Manipulation was a huge part of our relationship. The manipulation was in simple things and subtle ways like... I love silver so he'd buy me gold. I liked blue and white in the kitchen, so he had the children buy me green dishes for Mothers Day. Little stupid things like that to let me know that my likes and feelings didn't matter. Then there were the more destructive manipulative things which I already mentioned like using the kids to keep me in line. The constant battle to keep the kids safe ate at my gut every day. He had talked about how much better it would be for them not to live in this horrible world and go through the experiences he had to. He'd say they were better off dead and with Heavenly Parents. He, of course, never shared this opinion with anyone else, only me, knowing the turmoil and terror it would cause me to worry constantly that he'd do something to hurt the kids, following through on many occasions.

I love theater and the symphony. I didn't know a tremendous amount about sports when we were first married, so I sat for hours watching games with him, asking questions and learning so we'd have something in common to be involved in. In 20 years he made no effort to find out what I like or who I am. He went to a Shakespearean comedy opera with me once and let me know he'd never attend anything like that again, stating that I was selfish for asking him to go.

It was a constant roller coaster. I put my self-esteem aside many many years earlier when I realized that sticking up for myself was an emotionally and physically painful experience. The "fact" (according to him) that I was a whore, unacceptable, disgusting, useless, brainless, etc., was constantly reinforced. Don't get me wrong, I was never slapped, punched, kicked (well once... and I was being rude and a smart alec) or beaten. The violence was always around me, next to my head or body, destroying everything I cared about, shoving or pushing me against furniture or walls. I was sexually assaulted and pushed to do things that were sickening or else the children would be punished. They used to ask me, "What did I do to upset Dad?" and I'd have to say, "Nothing, he's not angry at you, he's mad at me." There was no way I could tell them what was going on when the doors were shut. I was humiliated and trapped within the reality of my relationship... that it appeared to be one thing on the outside and to the world, when it was in reality something completely different. There was violence... restraining me, locking me in rooms, cornering me and smashing the wall next to my face, pushing, throwing things at me, breaking things, destroying furniture, destroying things the kids or I had created, shoving a mirror in my face and telling me to look at what was responsible for his misery, etc. The kids went through equally violent experiences if not more so. He was more physically violent with the kids than with me, which was his way of keeping me in line. The theory was, if I knew the kids would be hurt if I made a mistake, it would keep me in my place... and it did.

There were good times. There really were. As long as we walked the line carefully and didn't make him look bad, we were acceptable. Appearing happy while walking a tightrope is an art, really. We played with our kids, read to them, sang to them, went to church together and had deep gospel discussions about the Savior and His teachings. These are still good memories and important in the development of our children... but how confusing and hypocritical it is to sit and discuss things like kindness, unconditional love, doing unto others as we would have them do to us... and then having to live in fear at the same time while enjoying none of the teachings always being professed. I am so blessed to know that the Lord watched after us and helped our children in spite of our experiences. They are terrific and wonderful individuals who have gone through so much to sort through the completely hypocritical lives we led.