***WARNING: CONTAINS SENSITIVE MATERIAL***
On February 15, 1982, I was married. Ten months in, I discovered that marriage was nothing like the happily ever after theme that little girls fantasize about while reading fairy tales. I was not Snow White and he, my husband, was certainly not Prince Charming. My marriage was filled with secrets, lies, disappearing acts, verbal abuse, infidelity, drug abuse, jail sentences and oh so many masks.
That year, in December, I learned of my pregnancy. I was ecstatic to say the least. But that insurmountable joy was soon tarnished with the discovery that I had also contracted an STD. Sadly that knowledge did not come from my husband. It did not come with a bouquet of roses and a sincere, “Baby I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” Instead it came from his mother as a snide remark, “Lynn (that’s what she called me), it’s good you pregnant, but you better get yourself checked.”
Checked, I thought to myself. Stunned by her remark, somehow I found the courage to speak, “Why do I need to be checked?” She callously stated, “Myron had to get some pills cause he got something out there in dem streets and you ought to make sure you’re ok. You don’t want nothin’ to happen to that baby.” In less than one year my sordid story was set in motion. This was only the beginning.
By 1989 I was the mother of three children with seemingly no way out of a world of chaos. I buried myself in church, school and work in an effort to not face the reality of a failed marriage. I didn’t want my children to grow up like me… fatherless. After all, a merciless father was better than no father at all, right? Looking back, walking away was probably the better option, but fear set in and I saw no way out. I made the cowards choice. I stayed. Like a caterpillar crawling along masticating, I devoured the leaves of fear and swallowed my voice.
For thirty years, I found myself cursing and screaming in the wee hours of the night about how he was a liar and a cheater, how he was doing me wrong and how he didn’t love me. Thirty years I peeked out the window every time I heard a car. Thirty years I cried myself to sleep. Thirty years, I clenched my mouth shut so tightly that my jaws hurt. Thirty years, I muted my voice. My voice, the caterpillar, the cocoon, my voice.
My voice. The voice that could ultimately free me from my fear of not being able to raise three children alone. The voice that franticly tugged at my core in an effort to expose the truth that I was already doing it alone. The voice that yearned to give me the freedom to BE-come. After so many years of silence, how was I supposed to find my way back from this?
Funny how life gives you opportunities to get it right. What happened in the tenth month of my marriage happened in the last month of my marriage. Another STD. Just like in the beginning, he did not say a thing to me about it. I discovered it on my own this time. After a constant foul vaginal odor that wouldn’t go away no matter how much I showered and constant itching and scratching, I finally went to the doctor who stated in no uncertain terms, “You have trichomoniasis.” And I, in my ignorance, replied, “Are you saying my husband has been cheating on me?” It was an unnecessary question that I already knew the answer to. I just had to hear my voice saying it out loud. I picked up my prescription and as I walked out of the pharmacy, the doctor called me to say that it was a severe case, return the previous medication and pick up the new prescription.
That was the beginning of the end. It was also the first time I used my voice again. As he crawled his way into the bed during the wee hours of the night, I asked… he denied. That was all I needed. I told him to never touch me again and that I had had my last cry over him. I turned to face the wall and I prayed, “God, let this be a smooth transition.” That was my prayer every day and every night for a week. In fact, that was the only thing I said in my prayers. I did not want to argue or fight any more. As my youngest son and I packed our bags, I looked back to witness a skeleton in my bed. A bag of bones devoured by his cocaine addiction. My last words, “I am not going to let you kill me and I refuse to watch you die!” I walked away and never looked back! In making the decision to leave, I felt a heavy burden lift from my being. I was finally free. I exited the cocoon of my marriage, spread my wings and at the same time, found my voice!
Since that time I have watched sister-friends in similar, and sometimes worse, circumstances than mine stay and say, “He’s my husband and I love my husband.” I share with them excerpts of my story and tell them that loving your husband means nothing if you do not love yourself. You have to love you more. It took me thirty years to learn that. Thirty years of fear and in one night, I found courage.
This thirty chapter story of my life is best summed up in the words of two quotes. The first by 13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic, Rumi, “There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.” The second by American writer, Richard Bach, “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.” To the world I say, I AM a butterfly and I HAVE a strong and courageous voice!
My name is Linda Thomas, aka Black Butterfly, and I am a ReWriter!
“Thirty years of fear and in one night, I found courage.
- Black Butterfly”
“But those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31