A single mother of five's story

I’ve only ‘known’ Rose for a short while, but already I count myself lucky to have met her. Her courage, determination, and all out guts have taken my breath away at times… and the sweetness, passion and hope of her music brings a little bit more joy and happiness into my own home every time I play her CD, Close Your Eyes. Her new CD is due out in January, and I can’t wait to hear how the changes in her life have changed her music. Her voice is like an alto Judie Tzuke, her spirit like a warrior princess. Please take the time to read her story.

You had a difficult marriage, one that included abuse; and yet your family counselled you to ‘forgive’ and stay married. Do you have any advice for women who find themselves in your situation? I suppose the biggest question is, how on earth did you ever find the courage to leave?

Because of the way I was raised, and my family’s particular religious bent, I believed for many years that it would be wrong for me to leave. I was told, many, many times that it was MY fault that my marriage was so miserable. I was told that the way to please God was to just say “Yes, sir” to my husband, and although that didn’t seem right to me (not to mention that it didn’t work, at all!) I kept trying, wanting to “do right”. What actually, finally, convinced me that I needed to leave was that I realised that my husband really thought that what he was doing was RIGHT. He believed that it was necessary for him to control me, shout at me and et cetera, in order for me to be kept in line. It wasn’t just that he was angry (although he was, most of the time)… even when he was calm, he was still convinced that I needed to be treated like a child.

I knew that that was wrong, and I could see my children beginning to be affected by his views. I knew that as a parent, there was not a single other person in the WORLD who could act the way he did, and treat me the way he did, and still be allowed to be around my children. I realised that I was actually being a bad parent to continue to live with someone like that.

Advice for women in my situation? I would say, try to find some people that you REALLY trust, that you can tell things to. Not a man. It is incredibly easy to lean on a man who feels all knight-in-shining-armor-ish about you, but I promise that that will, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, only complicate things for you, one way or another. When you are being abused, you can become so confused about what is really right or wrong…you are told all the time that you are stupid, or a mental case, or a baby, or too sensitive (or, as in my case, all of the above!) and so you REALLY need someone to bounce things off of, that can encourage you. I do NOT mean, someone who can tell you what to do!

If you have a friend that tells you VERY STERNLY to GET OUT, or anything else, they are not really helping. An abused woman desperately needs to BELIEVE in herself, in her judgement, in her ability to make good decisions, and a true friend who understands will encourage you that YOU will know when the right time to leave is. They can also, possibly, give you more material help, like keeping important papers safe for you, lending you money, possibly, or just letting you rant and rave and cry when you need to.

Tell us about the days surrounding your actual departure. I can only imagine what that must have been like.

I had actually left once before, and that time, I did everything wrong. I went to my parents, who lived a state and a half away, and they would not take me in, insisting that I should just “go on back home”, and that they would be “ashamed” to let any of their friends know I had left my husband. Also, I didn’t have any money of my own, or my own credit card or bank account, so I only had our family’s credit card. My husband reported our credit card stolen, so I got stuck at a gas station, having filled my (large, old) van with gas, with the manager taking my credit card away and looking askance at me. I was so stunned that he would do that…I mean, I had all HIS children with me! and did he not care at all, that they would have nothing, and might end up stranded at some gas station? That gave me a big dose of harsh reality, also.

So, after I was persuaded to go back, and the first couple months of wondering how things would go had proved to me that they were going to go from bad to worse, I began to plan. I found ways to make money, and only told him about half of it. That is, if I made two hundred dollars, I told him I’d made a hundred. Then, if (when) he tried to “convince” me to give him my money, or simply assimilated it, I’d still have some. I opened a secret bank account, and had to also open a private post office box, so that I could receive statements without him knowing. I also, little by little, began to take documents from our “important papers” box and hide them in my briefcase. The children’s birth certificates. Mine. My marriage license. All our vehicle information (for the van – we had three vehicles). I carried those around with me at all times, not knowing if I would have to leave in a hurry. Those were really terrible days. Having grown up thinking that it was a big sin to tell a lie (clearly, I STILL think that lying is wrong, in most circumstances! but desperate times…) it was frightening and stressful for me to be hiding the money, hiding the post office box key, and et cetera.

I also opened a secret e-mail account, through which I was communicating with a girl friend in another state and telling her my plans. I was afraid to tell a single person in my town, or any one of my family members, because my husband was incredibly persuasive, and had convinced my father and several people from our church that I was “emotionally unstable” and could not be trusted not to lie like a Persian. (That’s rug, not cat. Perhaps Persian cats lie, too…I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past them.) But I felt I needed to tell SOMEONE, so that SOMEONE would know the real story, if “something happened” to me.

My final weekend with him was terrible. He thought he had found out some bad thing that I’d done, and was trying to “get the truth out of me”. There was a terrible… well, not really a fight, because I wasn’t fighting back, but… row, lasting two nights… he would let me fall asleep, and then waken me after about an hour by suddenly shaking me and shouting a question at me over and over. (If you think this sounds like a Gestapo tactic, you are absolutely right.) I had a migraine, and would have to go throw up…then stumble back to bed, only to be shaken awake again. And there was more, and….worse.

Then, he told me on Sunday that he would be in another town on Monday, for his job. He would never tell me these things in advance, because he didn’t like me to make plans. But I knew that was my shot. I knew I might only have one. I played the piano at church that day, I remember. I looked around at all the faces of my friends, and could hardly keep from crying, knowing I would not see them again anytime soon, if at all, and that I could not say goodbye.

I gave him about an hour to get all the way gone, Monday morning, and then told each child to get their special blanket, their favorite stuffed animal, their toothbrush and one clean set of clothes. We each made a hobo bundle, tying our blanket around the only things we would take from our old life to our new one. Then, I had to go to the bank and get the money out, take back the library books, and various other loose-end type of errands. I was so scared that my stomach was aching and cramping and my hands shaking and cold…every place I went, I was looking over my shoulder for his truck, or waiting for someone to stop me or question me.

I had got the number to a women’s shelter here in [place name removed], and we drove all day long to get here. I had told the children we were going to go on an adventure, and I did my best to keep them happy and at peace, although I was more scared than I have ever been before in my whole life. I’ll never forget – when we got into the shelter that night, I had to fill out this three-page questionaire, which asked me to check every single abusive thing he had ever done to me, since I’d been with him.

Three pages of things….and there were only THREE that I did NOT check. I sat there, stunned, thinking “I really WAS abused.” You may think, “well, DUH!” but truly, I went back and forth all the time on that very fact. But….three things! out of three pages! I guess I really needed to see that. Probably, that’s at least half the reason they made me do it.

A little over half a year after you changed your life and the life of your children (for the better, for the better), how are you doing? What is better than you expected it to be? What is harder than you had imagined?

Immediately, in the shelter, my health improved. I had been sick so much, for so long…in the months before I’d left, I had lost about twenty pounds (I was slim to begin with) and had severe migraines about twice a week. I also had intense stomach pain most of the time. The FIRST DAY in the shelter, I woke up without pain. I remember, the children kept saying “Wow, Mama’s running!” or “Mama, you’re playing with us a lot!” The most obvious things that have changed are A. We have peace, for the most part, in our house, and B. We are poorer than freekin’ church mice.

I have been thrilled, over and over and over, to discover how smart I am. I was told my WHOLE LIFE that I was dumb, that I was helpless, that I would never survive without him, that I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper bag. To see myself accomplishing things was incredibly exciting and strengthening to me. I can’t even express how much.

Also, I have seen my children really step up to the plate and help me with certain things. Whether it’s moving bunk beds up the stairs or just figuring out how to make a little more money, we are in it together, and that makes all of us proud.

I think the hardest thing is to feel that I bear so much responsibility alone. I have three jobs, and one of them is writing, which I usually end up doing in the middle of the night, so I am tired most of the time, and then I arrive home from work in the evening, pick up the children from their afternoon daycare, and have to face whatever mess we left in the morning and the ever-present question: What to make for dinner from ancient Food Bank Pasta Surprise and canned vegetables? I was always the mom that read aloud, played games, made fun projects, made bread from scratch….and now, I am leaving my children in a smelly daycare. I never, never, never thought I would do that, and it is HARD. Every single day, it’s hard.

Sometimes, I wake up and think “Nope. Can’t do it. I don’t want to be the Mommy today.”

But truly, honestly, I have never EVER felt a desire to go back.

Here, when I mess up, I can say I’m sorry, and it’s over. I am not punished for my mistakes on and on for weeks. Also, I can relax in my home. If I want to eat dinner in my pajamas, or listen to Rachmaninoff very loudly while taking a bath, I can. It’s my house. No one shouts at me if dinner is late, or if the children make a gigantic fort in the living room out of couch cushions. It’s really a Home

You’ve had some runarounds with the local government in your quest for aid for you and your family. Is there anything you’ve learned from your struggles that might make things easier for the next woman in line?

Yes….you cannot count on anyone to truly be on your side unless they have proven it to you. Government agencies that are in place (ostensibly) to assist you are overrun with pseudo-victims that make them take a very calloused, jaded view of you. That is not your fault, but you must brace yourself; it is entirely possible that they will act skeptical that you need help, look down on you, and even deny your application several times out of sheer malice (at least, that’s what I call it). You have to keep telling yourself “My children deserve help from this damned operation, and I will by golly get it for them.” because it can be very discouraging. My advice? If you need to feel crushed and overwhelmed and go weeping to bed, DO IT! and then, after a few hours (or days, depending on how bad whatever it was WAS), get up and GO TRY AGAIN.

Remember, if at first you don’t succeed….skydiving is not for you.

How are the kids? Are they adjusting to this new life? Are they angry, happy, sad, all of the above? What special rituals have you woven into your new lives to keep you happy and connected?

They have adjusted pretty well. The day we had the Big Talk, and I told them we were not going back, we all cried. That was a bad day. But then, we had some fun here. We found a huge library. We played in a few parks. We went to a couple churches, and found some Kids. And they could see that I was different. I didn’t cry so much. I didn’t have headaches so much. I laughed a lot more.

This is a tough one, because being a Single Mother is so difficult! I have to do the work of about three people, just to keep us alive. This renders me stressed out and exhausted, often. But what I keep telling myself is, what kids really need to see is that I LOVE THEM, and that we are in this together. When I snap at them, or yell in frustration because all I DID was go take a SHOWER and how was that even enough TIME for them to TRASH THE ENTIRE DOWNSTAIRS???? I always, ALWAYS talk to them about it, and apologize, if I yelled or got mad. I say “I am doing the best I can for our family, but sometimes, I feel like you guys aren’t helping me. I need to be able to count on you, just like you count on me, because we’re a family. That’s what families do.”

Our fun times usually consist of me lying on the couch with various kids on top of me while we watch Rocky and Bullwinkle or Inspector Gadget (a very kind friend gave us a DVD player and a box of old shows), or of me lying on a blanket in the park while they run around. Time together doesn’t have to cost money, or take any energy. Which is a damn’ good thing.

I believe everyone should have something they do that is deeply satisfying to their souls. Is music that one thing for you? Has your separation affected your work on the new CD? For better? For worse? Has your work, and your perspective as a singer/songwriter/musician, changed since you found your freedom?

Music IS that one thing for me…although writing is very satisfying too, music is a deeper, almost spiritual experience for me. My husband always hated the thought of me pursuing music at all….he SAID he liked my music when we were dating, but the second we were married, he said “Aren’t girls supposed to sing high?” and wouldn’t listen when I wrote a new song…I didn’t even TRY to sing in public until I was in my late twenties, and then, when I realized that I was really a singer/songwriter, not just a songwriter, he wouldn’t allow me to have gigs, saying it was “inappropriate” for me to be performing. So, to be free from that is absolutely incredible. Since I have moved here, I have got gigs in the very most reputable venues in my town just by walking in and handing them my demo. I have finished work on my CD, and it is now in production, and I have been chosen to participate in a female artist showcase in New York City in 2007. Also, I find a new depth, both in my songwriting and in my performance. The emotion is so rich, so raw that it makes my previous recording work seem almost juvenile to me. ( I don’t know that it actually is, but I have grown incredibly, musically, since I left.) To look out, at an audience, and see people wiping tears, or hear that little moment of stunned silence after a song is ended that means people are trying to come back from wherever I took them….there is hardly anything in the world more moving and wonderful than that.

I know that life as an even semi-successful musician can be a very difficult one, but I also know that:

A. If I work at home writing music and performing, a couple of times weekly, at night, I could take my children out of that wretched daycare forever! and

B. NO life could be more difficult, emotionally or mentally, than the life I left. Back there, I was never sure that I was good enough – I had little to offer because I had no confidence. I know that my children can survive just about anything if I am consistently loving and listening to them. If I am singing/writing/performing, I am stable, and can face just about anything, too – because it is when I sing that I know, one hundred percent, who I am, and what I am here for.