To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe. - Anatole France
I love planning, but hate waiting. Or, rather, I hate not having a date set for
what I’m waiting for. I need to know
what I am going to be doing and when.
Preferably sooner than later. Why
wait to do something in a year when you can do it next week? I will do a lot of planning for it, but I am
quick about it, so that I can go from idea to action in a very short time. When I got the idea in my head to bike to all
the California missions, I immediately started planning detailed maps, places
to stay, eat and visit, and before I knew it I had a rough draft of my book and
was ready to roll. From idea to
departing for the trip, it took about three months. And that delay was mostly because I couldn’t
get time off before then (my boss would have preferred I wait even longer, but
I hate waiting more than necessary); otherwise I could have been ready with
detailed plans in two.
Part of this is because once I get an idea in my head it is
hard to let it go. I tend to think my
ideas are brilliant until I get proof to the contrary. But I don’t just act impulsively, I really do
plan and prepare for everything I do. It
just looks impulsive to my family and friends because I go through the decision
making process and planning stages so quickly. When I decided to do a Tough
Mudder event, I was signed up within a week of announcing my intentions, and
actually participating in eight weeks, once I had done some physical training
and an event was near enough to my home.
And part of this is because once I announce my intentions, I
feel some shame if I don’t follow through.
I know that no one else will actually think poorly of me if my plans
don’t pan out or if I change my mind.
But to me, once I say I am going to do something, I have in essence
given my word. And I keep my word, to
myself and to others.
Which is why it was so hard to leave my marriage – and thus
my home and my job. The shame I felt
that I was not able to keep my promises to myself, my business associates, my
customers, and the world at large. To
admit to myself and others that I had made a mistake in marrying that jerk in
the first place.
When I left, though, I made a plan and acted on it
quickly. I had already waited for years
and years for my marriage to improve, for my husband to treat me with kindness
and respect, for the violence to end. I
had waited for years for my business to succeed, for my family-by-marriage to
stop sabotaging my business plans. I had
waited for years to improve my home beyond 120 square foot, with no plumbing or
heating. The waiting period was up. Once
I got the idea in my head that I needed to leave, that all this waiting was in vain,
that nothing was going to improve, and that I could leave, I made my plans.
Really, they were very simple. But over a decade of my husband’s abusive
brain washing had made it hard to think clearly and logically about what I
needed to do to leave. While I had tried
to leave before, I had never made it more than five miles before his training
kicked in, and I couldn’t think of what to do and where to go after that. So I’d go back. It sounds kind of stupid now
– I want to yell at my old self “just keep going!” But it wasn’t that simple to my mind at that
time. Too many years of being told that
I could not live without him, with seemingly sound reasons why not; too many years
of being told that my family and friends would not take me in, again with seemingly
sound reasons why not. How would I pay
for food and shelter? How would I find a job with no job references for my
application? In effect, how would I survive?
But this time I realized that those same questions had no
better answers when staying where I was, in an abusive marriage with a failing
business and no prospects for improving my self, my income, my home, or my
life. Though he had tried to argue to
the contrary on the rare occasion that I would voice these doubts, his
reasoning rang hollow. It was time to
go.
The plans were short, carefully thought out to make sure I
was not just acting on some lie that he had told me. They were simply to (1) take the truck and
drive to Denver; (2) call my family and see if they actually would not take my
in, like he had said. If they didn’t, I
had a back up plan of going to a Buddhist community not far from Denver, where
I could work for room and board. I
didn’t know about women’s shelters, and if I had I probably wouldn’t have
trusted them not to just return me to my husband (he had said that they would,
and as he had previously convinced doctors and police that he was my caregiver
and I was crazy, I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t do the same with the
shelter personnel).
The plans also included a very short list of what I wanted
to take with me. However, the list was
tricky because I would not have time to gather anything before I left. He kept me under a very close eye all the time. Even getting over to the truck to leave
without him catching me was going to be a trick. Also taking time to gather things was out of
the question – if he saw me carrying things around that I had no reason to be
carrying, he’d know what was up. So my
list was extremely short, essentially just things I could hide in my pants
pockets. Luckily, my husband was
paranoid, and kept a full set of clothing and camping gear in the truck “in
case of emergency.” The few things I was
able to take with me were supplies from this stash, which I had time to sort
through once I had gotten away from him.
But I had to leave behind everything of sentimental value, and most
things of practical value. The final
result only filled a backpack. But most
importantly I had my life.
Once I had the idea I
could and would leave, and the plans of how and where to go, it was simply a
matter of watching for an opportunity. I
found one within a few days. Longer than
that and I might have lost my nerve, or slipped up and said something that
would have given him a clue of my intentions and thus prevented my acting on
them. I only had one chance to get it
right – if I messed up and failed to leave, I would not get another
chance. It did not go as smoothly as I
hoped – there was a problem with the parking brake – but I did it. I left.
And I stayed gone. My
family took me in. I got a good job within a month. My plans worked out fine.
And now I am planning my longride. I wish I knew when I’d be able to start it,
but I am sure this will become clear soon.
The thought of the longride both excites and frightens me. It will be an awesome, amazing
experience. But unlike my mission bike
ride where I had company on my journey (and a support truck!), and unlike Tough
Mudder which was physically challenging (and required signing a death liability
waiver) but had been designed for safety, this ride will be alone, in
unfamiliar territory, with no guarantees that I will succeed.
I don’t want to delay long, lest I loose my nerve or talk
myself out of it. Because it is
important to me to take this ride, to visit other DV survivors around the
country and help them however I can. At
very least, I would like to show them that it is okay to fail in marriage, in
keeping a home, in love; it is okay to leave everything behind. The shame of it
will not kill you (but staying in a dangerous home might!). There are good people who will support you in
your decision to leave. There are people
like me who have done it and are indescribably better off for having done it.
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