This weekend he surprised me with a grand step of bravery. He opened his heart and wrote his story. So that I could share it on my blog. Because he believes it can help.
I know it was hard and am so proud of him.
I offer the first segment today. Where the hate and anger come from.
I Was an Abusive Husband. Really? (part one)I've been married to MisssRobin for 22 years. I've learned a lot in that time. So, I've been reading her blogs and I love her writing. I've decided to tell my side of the mess that is her life.
I was raised in a family of 4 boys and 2 girls. I was raised with the idea that a man's house is his castle and the wife does what the husband decides after they have talked about it. After all, I am the head of the house. As a boy, we (including the girls) fought and wrestled with each other all the time. I remember my dad saying, "If a girl acts like a boy, treat her like a boy." So, I did. I never got into a fist fight with the girls but I would have a hitting contest with one.
I lived in Los Angeles and when I was in 7th grade my family moved to Utah and things went badly for me after that. We moved mid school year, so I was the new kid. I didn't know the culture and was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. I went from being popular at school to being bullied. I was assaulted by a gym teacher that same year and no one did anything about it. I went to the principal, school counselors, my parents and no one did a thing. I learned to hate. I rebelled. I hated authority. I didn't do drugs but I did break rules and vandalized and stole things. This didn't go over very well with my religious parents.
In my senior year, I found religion. I had been raised in the Mormon church but it didn't really mean anything to me until that year. I would skip every class at school but I would never skip my religion class (seminary). It was the only class I ever got an A in, I'm pretty certain.
I started to trust again and the hate started to fade. It was still there but now it just smoldered. I decided to go on a 2-year mission for the church when I was 19. I was raised to believe that if you live the commandments and did everything you were supposed to do that God would take care of you. I was also raised with the belief that missionaries walked 2 inches off the ground because they were so righteous.
I saved up my money and entered the mission training center and discovered that missionaries are just a bunch of 19-year old boys and some of them didn't want to be there. It made my time there really hard because when you go into the training center you are assigned a companion (another missionary) that you are supposed to stay with 24/7. We were not to leave the grounds; my companion wanted to leave to go to the mall. I had to make the choice of which rule to break and I was done breaking rules.
I figured things would be different when I got to my mission area in Oklahoma. Things didn't get better. My mission president was an ego maniac who would not listen to the missionaries' side of anything. So if a member of our church would call him and say that we were watching TV all day, then we would get in trouble for that even though it wasn't true. I felt very betrayed and the hate for authority returned.
Read more here.