his home looking for me. I was upset and I was floored. I called my attorney to find out what happened and what all of this meant. When my attorney got back to me I was told that they were going to use my step father as a witness. They were planning on putting him on the stand. They were going to ask about abuse that he had witnessed, things about our relationship, ask him where I was. If they couldn’t locate me, they were going to have a witness regardless. My heart broke and I was devastated. I couldn’t let this happen to my stepfather. My mother had just died, it wasn’t fair to do this to him. I panicked.

My abuser told me that he would make sure that my stepdad wouldn’t say anything on the stand, that it would be fine. He would protect my stepdad, “protect” him by asking him to perjure himself. The calls started coming in from my siblings and the four of us had a lot of conversations about what to do because none of us felt like this was fair to our step/father. I called my attorney, and I told him to call the states attorney’s office and set up a meeting. I was going in there and accepting my subpoena. The actions that my abuser took towards me were one thing, but the problems in our relationship, the pain, the manipulation, the tears—it was one thing if I was the victim, but I would not allow a single member of my family to become a victim to this.

Within a week or so, one of my abuser’s friends drove me to the Peoria County

Courthouse, where I met with my attorney and we walked to the state’s attorney’s conference room. We both went in, I was handed my subpoena and it was explained to me that this meant I had to testify for a trial. I told the investigator that I understood and my attorney and I sat down across the table from the state’s attorney, investigator and the advocate. The States Attorney told me that they were concerned when they couldn't find me, they worried that I was no longer alive.

A lot of things were discussed during conversation in that meeting. They explained that they

were planning on offering my abuser a plea. They explained the plea and what went along with it. They didn’t want a trial to happen because they knew how much the scrutiny I received the year prior affected me. They didn’t want me to be destroyed by my abuser and his attorney on the stand or through the trial. They explained to me that they were offering him a plea down to just disorderly conduct, not domestic violence. He would have to attend domestic violence classes and would be on probation for a set period of time. I remember telling them that he wouldn’t agree to that, he wouldn’t accept a guilty plea and there would be no way that he would attend those classes. They told me not to worry about that, they would take care of it.

A lot of things happened over the next week. There were negotiations with my abuser

and his attorney, there was assurance that when he went in to accept his plea that it wouldn’t be publicized. On October 16th , 2020, I followed my abuser into the courtroom. There was a member of the media sitting there in the front row. I sat in the back

and waited. My abuser entered an Alford Plea to disorderly conduct, was ordered to attend

domestic violence classes at the local domestic violence shelter, pay a fine and would be on

probation.

My abuser wanted me to speak to the media and make a statement, but I definitely didn’t want to do that. My attorney put a statement out to the media on my behalf. That evening, my abuser put out a post on Facebook explaining that “he did what was right for his family", entered an Alford Plea and he publicly spoke of his innocence and the problems with our judicial system and made comments about how he should have never been prosecuted.

I sat in my silence. I knew my truth. I was still scared. That night, my abuser went out

to the bar with his friends, I stayed home. I knew that I had a lot of things to figure out and

decisions to make and I no longer knew what my future had in store for me, but I knew that my future had changes ahead. I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t allow myself to stay in this situation and I was going to change my life.

Thank you for allowing me to share my recovery journey. I have shared a lot in these three

blog posts and I will be honest, writing them has been tough but therapeutic. As stated before, I want to help others that are in similar situations and I made a promise to myself that I would speak out when I felt ready. The next few weeks will have the stories of me working to release myself from the marriage that I was trapped in. Things that happened along the way, how I survived and how I make sure that I put myself, my mental and emotional health, and my safety before anything else. I hope that you will continue reading. I appreciate the kindness that has been poured out to me since I began sharing my journey and the trust some of my readers have placed in me by sharing their own experiences. I want you to know that I hear you, I see you and I believe you.

--Heather