A Current News Story Resonates with Me

 

I'm as absorbed as anyone currently in the Mica Miller case. According to reports, Mica Miller had filed multiple times for a legal separation from John-Paul Miller. But she repeatedly returned to him, or so it seems from the sketchy reports and timelines I've gathered. 

I can relate to what reads like an on-again, off-again relationship. I too lived that way for far too long, my Christian faith and commitment to the ideals of marriage combined with devotion to my abuser kept me stuck. 

It seems apparent from what I've read online about Mica, in the quiet corners of her heart, she wrestled with tumultuous storms raging within. She was a pastor's wife so it makes sense she had to keep her struggles close to her heart. But it's apparent, as a devout Christian, she clung fiercely to her faith like a lifeline amidst the crashing waves of her troubled marriage. Time and again, she had prayed fervently for strength and for guidance.

But as the days stretched into months, and the months into years, the whispers of doubt grew louder, echoing in the chambers of her soul. She couldn't ignore the reality of what was really happening in her life.

How does a woman reconcile the teachings of her faith with the harsh reality of infidelity and a crumbling marriage? How does she honor her vows once they had become chains binding her to a loveless existence?

I too, was separated, but pretended to have the kind of marriage most did--living together. I found it difficult to say I was separated. I was living a double life.

I recall when Randy left me for perhaps the third time, he said a friend asked him if he had a legal separation. The friend went on, "If you don't, she can take everything."

I laughed. What was there to take? He was back in school. He didn't have a steady job. I was supporting myself. If anyone was to be worried about money, it should have been me.

The weight of my own Christian expectations that pressed down upon me at that time were suffocating my spirit on an ongoing basis.

They say Mica's death was self-inflicted. My pain was self-inflicted too as I felt trapped in my façade of a life. There were deep bruises in my heart, scars upon my soul, turmoil in my spirit, and a truth I could eventually no longer deny. I would become a statistic. I would become divorced.

For too long, I struggled in silence aching for the answer to come from God above clearly so I could break free from the chains that bound me. I wanted permission to take the next legal step. It was a long and slow process.

And so, at last, like Mica Miller did, with trembling hands and tear-stained cheeks, I made the agonizing decision to walk away and set a strong boundary. Alas, I said to myself, "No more games! This is it."

And, I was set free. She was not. She died.

Please read my story--as tedious as it is, in my low-priced eBook available on Amazon.

Tell Your Story, They Say

They say, tell your story. Get it out there to heal. Get it out there to make others in a similar position more aware. Help them open their eyes and become brave.

Getting the story out there in book form is one thing. Having someone read it is when the storyteller becomes validated. Read our stories! 

We know so much more now in 2024 than we did way back in the 70s or 80s! We now know about narcissism, manipulation, gaslighting, emotional abuse, mental illness, PTSD, Complex-PTSD. We know now how what we went through was more than immature decision making. And the results were deep and complex, affecting our very souls. 

But, those of us who have moved on, find healing and, eventually, a new safe place to call home. 

Not My First Rodeo

When I met Jill after having children with my new husband Marc, she made a condescending remark about me needing to get use to the idea of cooking meals as a new bride. 

Jill didn't seem to know my history. Or, if she did, she didn't acknowledge it. I'd been there. I'd had bridal showers prior to marrying Randy. I'd been a new bride 12 years prior to the day of her remark! I'd picked out table settings and decor and set tables and collected recipes and cooked dinners. This was not my first rodeo. 

But who would give me credit for time spent trying to fake it until I could make it with Randy? 

No, I shouldn't have married Randy, but I did. I went through apartment hunting with him too many times as no place was ever good enough for him. I went through moving and setting up our 'home'. I had been the new bride. 

So, yes, I resented her comment. 

And this is another reason I wrote the memoir. The people I want to have read it never will. But I got it out there. The depths of what some women go through is deep. 

What I went through gave me Complex PTSD (C-PTSD), a psychological condition that can develop in individuals who have experienced prolonged or repeated trauma over an extended period. Often, it happens to a person who feels trapped. And I was trapped. Trapped by the rules of my religious upbringing, trapped by the title of wife to a man who didn't want to be married but wouldn't sign divorce papers. I was trapped in poverty, living off a ministry wage hardly being able to afford rent on my own. I was trapped in Randy's emotional abuse.

And the C-PTSD brought on pervasive feelings of shame, guilt, worthlessness, and emotional anxiety.

When my daughter was about to marry, though over 30 years had passed, the C-PTSD was triggered again. I didn't want her making a mistake as I had. And I came down with General Anxiety Disorder (GAD). Our emotions are powerful.

Listen to Alarm Bells

He played games from the day I met him. It was a marriage that shouldn't have happened. I have deep regrets. But I've grown and learned valuable lessons. 

After a few dates, when Randy said, "You seem like the type of girl I might want to marry" alarm bells went off. I wasn't into him that way. I was only with him because of his leech-like nature. He was a clinger. I was easy prey. 

I sensed a disconnect, a misalignment in our wavelengths, but at that tender age, my understanding of the intricate dance of long-term relationships was in its infancy. While my spiritual heart whispered he was not for me, I wasn't effective at setting stronger boundaries. I'd lost connection with girlfriends so I latched onto him by default since I felt I had no other friend to spend time with.

Now I know, what he said to me that night in the car as he was dropping me off was a sign of his immaturity and part of his quest to get me to have sex with him. I wish I'd run. 

A MisMatched Couple

I wish I'd had the strength to break up the relationship when we were 'dating'. Life is hard after college friends disappear. The adult world isn't so fun. My social life was the pits. All I had was Randy. But I knew I didn't want him. I just didn't know how to find the life I really wanted. So I settled. I fell for his lies. I needed a mentor or friend but I was shy--never quite good at keeping friends. I simply wasn't mature enough to be in a long-term relationship.

I was brought up in a fundamental Baptist church. Dancing wasn't allowed. Going to the movies wasn't allowed. Drinking wasn't allowed. Randy should have picked up that I was wrong for him. He loved to do all those things. And I guess for a time, he settled too.

This is why Baptist parents want their children to marry only someone brought up in the same church. I see the point, but I also see there are cult-like ingredients in those cultures. 

Now as an adult, I've been to more dances and movies than I can count. I finally walked away from legalism and the cult, though I never walked away from my Lord. And drinking--I still don't do that apart from a sip of wine or an occasional cocktail.

My best friend of five years refused to be a bridesmaid. My other friends backed off once I wore an engagement ring. I knew inside I wasn't ready for marriage, but I knew no other choice at that time. So I started planning the wedding. 

What a Relationship is Not

 

 

Callous is a person who steps away from the woman he promised his love and support to. He assumes he’s made a grave mistake in marrying her. He wants freedom. He gets caught up in the rewards of selfishness, using the perks of newfound independence as a measuring device for how far he can trample her before she rebels. The callous person makes his choice and then becomes defined by his choices. Randy was that callous snake.

All I ever wanted was a hand to hold, arms to hold me, and someone to appreciate me. Moral support. Someone to share a bowl of popcorn with while watching mindless TV. But now, though technically I was still married, I didn’t have any of that.

Four years have passed since I said, “I do.” The world of the separated woman feels cold and empty. I hate living in limbo.