As I reflect back to the early days, after moving out of my childhood home, I know I made my decisions based on what I grew up with, what I knew, and what I thought I deserved.
In November of 1983, I married my high school boyfriend. Mostly due to the urging of his parents and the respect I had for them. In Spring of 1985, I discovered he was having an affair with the sister of one of his buddies. I kicked him out. Oddly, I had standards regarding infidelity but not for the physical, emotional and verbal abuse he inflicted on me.
I’m surprised that he left when I told him to. I fully expected him to put up a fight. I didn’t see him again until 9 months later, when I arrived home from the gym with a guy I had recently met. We were relaxing on my sofa, when my ex came walking in the front door. A few words were exchanged between he and I and with the other guy and within a few minutes, they were physically embroiled in a fight that lead me to calling the sheriffs department. Thankfully, nothing more serious happened, and the sherrif escorted my, then, ex, to his vehicle and told him to leave or he’d be arrested. The “new” guy, told the sherrif he wouldn’t press charges at that time.
We were divorced by summer of 1986 and in August 1986, I made another decision that ultimately cost me 26 years of my life.