I did indeed have bruises in places no one would see, in the pattern of his hands, and if visible, were usually on my wrists and ankles. I lived in constant fear of him following through with his threats of killing me, our children and himself, that had gone on for years. His violence at home always kept me in check... breaking things, hurting the children, destroying our home, smashing fists into walls or furniture or next to our faces, gritting his teeth in anger inches from our faces whispering menacingly (yelling is abusive, you see) and daring us to stand up for ourselves, ripping shirts off tearing them to shreds, picking kids up by their shirt necks, breaking appliances, using household objects as weapons, yanking the phone away or threatening violence when we wanted to call for help, destroying our personal property... items that we valued, etc.

Our children lived in fear as well. They were terrific students and over achievers outside our home. Inside our home we were each told how "unacceptable" we were. We "never" measured up or did "anything" right. Why did he always have to "think for us" he'd ask, ...or "Don't think... who asked you to think?!" (that was a favorite of his). We weren't always mush. We didn't always just take it, but if we stood up for ourselves there would be a violent consequence. We knew somehow someone would pay. Once, when their grades were not straight A's, he brought the kids into the living room and put a shovel through the television. He then let us know how lucky we were that he destroyed only the television.

The intimate personal abuse that our children didn't see was more difficult for me to deal with and more destructive. I felt degraded and demeaned. He referred to me in vile ways; ask me to do things I didn't want to do, saying it would make him happy. He'd remind me that he could just pay a prostitute to do it, and since he actually had done this, I believed him. If I complied, he'd thank me at first; then later he'd tell me that I make him sick and he couldn't stand the sight of me, I could never please him or he'd call me a whore. He said he HAD to remain married to me because we'd been sealed for time and eternity, he had no choice.

I hated myself and didn't know how to get out of or change this relationship. Obviously I couldn't explain this to my children and felt "too dirty" to talk to my family about it. I prayed, sought help from several bishops over the years, and walked on eggshells trying to avoid making mistakes. Occasionally I'd act out in rebellion and refuse to comply, but not often. Never, and I mean NEVER did I/we cower in public or at family gatherings though. If I even looked in his eyes with fear in them, he'd come unglued. It was not his fault, of course, that I felt fear; but because "I didn't really love him," he'd say. And if he saw fear or pain in my eyes, he'd say I was purposely trying to hurt him with my expressions. If I didn't comply with his sick demands, he'd punish the children while I was at work. They'd ask me why he was angry and I'd have to tell them it's not their fault, he was angry at me.

In front of other people and often in front of our children, he'd behave completely differently toward me. He once serenaded me at a Valentine's Day celebration in front of a huge room full of people after spending hours demeaning me, telling me what a horrible person I was, calling me a liar, telling me I'm disgusting, manipulative, despicable, he couldn't stand the sight of me, etc. I sat quietly and smiled as he sang to me, tears escaping the corners of my eyes. Those around us percieved it as a tender loving moment. They had no idea the fear I felt inside because I'd let those tears fall in public; the anxiety that gripped me inside knowing I would pay if anyone saw my tears as anything but a loving wife being grateful for this demonstration of devotion. A few hours later, he would be kind and gentle, as if nothing had happened. If I recoiled at his touch or didn't want to be "amorous" I was labeled "frigid, unforgiving, cold, hateful and told that I use sex as a tool to control him."

I received cards and gifts from him at work and in front of the children. He would stand up in church on a regular basis and speak of how much he loved his family, saying I was the most wonderful woman he has ever known, saying that he knows "this really isn't the place to say such things, that it should be said in the home," but he felt it so deeply he just had to share that feeling with everyone. We all had to sit there in the congregation and smile up at him; confused and fearful inside, but appreciative of the apparent calm that might last for a time. How long a time we never knew, but for a time nevertheless.

The appearance had to be kept up or we would suffer. Once, he sent me two dozen roses at work. I was the secretary to three directors in an administrative medical office and had experienced a particularly disgusting and horrible scene with him in private at home the night before. The bouquet came to my office while the directors were standing near my desk. They asked if it was my birthday or anniversary. I said, "No," started to hem and haw then decided to be truthful. I said, "It's an apology. You can tell how enormous of an apology by the size of the gift." They politely said, "Oh," and walked out. Nothing was ever mentioned again.

Oh, the roses and the gifts ...they were bought with my own wages, which I had limited, controlled, tightly monitored access to. Much of our 20 years together he was in and out of one job after another or unemployed while I worked full-time to provide for our family. He held 22 jobs in 20 years. I'd often be accused of neglecting my family once I returned home from work. He'd be angry at me sometimes because I made more money than he did. I was set up to fail no matter what.