God Loves Women

Dear Marilyn,

(I don’t actually know if your name is Marilyn, but I wanted to give you a name, because you’re a person and you matter).

I met you on the train tonight.  You sat down next to me and then your partner made you move so he could sit next to you.  I could see him being unkind to you and making you cry.  I saw you try to stand up to him and the way he made you shrink.  I could see him become worse and I saw that other man, Kevin (I’m going to call him Kevin, even though I’m not sure what his real name was…) watch what was going on and stand up and get ready to intervene.  And I got ready to intervene too.

And suddenly Kevin was asking your partner if he “was alright mate?” and your partner was telling him to “f*ck off and not get involved.” I stood up and asked you if you were okay.  You said you weren’t and that you were scared and wanted to get away.  I asked you to come and stand with me, but even though you wanted to, your partner wouldn’t let you.  I asked if you wanted me to call the police and you said you did, then your partner was calling me a “f*cking………” and I was ringing the police and stopping the train and your partner was whispering and suddenly you wanted me to stop phoning the police and tried to sort everything out.  I know you were being brave.  I know you were trying to protect yourself and me by calming him down.  I know you were trying your best to make everything okay again.

Then we all got off the train and Kevin was really kind to me and didn’t leave until the police arrived.  And your partner was shouting at me, and you were trying to calm him down and telling the police that “it was just talking”.  And I saw your black eye under your make up and I saw how he hurts you.

Then the police said you didn’t want to do anything about your partner and I went on a different train home to you and then that was it.

Well Marilyn I wanted to tell you that you are really really brave.  That I know you were trying your best to make everything okay.  I’m sorry that when you got home he probably hurt you a lot, and says it’s your fault.  But Marilyn, it’s not your fault.  It’s his fault.  He chose to hurt you and that is not okay.  I know I couldn’t stop him and that the police didn’t arrest him, and that he’s done this to you before.

I know you might think I’m a nosy stranger, getting involved in your business and making things worse.  But please, please, please, know that I tried to help because you are so so important.  That you are valuable and worth so much.  Kevin and I didn’t get involved to make your life difficult, we stood up and spoke out to show you what your partner was doing is wrong.  And maybe nobody has ever shown you that before.

I know we will probably never see each other again, but I wanted to write to you and tell you that you matter, you’re important and anytime you need me to, I’ll stand up for you again.

Love Natalie x

Today I was sat tweeting in Costa while my phone charged and suddenly I heard a woman’s voice slightly raised on the table next to me.  I turned to see a man with his back to me and a woman on the other side of the table, talking to him,

“You’ve hit me before!  What you want me to stop talking so loud?!  Don’t you think people should know what you’ve done?”  

Suddenly my entire attention became focused on the table next to me and the interaction of the two people sitting there.  What could I do?  How could I let this woman know that there’s help out there?  That what he's doing to her is wrong?  I decided to wait, and pray for an opportunity to speak to her.  

And as I sat there waiting and praying, all I could do was listen to the conversation unfolding next to me.

Her: “Why do you keep doing this to me?  You said you’d stop drinking!  You keep doing all these things to me”

Him: “I came here expecting you were going to apologise to me, and you’re trying to make it all my fault!”  

He kept employing the “quiet voice” tactic; keeping his voice low, so she sounds like a hysterical woman to everyone else, while he whispers offensive names and other nasty things under his breath.  

Her: “I just want to fix things, I know it’s not always you, it is partly me…”

Him: “You’re always making it worse, why do you make it worse…?!”

I sat there, praying and asking others on twitter to pray,  that I would have the opportunity to speak to her.  At one point she got up, ready to leave, but he convinced her to sit back down.  I packed up my bag and wrote a note with my name, email, address, phone number and the details of Lundy Bancroft’s book "Why Does He Do That?"

She was so articulate and so good at putting across her point.  And yet he constantly undermined her.  

So I waited and prayed and prayed and waited.  And eventually she stood up to leave.  He stayed sat down and she walked away, I stood up and gave her my note and told her I might be able to help, that she could contact me.  The man stayed sat down and didn’t follow her so I walked down the stairs and said to her,

“I work with domestic abuse, I might be able to help.  My ex-husband was abusive…I’ve written down a book that might help you on that note.”

She looked at me and quickly said, “Oh no!  It’s not domestic abuse!  It’s just unresolved issues, that’s all!”  Then she hurried off.

I walked towards my train, heartbroken again by the reality of how men can break women so totally, without consequence or challenge.  Painfully aware of how I once was a woman who refused to accept my ex-husband was abusive.  The sadness I felt was heavy and consuming.

And yet, even in that pain and sadness, I praised God that I was able to give her some information.  That an opportunity was provided and just maybe this opportunity will enable the woman to move forward.  I will continue to believe there is hope, that she can be restored and freed.

I got home, my heart still heavy, and began to read with hope again rising the story of how Carl Beech and Dean Gray had challenged an abusive man on the underground; I was reminded that there are men and women across the UK and beyond challenging violence against women, bringing freedom and hope to women and children.  If each one of us sees every opportunity as a chance to make a difference, we will do just that.  If each one of us doesn’t just stand by when we hear, see or learn of abuse and violence, we will make a difference!

I happened to get a text from a friend just now and even though she didn’t know about this situation she had sent me the following verse:

“But thanks be to God who gives us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ, therefore my beloved be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord knowing that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.” [1 Corinthians 15:57-58]

If you pray, please do pray for the woman I met today, let her and any children she has find hope and freedom and for the man who is choosing to continue abusing her to be held accountable and challenged, knowing that nothing we do for God is in vain!

February 2005

Sometimes I wonder why I’m here

Why I don’t just leave or die or just be

But then I realise it’s ‘cause I’m yours

You wouldn’t have it another way

You’re not really mine

Though you aim to please

You don’t really care

But you know you do

I cant make sense of myself

Don’t worry,

But you won’t

You care about me

But not about them

Those feelings that make me the person I am

And if I could, I’d move on

But that won’t ever be

Because you’re not really mine

Though you aim to please

You don’t really care but you know I do

You f*ck me and with me

And love me and make it

But do you care

I mean really care?

Of course you do, and don’t

When it’s too much

To bother with and stay waking for

You’d rather be in slumbers

So sweet and delightful

Than being a caring person of love

I know you don’t mean it

And that’s past your capabilities

But it’d be great if you’d think

For more than one moment

About things like my feelings

And the reason for those

The pain, it hurts me

Sometimes and always

Whenever you F*ck me or with me or near me

Not that you do that

You can’t anymore

The guilt is too much

It’s not my pain or my scars

‘Oh the scars!’ you say

What are they?

You know what I mean

My feelings and needings

And wantings and hurts

But they don’t matter the time has gone by

And no more confusings

And hurtings and pain

Because you are asleep now

And I am alone……………..

…….Good morning my love

Good morning my dear

Won’t this be a nice day

And a nice year

We’ll have so much fun and laughter, no needs

And those things are forgotten

What things, in deed

Nothing

Just love and niceness and us

July 2008

Everything’s getting too much

I feel unloved

You feel unloved

What’s the point in all of this

I love you, yes

You love me?

I want not to feel bad

But that’s not happening

Because you’ll still do it how ever I feel

Because it’s too good to stop

Too good to stop my crying eyes

Or not if I shout and scream and ball

I don’t want to

I just want you to say no

Knowing the hurt it puts me through

But there I go

Wanting too much

I’m sure we’ll be fine

I’m sure it will work

Or maybe it won’t

I can’t be sure anymore

But it’s ok

Because what you say

And what you mean

Is I love you

April 2005

I don’t like this life

Full of pain and strife

I want to escape from a world

Where my brain is twizzled and twirled

Until I am left confused and lost

I want to leave no matter what the cost

A price so high, it will hurt so much

A daughter without a mothers touch

A husband without a wife’s love

No entry into heaven above

I want to want to live

I want to be able to forgive

But I don’t know if I can

I don’t even know where it began

But even if I did I don’t think it would matter

Because in the end everything I do seems to shatter

So I’m left wanting to die

It isn’t really important the what’s or the why

Just that I couldn’t save me

And neither could you

February 2005

Empty smile upon my face

Empty words and an empty embrace

Empty of feeling and void of all hope

Losing the will to carry on and to cope

My soul has been blackened by actions of mine

My days are all night, the sun doesn’t shine

Insincere gratitude and no ability to thank

Not since the day the real me got too heavy and sank

Vacant expression and vacant of care

Seems nobody minds my blank, desolate stare

Expressionless words said to please those who want them

Insipid gestures given through boredom

Valueless morals and a dishonest prayer

Sinking and drowning in hopeless despair

Ignorant opinions and ignorant knowledge

I might as well mash my brains into porridge

Rhetorical talk of propaganda and rumor

No laughter, no smile, no sense of humor

Forgotten promises and destructive advice

A hunger that no morsel can entice

A purposeless life with unsatisfactory outcomes

To the reaper that beckons me, I might as well succumb

May 2007

I look at the ceiling seeing a small crack

I hear in the distance someone hurting a lot

I stare at the crack as it slowly creeps out

Hearing distant grunts and terrible pain

The spidery lines of the cracks are growing

I count them as the sounds grow louder

Quickly they become an uncountable amount

The sounds have dulled but their pain intensified

As plaster dust falls onto my face

Crevices, fissures and chinks open above

While the sound of hurt can no longer be quieted

As the ceiling falls in pieces smashing against my body

The man I married gets up and starts to redress