Friday, July 28, 2006

He Blames It On The Baby

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters.)

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


My husband and I met a little over 5 years ago. We fell deeply and passionately for each other. We moved in together after only a couple of months and a year later we were married. In the beginning we spent every second of our free time together. We had very similar interests and did everything together. We didn't have a lot of money so we entertained ourselves at home most of the time and had a very active sex life.

As in most marriages, as the relationship got past that new and exciting phase, our sex life dwindled slightly. We decided that we were ready to start working on making babies so things picked up for a while, but after 2 plus years of trying and not getting pregnant sex became more of a chore for me than something that I wanted to do. Eventually, it became something that I didn't want to do at all. I'm sure that it psychologically had something to do with the fact that I couldn't get pregnant. Eventually, miraculously, I did pregnant. While I was pregnant, I used that as an excuse not to have sex. I was always too tired, or too uncomfortable. I didn't hold out completely, but I certainly wasn't generous in that department.

When I finally gave birth, my husband was excited because, to him at least, it meant that the drought was soon to be over. Instead of the usual 6 weeks recovery time I took 12 weeks before I was willing to let him try anything and when I finally did, it hurt so bad that I cried. He was upset. I was upset. Overall it just wasn't a good experience. Since then it has gotten better and I'm back to the point where I actually enjoy it from time to time but it is never enough for him.

He is a "scorekeeper" in the sex department. He always knows exactly how many days it has been since the last time and reminds me frequently. Sometimes it may be a week. Sometimes it may be 2 of 3 weeks in between. Most of the time I give in and let him do what he wants to do even when I don't want it. Most of the time I feel like I am being raped rather than making love to the man that I married. Those times have scarred me in ways that he will never understand.

The lack of sex in our relationship has ruined the bond that we used to have with each other. My husband spends most of his days depressed and angry and blames it all on the sex he isn't getting. I can barely stand to be around him most of the time because he is so down. He has a tendency for depression that runs in his family. His younger brother committed suicide earlier this year and I know that must still be affecting him as well. I want to help him, but don't know how. I have asked him to go to the doctor but he refuses.

He is jealous of the love that I give to our son and I fear that his jealousy will someday have a negative impact on their relationship. As of now, I do all of the caretaking functions for our son. He is only around when it is play time. I have asked him to become more involved, but he always has an excuse as to why he can't. I am very disappointed in him as a father. I always expected much more from him. We talked about having kids from the very beginning and he was always so excited about it.

When we are around friends he is always quick to point out the lack of sex in our relationship which makes me feel terrible. If I try to defend myself he gets angry and wants to end the conversation. I don't feel like our dirty laundry should be aired out in front of everybody and I certainly don't like him putting all the blame on me.

We have talked about the possibility of going to counseling, but right now we are so strapped financially that there is no way we can afford it. Neither one of us wants to get divorced because we do still care about each other. We just need to find a way to get over this bump in the road.

My idea of fixing things is to work on the relationship between us and that the sex will come after we have mended that. His idea is to have more sex and that will help the relationship. For two people who used to be so similar, we sure are different now.

I know it sounds like I am just bitching about him. I know that I have issues too that I need to work on. I know that I need to give him more attention, but he makes it so hard for me to want to. I'm sure there is a lot more to this that I'm forgetting to mention, but I don't want this to be any longer.

What hurts the most in all of this is that I want so badly to love him the way that I used to. I want him to be my best friend. I want him to be the one that I love to come home to every night. I want to feel that flutter in my heart when he walks into the room. I want to make love to him like we used to. I want to get so lost in him that it feels like the rest of the world doesn't exist. I remember a time when that happened. I just don't know how to get that back.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Co-Parenting: Myth and Reality

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters.)

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


Coparenting is crap.

You think that you and your partner will share duties, and even though you'll be the SAHM, once your husband gets home from his job, you'll BOTH be parents and will both have long discussions about all the important parenting decisions and you'll agree to be interchangable when you are bothin the house (minus the boobs of course). It's a big lie, just like when they say breast feeding doesn't hurt.

It's you, and you alone. You're the one who's going to have to deal with the babies all day long and manage to also do the dishes AND the laundry AND make dinner AND change your tampon, all without going crazy.

Your husband will come home from work and be all smiles for the babies and kissy and you'll put the older one down to bed, who will get fussy because he misses his daddy during the day and 10 minutes of daddy time isn't enough for him, which sets off husband, who says things like "Why does this kid cry all the time?" or "All I want is to be able to come home and relax."

You bite your tongue, heat up his dinner, and resolve to put the toddler to bed before husband gets home to make life easier for everyone. Because you're tired of him not understanding. Not understanding that a 20-month-old needs more than 10 minutes of daddy time. That dinner doesn't make itself. That you haven't had a shower in two days because their naps aren't coinciding and that you just want to go to bed when the toddler does.

But you can't. Because husband needs to "decompress" before taking over with the infant so you can get a 3-hour stretch of sleep before the first of three night feedings begins. He will sleep from 10 to 6 because he needs to be "sharp" for work, and it's his paycheck that allows you this luxury of being a stay-at-home mom. The luxury you gave up your career for. The luxury of living on one salary and cutting coupons and eating pasta four nights a week.

It will all come down to you. There is no co-parent. Even on the weekends and nights, all the responsibility will be yours, UNLESS "someone at work" tells your husband about some new sleeping/feeding/swaddling technique, all of a freaking sudden he wants to change the routine.

Sorry, pal. Momma's game, momma's rules.

Coparenting. HA.

Saturday, July 22, 2006


Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


I'm typing this because I'm at my darkest hour. My husband just tried to read this and I blew up at him because I felt I couldn't tell him anything because his comments would not help at all. This is about friendship.

I love my three friends so much but I feel they are leaving me out now. Especially one friend of mine. I was in her wedding few months ago. I feel our friendship is dissolving because of a cliche. They don't have kids and I have a kid. I feel so depressed right now because I was looking at my other friend, L's, blog and got a link to her husband's blog and it showed pictures of L with her hubs, J with her hubs on a holiday out for a nice scooter ride. Earlier that day, J said that L's husband wanted to get together at a park for a BBQ. We waited all day for notification and we never received. We instead sent out e-mails to all friends and invited them over for fireworks at my place. J responded that J and her husband is downtown watching fireworks, nobody else responded. Now when I find out they were on a couples outing with L and her husband and didn't invite us at least to join them downtown. I felt so bad. What's wrong with us?

I also heard from time to time that J and L would be out together with their husband on couples' outing like dinner together. Why couldn't we join? We could have at least been invited, at least felt 'included' and we could try to find a babysitter. Sometimes we can find one last minute. There have been two incidences that happened twice, both similar situations. I would discuss with J, L, and K about doing something the following weekend and I'm all for it. They're all for it. I wait all week looking forward. I even arranged a babysitter. On Saturday, I still haven't heard anything so I send a e-mail asking what time and if it's still on and to please let me know because I arranged a babysitter. I hear nothing at all and end up canceling the babysitter. I was so angry.

Now, I COULD try finding new friends who has kids of their own but I already tried. I joined a moms group when my son was born and attended their gathering at a community gym almost every Friday. I soon lost interest because they never invited me for anything else. I felt like they tolerated my presence. There are other moms groups but they are very cliquely, they either are a group with a similar interest for example all the rich moms. I would love to join but I don't get invited. I sometimes send e-mails encouraging them to let me know next time if there's a group thing or event. I don't get anything. Nobody talks to me. I try to keep in touch with my friends through AIM and e-mails but there's only so much typing you can do. I keep asking them to get together and go out for dinner but they don't ask me to get together.

I'm tired of this. I'm so lonely. I'm in tears typing this because I have a disability and it is so hard to connect with people that don't have the same type of disability I have. Those friends and the moms group I mentioned earlier have the same type of disability. I don't know how to talk to my friends about this because I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. I'm lonely. Period. But will they understand? Sometimes I go out for girls only thing but ya know, once in a while, I would like to be actually invited to those girls outing or a moms group or something like that, perhaps a couples outing. That'd be so great. All I ask for is consideration once in a while.

I sometimes feel like cutting off all contact with my friends just to teach them a lesson but then one of them will contact me just to talk about general things and I would just happily talk away. That's how desperate I feel for any type of contact. That isn't right. It isn't fair for my husband and my son to have a sad mother. I don't regret becoming a mother, I love my son so much. I remember when I first became pregnant, I was excited about making more friends - especially the moms groups. I really thought they would include me now since I have a child. They didn't. What's wrong with me? Am I wrong for expecting my friends to contribute more?

Thursday, July 20, 2006


Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


-I send my kid to bed without having helped her brush her teeth. I know I'll be paying astronomical dentist bills in a matter of years, and I will kick myself then. For now, it's just not worth the battle with an almost 2-year old. Her teeth are going to fall out anyway-she'll get new ones. I promise to help her take better care of those.

-I pray for rain often. This is so that I have an excuse not to take my kid outside. Once she's outside, she's exhausting. And the temper tantrum that ensues when it's time to go inside is just so not worth it. I pray for rain so that I do not have to go through the hell that is applying sunscreen to a wriggly, impatient little body.

-When Hubby asks if I took the kid outside, I will say yes even if we stayed inside and played all day. I will even put a very light coating of sunscreen on her so she smells like she's been out in the sun. If he knew that we stayed inside and played without that much outdoor time, he'd be unhappy.

-Despite her being almost 2, I still am so insanely grossed out by her boogers. I pretend I can't get at them, so that her father will do it. He's a pro at booger collection.

-I think my kid watches too much tv. I'm not doing anything to change that, really. I figure we have Reading Time, Drawing Time, Play-Doh Time, Playtime, and Trash the House won't hurt her to be still for a little while while Mommy takes a breather.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Living with a Stranger

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


I'm not a writer. I have a hard time putting my thoughts down on paper (or the computer screen, as it were). But I blog, and I read blogs. The Basement offers me an opportunity that I just can't pass up. These are things that I can't say on my own blog. My husband and our friends read my blog.

You see, I'm lonely. Really, really lonely. I am a stay at home mother of a beautiful 18 month old girl. She is the light of my life, and I love her deeply, but I am so lonely. My husband works very hard to provide for my daughter and I, but because of his job I am alone. Because of his job, I am essentially a single mother. My baby and I have seen my husband three weeks out of the last six months. My husband has been away for one quarter of the time we have been married, our 2 year anniversary is two weeks away, and he won't be home.

So, I'm lonely. I am a single mother, but I am tied down by a marriage that doesn't seem to exist. I am Mummy 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, no breaks, and it is driving me crazy. What is worse, is the lonliness. I keep thinking that if I were a real single mum then I would be able to find someone to kee me company. Someone to cuddle with, someone to kiss, someone to watch tv at night with, someone to hold me at night. I can't do that. I'm married, but not really.

I've spoken to my husband about finding a job closer to home, even if it is out of town but in the same province, I would be happier. Every time I bring it up he has excuses. He doesn't want to work in the cold, he doesn't think he will make enough money to provide for us (yeah right, we live in Alberta), he told his boss that he would be around for a while after they gave him his next raise, he doesn't have time to look for a job....the list just never ends. Is he running away from me, from the pressures of being a father and a home owner? Does he realize that his marriage is in serious danger? Why can't I make him understand? How can I make him see without giving an ultimatum that I don't want to have to follow up? Am I actually married? I look at my wedding pictures, but I feel like I hardly know the man standing there beside me. I want him to come home, and I dread it at the same time. I don't want to share my bed with a stranger.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

A Bad Day

Posted by Goddess Anna.

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


In the past, I seriously considered divorcing my husband so that I could get away from the kids and live my own life. My husband knew this; he would take the kids. I love them, because I birthed them and they're a part of me. But they drive me crazy, and I know I need more time to grow up before I can adequately raise little children. Every day I tell myself I should have gotten that abortion (daughter is a child out of wedlock, and I have no clue who the father is), and that I was just looking for a way to get the Navy to send my husband back home to me when I wanted to get pregnant again. Maybe that's why I had twins.

Today is a bad day. Yesterday was worse, but tomorrow could be better. I don't have any mother friends in real life, and my husband is forced to bear the burden of my woes alone.

My personal blog is a little more light-hearted than this, and I would like to share that with you as well: Thank you.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Shoulda coulda woulda

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


It’s 6 pm. I’m feeding the baby her dinner, waiting for my husband to call. He’s out of town for a while and I miss him dreadfully.

The phone rings. The caller ID reveals an unfamiliar caller.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Trish?” a man’s voice asks.


“It’s Jay. Do you remember me? From college.”

“Oh my God! Jay! Hi! How are you?!” my heart is fluttering with excitement. While I’d like to think I don’t know why, I do. I know damn well why I’m excited. This guy, this man, is H-O-T hot and I always wondered why I never…

“Well, anyway, remember when you were still here, I told you I had a friend who lived near you? I’m here, in town, visiting that friend…and I…uh…thought maybe we could have lunch or something.”He sounds nervous. Maybe. I might just be wishing he sounds nervous.

“Sure! Do you mind if the baby comes along?”

“Of course not.” He pauses for a moment and I almost speak to break the awkward silence. “Will your husband be joining us?”

“No. He’s not home this week. He’d love to meet you, though, I’m sure.”

After we set a date and time, we end our conversation. I’m still nervous and very excited. I finish feeding the baby and go through my closet for something to wear. I even frantically sort through my stock of makeup, and lay out on the bathroom counter what I’ll use the following day to make myself pretty. I usually only feel this way for my husband, and I wish I didn’t feel this way now. Doesn’t it make me a bad person? To find another man, other than your husband, the father of your child, attractive is bad, right?

The following day we meet for lunch and he’s just as I remember him. Tall, dark, handsome. Taller than most men I would ever even look at. And still preppy. He’s wearing Dockers pants and a red striped polo shirt. I think he’s wearing cologne, but I’m not sure. He smells good anyway. It could just be detergent or deodorant. He opens doors for me, comments on how much the baby looks like me, and pays for my lunch.

At the end of our lunch I comment that it’s close to baby’s naptime. I imagine he’ll tell me he had a wonderful time but he needed to return to his friend’s house.

Instead he says, “That’s a shame. I’ve had a blast talking to you and catching up.”
“Me, too. Listen, do you want to come back to my place for coffee?”

An hour later we’re comfortable in my living room, while the baby sleeps in her room, talking about anything and everything. I feel a definite tension between us, like we have things in our minds to say to each other but don’t. I feel comfortable enough around him to touch his arm at certain times during our conversation. The nervousness has faded into familiar comfort, just like I felt during our college days.

Jay says quietly, “I really liked you back at school.”

I laugh and say, “I liked you, too! You were such a great friend.”

“No. I mean, I really liked you.”There’s an odd silence again as he stares a hole in my head. He says again, “I really liked you. You remember the day we had lunch, and you tried my black beer?”

“Yeah. And Tanya was there, acting like an idiot.”

He chuckles while rolling his eyes, “I hated her.”

“Me too!” I say, amid laughter. “What about that day?”

“I wanted to ask you back to my place so badly.”

“For coffee?” I suggest, grinning slyly.

“For sex.”

Jay kisses me and I like it. I like it a lot. I like it so much that I let go of all my inhibitions and let my temptress out to play.


That never happened. It never will happen. It’s just a scenario I play in my mind sometimes at night, when I’m alone and lonely. Sometimes the scenario takes place after one of our many college lunches. Sometimes it takes place in his car.

I remember Jay well. Maybe too well. I even found a picture of him on the internet and I look at it sometimes. There were several times in college when we were so close to acting on something, some unspoken desire, and yet we never did. The electricity, the desire, was definitely there.

But, for most of the time I knew Jay, I was an engaged gal. I was taken and absolutely in love with my fiancĂ© (now husband.) I was the kind of girl who would never even entertain a thought as lurid as the one I play in my head now. I always felt that imagining cheating on my husband meant I may as well do it. I feel like trash when I think about Jay. And yet, something about it makes me wish I had acted on my feelings before, when I was in college with Jay. I’ve never thought about Jay while with my husband, and I never will.

For now I just think, “Shoulda, coulda, woulda.”

Friday, July 07, 2006

When Choice Hurts

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm living with a secret that is slowly destroying me. I briefly commented about it on Blogging Baby, but even then I lied a little. I changed a very big detail about this secret on that comment. I'm writing as Paige, here and there, but that's not my name. I'm not even writing this from home, in the fear that someone might track me down somehow. I can't tell anyone else, so I'm coming here.

I am a married mother of two children, and I terminated my fourth pregnancy (the first ended in miscarriage). I told my family and friends, including my husband, that I miscarried and had to have a D&C because it was incomplete. My husband was out-of-town on business at the time and I told him not to come home because I could handle it, it was no big deal. The truth: I was planning an abortion.

I didn't want another child. I didn't want to be pregnant. I was happy with things the way they were. I was getting my life back (my youngest child was three) and I never planned on having three children. Being pregnant was incredibly difficult for me, both times (again, the first ended in miscarriage quite early). I was sick, all the time, and was hospitalized a lot with both pregnancies. I came close to death when I was pregnant with my second child. I just didn't want to be pregnant again. I was afraid.

When we found out we were pregnant with my son, we were shocked but ultimately happy. Our second child was planned. When I took the pregnancy test the last time, I cried. I cried and cried and I never was happy about it. I never got that feeling that everything would work out and that we were being blessed. It all felt wrong and horrible and I wanted no part of it, even though my husband was very supportive and was saying all the right things: it'll be fine, we'll get through it, we'll get the best medical care to make sure you're okay this time.

So when my husband went out-of-town, I invented some spotting. I made up a doctor's appointment where he didn't hear a heartbeat or see movement on the ultrasound. I pretended I was having a miscarriage and I went to a clinic and I terminated. I cried, not because I was sad about terminating, but because I wished I had never been put in that situation to begin with. I never, ever thought that I would be someone who had an abortion. I believed, and still believe, in a woman's right to choose, but when that woman was me...well, it sucked.

I still think I did the right thing. Another pregnancy, according to my obstetrician, would have been hell on me. There was no guarantee that I would have lived through it, since I barely lived through the last one. Besides that, I can barely mother the two children I have now. Every day is a struggle to make sure I don't damage them the way my father damaged me. Every day I have to consciously choose to be kind and supportive and to make sure that I don't destroy their souls. Things were bad in my childhood home, and it's hard to break the cycle. It's really, really hard. Add another child in the mix? It didn't seem like a good idea.

So even though I don't regret having the abortion, I have to live with this secret by myself. It's killing me. Things have gotten better as the years have gone by. I've forgotten what my due date would have been, I've even forgotten the date of the termination. Sometimes I go days without thinking about it. But keeping this secret has changed me. I never, ever kept anything from my husband before. I feel like I've built this wall but I can't ever tell him the truth. It would hurt him too deeply.

That's how I find myself here. I know I won't get a lot of support. I don't expect it, that's for sure. I just had to tell someone.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Ranting on the In-Laws

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )
If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


Okay, so I don't know where this is going to go. My blog has gotten more public to our circle due to my husband being proud and letting things "slip." As a result, there are certain things that I can't rant about.

The main thing? I think I hate my in-laws. There I said it. Due to a situation with our son, it was all blamed on me. There are other things that led up to it. Things like running her finger through the dust on my stove that I missed when cleaning for their visit with her eyebrow up. But the last phone call to my husband was too much. They blamed me for my oldest's learning disabilities because I work. I work for the insurance that will pay for my youngest's heart surgery coming up. But, "she would rather work for those great accolades than stay home with her son - it's easier to put him on drugs! Why not! She makes all the decisions anyway!" My husband hasn't been talking them since.

I hate them.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Rhymes with 'Suck This'

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


Apparently, this is what motherhood is: my life does a 180 and everyone else just does whatever they've always done with no consequences, restrictions, or additional responsibilities. Back the fuck up, bitches. Step off. If I want to go somewhere (movies? book club?) I have to ask permission, plan for days, and hurry my ass up and get home. But if somebody ELSE wants to go somewhere, they get their tickets, find their train and toodle-fucking-oo. See ya when I see ya.

And do I have a right to be as resentful as I am? Here's a news bulletin for you. I DON'T FUCKING CARE. Right or no right. I am bitter as hell. You get to go out and have a grand old fucking time while I'm stuck here with a vacuum, a barking dog, a colicky baby and your dirty, filthy dishes in the sink. Thanks!!! Oh, and by the way, don't even bother to call and offer to bring me something to eat from the shi-shi restaurant you go to. Nope. I'm good with the hot dogs and macaroni that are quickly going stale in the fridge. Seriously. Oh and don't forget you have a soccer game on Thursday. And next Sunday. Wouldn't want you to miss those. Because you're the one that needs the exercise. I'm the one that still has 30 pounds of baby fat to lose but you, you're the one that needs the exercise. Yup. Have fun! Don't worry about me. Again with the hot dogs and macaroni.

Why can't I be married to a woman? Oh, right. A) I'm not gay, unfortunately, and 2) George W.

Thanks for listening.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

I had my reasons

Posted by Anonymous (as always, no relation to previous Anonymous posters. )

If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...


I am so glad to have a place to write this. I have been keeping it inside for so long I have felt like I was gonna pop.Yes, I broke up with him and I did it without giving my family or friends any good reason. I know they have been talking about me ever since. How could I dump a man who is so smart, so nice, who makes such good money? Everyone assumes that since I could not give a good reason, that I did not have a good reason. I have heard the little comments. I have seen eyes rolling –yes, there I go again, acting like an idiot. Believe me, I had my reasons. I did not tell anyone because I wanted to take the high road. I did not want to spill my private problems in front of everyone. ButI also thought that if I started talking, I might never be able to shut up.I will admit it was partly my fault. I should have not moved in with him so quickly. I should have given it more time. But he swept me off my feet like a cheap romance novel. I was a poor girl and he was a generousrich guy – my bad for not knowing he had a bad side to him.The part that pisses me off most is that you all assume I just flew off the handle and moved out one day, like I am so flighty and irresponsible. Well, screw you. I planned leaving for THREE YEARS. I knew it would take that long to save up my money, to get the job experience to get a better job, to get everything in order.So I did. It was through almost superhuman will that I put up with his emotionally abusive bullshit for three years without running away screaming. Every single dayI wanted to leave. Every single day I bit my tongue and made nice and pretended everything was ok. I wished him dead a million times. When I heard the garage door open I would groan – crap, he made it home alive again. I flipped him off all the time - behind his back, through bathroom doors, just out of his vision.But I made it through. Through being told I was fat and incompetent, through his rejecting me in every single way – emotionally, sexually, through being put down and told I was selfish and unkind and boring and not talented and unfunny – I took it all because I wanted to leave on my own terms, with a plan, without having to depend on anyone or to borrow a penny. So next time you judge someone, don't be so smug. Just remember you may not even know a fraction of the story.