Lately, life has just simply not had a chance to slow down. The other night, my husband and I left our house with no kids. Honestly, it had been months since we’d been together without the kids, let alone had time for a conversation without being repeatedly interrupted.
We went for supper, which is a luxury for us to have food that does not come from a drive-thru or paper bag. The supper was not the best we had or anything to brag about, which was unfortunate, but here is the part of the night that took me by surprise: My husband remembered the chaos he walked into when we first met.
Every so often, there are moments in this life that take me by surprise, memories that I hold near and dear to my heart.
As we drove home from our supper date, a song came on the radio. My husband asked me, "Have you heard this song?" I said, "No, I haven’t." My husband quickly responded, "This song reminds me of when I first met you."
I saw the title and started to listen. The song was called "Wait in the Truck." My husband quickly reminded me about the time I took his truck in the middle of the night, before we truly knew each other, and he helped me escape.
I told him to wait at my house as we were having a party and I would be right back with his truck.
One thing you need to know about me is when my husband came into my life, I was a single mom who was doing her best to stay alive most days.
I was the type of girl that took a hit to the face or a kick to the stomach often from a previous relationship. I was used to chairs getting thrown and being dragged across the floor by my hair. I was accustomed to being isolated away from friends and family.
Just before meeting my husband, I quickly turned into the girl that would hit back in self-defense because I wasn’t going to be another domestic violence statistic. As I listened to the song, I was filled with one of the biggest, hardest memories that happened in my life.
Prior to dating my husband, I was in an abusive and severely dysfunctional relationship that came with loads of baggage. Truth be told, the night I took my husband’s truck could have turned out much different. It could have been my last night.
It could have been my last time above ground. I could not have come back. It could have been a grave plot where everyone would leave flowers.
The night my husband was thinking about was the same night I told him to wait in the house and I will be right back with his truck. "Don’t worry I have it handled," I told him.
It does not matter what happened or the chaos that came storming into our night.
But when I came back with my now-husband’s truck, I could see it in his face. The second he saw me, he looked traumatized.
I looked and acted like this was just another regular night. That’s the thing about being in a domestic violence relationship. The daily abuse, trauma, and chaos presented in your life become normalized.
When I returned with his truck, I was covered in cuts and bruises; my clothes were torn. My hand was swollen and my nose was bleeding. I remember telling my now-husband, "You should see the other guy! I’m fine!"
The only thing I was upset about was my destroyed purple sweater; it was not salvageable. The cuts would heal. The bruises would fade. If I needed stitches, it would be a quick trip to the hospital.
My adrenaline was pumping and, truth be told, there was nothing to worry about anymore. I knew that was the last time I was ever going to be hit or hurt by someone. I had made it up in my mind I was never going to be another domestic violence statistic.
Sometimes, I forget about the past. Sometimes, I forget about what my husband had to do to prove his love to me because I could no longer trust men. Sometimes, I forget how much of a mess I was when my husband came into my life since I had been hurt so much in the past.
Memories are everything. Some memories are easier to remember. Some memories are harder to think about. It has been a while since I thought about that night that was so many years ago.
But now I don’t want to forget it because that is the night my husband saw just a moment of my dysfunctional life. And instead of leaving, he wanted to love me the way I deserved to be loved.
"Wait in the Truck" is a song that means something to him and me both. And it can be easy to forget when life doesn’t have a chance to slow down.
If you or someone you know has been the victim of domestic abuse, you can find help and support at DVIS.org, the National Domestic Abuse Hotline at 1-800-799-7233, or by contacting your local women's shelter domesticshelters.org.
This story was reprinted with permission and was written by Katie Emde. Follow her journey on her blog.
