Maria’s Story of Dealing with Abuse: Part 1

This is Maria’s story—in her own words—which I am posting as a three-part series. It’s extremely powerful. As always, the names and locations have been changed  to provide anonymity.

—Jack

I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian home. My childhood was one that many would have envied. Growing up, we had an intact family with everything we ever wanted and more. We traveled, shopped, and enjoyed our family times together.

Being raised out of the United States in a beautiful South American country, everything seemed pretty normal. My parents were very loving but, at the same time, very strict. I noticed that we had a lot of friends, but we also were very different. For example, we would attend birthday parties but, when the dancing started, we were called to go home; and that’s exactly what we did.

When we left South America and moved to the United States, the strictness seemed to intensify. I was not allowed to wear pants or to go to movies. We also stopped having a glass of wine during the holidays, which we had done before. In my mind, I did not understand, but obeyed as was expected of me.

From the ages of fifteen forward, that was my life. Yet, I made the best out of it, including always seeming happy and loving others. I attended church and followed all the rules. I trusted that everyone was telling me the truth, but I really never read the Bible for myself until many years after.

In my mind and in my outer appearance, I really did obey my parents, as well as my older brother. In Latin countries, you looked at an older brother as if he was your own father. While in college, I became engaged, but I broke off my engagement because I wanted to be a missionary in my native land in South America.  This went against everything I had been taught growing up. After a certain age, you become a wife and a mother.

Breaking off my engagement brought several people from my Baptist church to my parent’s home to pay me a visit. The visit was explicitly to tell me how awful I was to break off an engagement and that I needed to follow-up with my word. I immediately felt condemned for even thinking about doing something I felt the Lord had called me to do. I went ahead and married six months later, knowing in my heart I was not supposed, but I was confused. I believed I was not allowed to make decisions for myself, and I was displeasing God by not obeying the people over me—even though I was already an adult.

My marriage lasted eleven years, and I have four beautiful children from it. In the marriage, I was an obedient and submissive wife. I did all the right things, including having a home business and teaching at home. I never questioned my husband, Tom, who was a Sunday school teacher. He was very authoritative at home.

I don’t remember the event that preceded him grabbing my arm and bruising it enough for my father to notice. The only thing I recall was that my first daughter was in the tub at the time. He never laid a finger on me again but rather was never there unless it was time for church on Sundays. He traveled a lot and was doing pornography and going to strip bars once in a while.

At the time, I kept those things to myself. Thinking back, in a very subtle way, I truly believe I had been taught at a very early age to always keep our problems inside the “four walls” of my home. So, when I would hear it later on, I thought I was doing what was right.

There was a young man who came into my life during this time and, I am ashamed to say, I gave in to the temptation. Repenting immediately, I went in front of the church and asked for forgiveness. This is when everything that happened in my marriage became open to the whole community.

Tom ran with it, but I spoke up. At the time, we were in counseling with our pastor. The Pastor said we needed professional help, which I was very glad he recognized. I was ready to go. My husband said “no,” and that I would do what he said when he said it. Professional counseling was out of the question. He insisted that I obey him and go live with him at his mom and dad’s house. He would say things like this: “Even if I have to tie you to the back of the car . . . “

He would also threaten to take my kids to Wyoming or to a far away place. I was so scared, naive and young.  Even though I was hurting inside, I was instructed to remain in my marriage, even if I was physically hurt and bleeding. In those times, emotional, verbal, and spiritual abuse was not mentioned as much as the physical abuse. Little do people realize what the impact and pain those other abuses create, leaving scars that take so long to heal.