To love and protect.

Um, yeah. This is not a fun blog post. It was hard to write, and is hard to read, so my feelings will not be hurt if you just pass right on by this one. It is in honor of National Domestic Violence Month, and all money made from ads here on thehuckablog for the month of October will be donated here, so feel free to click away.

Sometimes I wonder if I am protective enough of The Son. I always keep an eagle eye on him, but tend to err more on the side of letting him test his limits rather than helicopter over him. I let him climb, jump, taste things, wear what he wants, kiss the dog, play with other kids. I so do not want him growing up afraid, or wary of new experiences, or to be shy around new people. He looks just like The Husband’s side of the family, but the older he gets, it is becoming more and more obvious his personality is all me. He is bossy, he is chatty, he is loving and a cuddler, he is curious, he is pouty if he does not get his way, he can be manipulative, he gets obsessed with certain things, and he is brave. I do not want him to get hurt, but I also want him to experience life to the fullest. The hard truth is that if you are really living your life, sometimes you will get hurt.

I started liking boys around the fifth grade. I had my first boyfriend in the sixth grade and he was tall and lanky and had an identical twin. His name was Kris with a K, it was short for Kristian. When I was twelve, we sat next to each other in beanbag chairs in our GT social studies class as we watched Ben Hur, he leaned over and kissed me, it lasted exactly two seconds when our teacher looked over and made us separate our beanbag chairs. Kris with a K was the first in a long line of middle school and high school loves, we would pass notes, hold hands at the skating rink, later on we would go horseback riding or slow dance to Bryan Adams songs. Fun, but not serious. When I was sixteen my family moved to another state. It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school and I was-to put it lightly-pissed off about moving. We found a church right away and I started going to youth group. Now I am-and was-a good Christian girl, but the best thing about youth group were the boys.

I had lived in my new hometown for all of a month when I got asked out by Ryan. By the time school started, we were “going steady”. We had lockers right next to each other, and I would daily find little flowers or poems or presents that he had left for me. He declared his love for me, he showered me with compliments, he was jealous over other boys, and I was….overwhelmed. I never really made any close friends those last two years of high school because I would spend every waking moment with–or at least on the phone with– Ryan. I should say right from the beginning my parents were not too crazy about him, probably more because they did not want their sixteen year old child to be so serious about a boy than anything else, but they knew if they had tried to keep us apart, it would just drive me closer to him. Wise parents that they were, they did the opposite. Invite him over, sure he can have dinner with us, sure he can come with us on our family trip, at least that way they could keep an eye on us–let me test my limits while keeping an eagle eye on me.

We had fun, but slowly but surely things started to turn for the worst. Being a year older, he chose to go to college here in town because I was still in high school. We still spent every second together possible after he graduated, me barely fitting in the extracurriculars I was passionate about (I was a drama geek). It stopped being fun around Christmas of my senior year, he was just pissy all the time, he would yell at me, and then say how sorry he was we had argued, how much he loved me, blah, blah, blah. He would get mad if I excluded him to do something with my friends or family. Every now and again….he would grab my arm, or kind of pinch my waist during an argument. I obviously did not like it, but guess that I did not realize what a slippery slope that kind of (now I know it for its real name) abuse is. I think I thought we would break up when I went away to college, and just kept stringing him along until then. Would you all think I was the worst, most shallow person in the world if I told you I was worried about not having a date for my senior prom if we broke up? In the mean time the yelling, and possessiveness just got worse and worse, I knew something was not right, but did a good job of covering it up in front of my family.  I would say if anyone knew what was really going on, it was probably my brother. I had developed this weird habit of inviting JHJ along whenever Ryan and I went someplace, partly because I love my brother and enjoyed spending time with him, but also because….I was maybe starting to be a little afraid to spend time alone with my own boyfriend.

I did try to break things off the summer before I went away to college, but he was so…heartbroken, and then would be so sweet and romantic that it never really stuck. He would always be back in my life before I knew it. In July he applied to the college I had already been accepted to and was accepted as well. He found an apartment from which he could look out the door of and see my dorm. I again tried to break up with him, but by the time school started, I was the new girl again. I did not know anyone, and he was an easy way for this social butterfly to not be lonely. He was working nights, going to class during the day, and spending time with me during the afternoons and evenings. It is amazing I can sit here and make excuses for him ten years later, but I still wonder how much sleep deprivation had to do with those final months of our relationship. Ten years ago this week, I became a statistic. I was not at home to have my wonderful parents watching over me. I was old enough to make my own decisions, and young enough to make stupid ones.

It was a gorgeous fall day, and I had been up bright and early to go to my eight AM class, World Civ, a class that Ryan and I had together. He did not show up, and I was royally ticked off. Why? I don’t know, I guess I thought I was never going to be able to break up with this guy and certainly did not want to be married to a drop out who was still working overnight at MajorRetailer. I marched over to his apartment, intending to lecture him and get him up in time for his next class. I just deleted this whole paragraph. I think it was good for me to type it out, but I do not want it out there for people whom I love to read, so let’s just paraphrase it and say that I take National Domestic Violence awareness month very seriously.

At one point he stopped and sat down on the couch and cried, saying, “Get out before I really do kill you”. I left and ran out into the parking lot and back over to campus. In my hurry, I left my bag, my phone, my keys and my shoes at his apartment. I scared the crap out of some girl going to her car, and told her I needed help. She called campus police who took me to the hospital, once I was there they x-rayed me, and made me talk to the police. While still at the hospital, I got a phone call saying it was my dad checking on me, I had not called my dad and figured the school had, I was pissed off I did not have a chance to break this gently to my parents so I called my mom from the hospital and rushedly told her what happened. She freaked and was mad my dad had not told her what he knew, so she called him. Turns out it was not my dad at all but Ryan checking on me. I was mostly fine, the only lasting (physical) damage was a broken finger that never quite healed correctly. The cops went to Ryan’s apartment and he climbed out of the back window, they never even tried to capture him. I later learned the Ryan was fired from MajorRetailer that same day because he had stolen a shotgun from the sporting goods department. That morning could have been so much worse.

I had to go tell the dean of students what happened, and the dean made me tell him the graphic details. Ryan was kicked out of school. He called many times a day for a couple of weeks to say he was going to commit suicide if I did not take him back, I secretly wished that he would. He had a spare key (NEVER GIVE OUT KEYS) to my car and stole it while I was at class. He then parked it in a deserted area, took a logging chain, put it around the back wheels and then called and told me to meet him and he would give the car and my key back. I called the police instead (using my brain for the first time in over a year) and they cut off the chain and kept my car at the university police headquarters. Ryan had the nerve to call the police station and ask if he could have his chain back.

He was not allowed on campus anymore, but one day he followed me from class and begged me to take him back. When I told him he could not come up to my dorm he pushed me really hard, and I fell and skinned my elbows–and ripped my favorite sweater. That was the last straw. I had been afraid to press charges because I thought he would get out of jail quickly, hunt me down and kill me. That day I called one of his out of state relatives whom I knew loved him, and whom he respected. I told her exactly what happened, every gory detail. I told her if he did not leave the state I was going to press charges. The next day she came with a U-haul and took him with her. He sent me a letter months later saying that he had gotten married two months later, and had joined the military.

Ten years is a long time. I am a different person than the college freshman, but I know I was shaped, in part, by that day. I was hurt, in every way–but my bravery and trusting nature is what took the biggest beating. I did not have a serious boyfriend for three years afterwards…but when I took the plunge to love, and trust, it was with The Husband. Nothing works as a salve on old wounds like love from the kindest man on the planet, the most patient, the most gentle. I know how good I have it, because I have seen the other side.

I want to be protective of the people whom I love, I do not want to see them hurt…but I also do not want them to miss out on the gifts this life can give us because of fear. I want to teach The Son the gray area between prudence and sheer nerve, a lesson I am not sure I have learned myself.

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