I’m the leader that people look up to. I seem to have it all together. I have moved forward in strides. Yet my past pulls me behind.
Punishment for his abuse just gets let go. There’s no retribution for what this man did to me. I have erased many of the physical and mental things he made a part of my life – scars in my life. The scars keep resurfacing and I don’t even want to write about them, but something compels me to do so. Perhaps it is because he does not want to end this chapter, he keeps harassing us. It feels like I have no one to talk to. I don’t even want to sound like a whiny, complaining baby or victim. I’m not. It’s partially my fault for staying and choosing this stupid man to marry. What was I thinking? It’s so idiotic.
I rationalize why I did it. Why I stayed? How could I? I cared about changing the lives of everyone around me – at my former company. They all relied on me. Yet none of them are there for me today. That’s how brilliant I was. I risked my life so others could have more than I did.
My son must have been about 1.5 years old when the worst incident happened. We were in Kauai at our vacation condo. It was time to pack and leave for Maui, where we were going to meet mutual friends as part of our extended vacation. Because I did what seemed like all the work in caring for my son, packing for him, caring for his needs, I said to my ex, “I need help with Turner. I need you to change him.” I was exhausted from the other hundreds of things on a daily basis and especially I did solely for this trip. His reply was “No. I’m fucking not going to, Lisa. I don’t want to do that. You know, I don’t like that stuff.” Truth is he didn’t know how to change his diaper – still! He didn’t know what clothes to put on – still! It was ridiculous.
“You are going to change him, I need your help!” I cried.
“I’m not going to, Lisa. You can’t make me.”
“Then we won’t make our plane trip on time to go meet the “Smith” family in Mauai, we have a flight to catch.” I needed his help.
I looked at him firmly in the eyes, “You need to help me!”
“Oh, now you’re making me do it. You are not going to tell me what to do, Lisa Solomon!”
“You are going to change your son. It is about time you help me more,” was my firm reply.
Next thing I recall. “Derf” pushes me around and throws me to the ground, “Oh, yeah, you think you’re going to be tough –“ He begins hitting at me, full throttle. He pushes me and corners me to the living room flowered sofa, where I crawl into myself to protect his blows to my body and head. I’m yelling, “No.” He continues to bash my head over and over with his bare hands. My head is cut open and bleeding.
I remember lots of crying. I’m crying and beside myself. No words can describe the mass processing of this whole picture. “No,” is all I can say. “Stop!” There is no fighting back – his strength simply overpowered me and I know better than to fight bag. I can’t. I just hold my head, hold myself yelling, stop, please stop. In disbelief that this would happen on a vacation day and family day. I know that if I remain quiet he will eventually stop rather than exacerbate or escalate him.
He finally stops. I’m in a horrific cry. There is blood around my head; I wipe it off with my right hand. I feel numb. Shocked. “This isn’t my life!” I say to myself. Numb and upset that he just beat me.
I couldn’t hit him back, nor would I stoop to that level.
We are supposed to get on a plane in about 75 minutes to Mauai. We are supposed to have this great life, for all the hard work and sacrifices we make. We are on vacation. I don’t know what to do. I clean up as best as I could and go pick up my baby and act like everything is okay. Because my baby is the most important thing. First response is to try and forget. Second response is to call 911. But if I do I visualize our whole trip being ruined and Derf being mad at me for calling 911 and him doing more harm to me than good. I visualize “just make this go away, Lisa” and move on like it never happened. But it did. I hope that Derf apologizes, even though that doesn’t make it go away. I visualize my whole company going under because Derf and I can’t work together and so many people depend on us both to make their income and the lives they have. I visualize that perhaps Derf will be sorry and this won’t ever happen again. Even though it has and even though it will happen again and again as I will show and have told people in the years to come.
[I look back now and hope that no other woman ever has to go through this. And IF THEY DO, I pray she has the courage and does call for help. Call 911. Because by doing so you are making this about help for you, not help for him. I should have not cared about Derf and his own repercussions and karma he created for himself time and time again. But at the time, I did. Recall that I loved him. I didn’t want him to ever hurt me time and time again. I believed that he would see the pain he caused me and not ever be that bad man again. But a leopard never changes his spots.]
Thank God my child won’t remember the awful and horrific energy that was taken from me on this day, but it is still a human experience I will never forget.
Derf quickly apologized, crying, saying he’s sorry. Typical circle we went through.
My head is pounding; I don’t know what to do for Lisa.
I know what to do for my sons and for others.
I ignore the whole thing. Going to the bedroom, I change Turner and continue packing to get on the plane. It was my obligation to meet our friends. This should not have happened.
“Let’s just go.” I don’t talk to Derf and he follows along, crying and sorry, now. He apologized and cried for hours about it.
“We’ll deal with this later,” I say.
We get to the airport, arrive in Maui on time.
I’m white as a ghost. I am able to collect myself enough to sit in the bathtub at the Maui hotel.
Our baby was napping.
I called my friend, “George”, to tell him what happened. He couldn’t believe it. He’s the only person I had the guts to call. My sisters had already heard my previous and numerous outcries about Derf hitting me at the office or at home. And more instances that we are all writing about today.
[If this information can help someone from having courage to change your life then my journey has mattered...]
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To this day, “George” says he will never forget how traumatic that was to hear me in that state of mind.
My son, Turner, has told me he recalls certain instances of his dad being mean and so much more too painful to write.
Note: I have changed names for privacy. However, I declare under penalty of perjury under the laws of the State of California that the foregoing is true and correct.
To read more about women who have the courage to change, please write to me!
Also here is one woman, Leslie Morgan Steiner, who is advocating against domestic violence. As she writes, "Instead, we have one simple wish: We want the abuse to end.
We don't want the relationship to end."
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