As time passes it becomes a buffer, or at least it pretends to be. Today a friend from the area I lived when I was married to my ex posted about a fundraiser she was working on. Her family works to fund raise for adoption fees for Christian families wanting to adopt, so this didn't cease to amaze me at her giving heart and desire to serve others. She was selling leggings and a second pair for $10, but the additional pair would be donated to a home for girls. The home I am familiar with. I know someone who used to work there. It was 15 minutes from my home that I lived in with a man who abused me daily emotionally and mentally and physically whenever he chose to. This home works with girls who are broken and abused and lost and need guidance and love.
So, reading through this fundraiser played on my heartstrings and for the first time in a decade I came clean. And I spoke a name I hadn't mentioned but maybe a time or two when discussing baby names with my husband - Vivianne Marie. That's the name I always said I'd name another girl, I told him. Little did he know the backstory behind it. When we found out we were pregnant, I knew it wasn't a girl. I can't explain why. I desperately, with everything in me wanted a girl because the last child I'd lost was a girl. But I somehow knew it was a boy. Most likely God knew I wasn't ready to replay that history and hadn't processed and worked through my own grief to be ready for another girl. Now, as I realize and look at the grief for what it is I am coming to realize I was not in any way, shape or form ready to combat or work through the grief I had put to the side for so long. And yet I needed to speak her name.
Ten years ago and a few months ago I miscarried (and I use that term begrudgingly because I was so far into my second term of pregnancy that it felt as if I was delivering a child I could have saved, but I wasn't far enough along past the 20 week mark for it to qualify as birthing and losing a child) a daughter at the hand's of domestic violence and my then husband.
I was in the process of clearance for surrogacy. I had started birth control pills and legal paperwork and education. But, something wasn't right and so I went to planned parenthood. Afraid my husband would snoop in my OBGYN and records and think I was being dishonest with him. Something he had done before when he had been cheating. They found a pregnancy, and I was 12 weeks along. I immediately stopped the pills and told my agency and IPs and they were awesome, wanted to wait for after delivery and were glad I'd gone in and gotten checked before we spent the money on screening with an RE. And so things continued, my husband still being really controlling and me unable to realize he really was abusive.
He kept pestering me about the surrogacy and money. It takes a retrospective look to realize, he really just cared about the compensation. I couldn't figure out how to tell him I was pregnant. I had another ultrasound a few weeks later and it was clearly a girl, even though they cautioned me for the validity of it (this was without a nuchal scan). I knew she was the name I had wanted for another girl. Vivian was my grandmothers name and Ann was my mom's middle name - Vivianne and Marie was my middle name which my husband had always said should be one of our girls' middle names.
Within a few days I started having pain and a SCH was found on ultrasound. I finally told my husband that surrogacy was on hold and I was pregnant. He accused me of cheating and affairs and that it couldn't be his. He confirmed his own cheating. And then, I miscarried. Looking back, six births later, it was much more like giving birth. But back then I had only two full term births and limited understanding of a 2nd trimester miscarriage. It started with more spotting, which I'd been warned about with the SCH. And after two days in bed, my husband came home and told me what he really thought about me. I sat in my bathroom floor, which to this day I can picture, because it is that real. I am there, without a hesitation of a doubt. And he said to me, he didn't love me and I was not enough for him. I said okay, let's divorce. And he unleashed his fury. This was the first time he ever touched me in his rage and oh how I paid for it.
I don't remember much to be honest. Cognitive dissonance is a blessed thing when you're on the receiving end of abuse. But the wall and my head met, and his hands and my neck made contact in a way that is far from kinky or something any wife should ever experience. Our closet no longer became a place I felt was somewhere I could look at myself in a mirror naked. And it became the place I hurried away from as quickly as I could.
3 days later I went to a follow up appointment and they couldn't find a heartbeat. I was given the options. I ignored them all. I went home and told my husband I wanted a divorce. He ignored me and (later I found out) texted his two girlfriends. I realized I was a prisoner and shut myself off to the world.
A few days later I lost my child. In my bathroom, the same bathroom my husband had repeatedly abused me and I thought to myself, "I'll never feel again after this". My husband screamed at me, as I almost bled out, "You did this on purpose. You took birth control to be a surrogate and you killed my child".
So many thoughts come to mind as I think through those moments. His friend had put the thought in his mind. He had talked to a coworker about me potentially being pregnant and I'd never even told him. He talked to a coworker trying to figure out how to escape responsibility for that pregnancy. He then blamed me. After beating me.
Time? It's been 10 years, it's not any easier. No, just tonight I speak her name. And share her story. One I wish I didn't have to share. And hopefully others don't blame me for keeping secret for far too long. Hopefully now, time can help buffer that pain. Some things time really must heal, I pray this is one of those things.
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