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Survivor
Depression is more common than we think. It can follow a
heart attack or the death of a loved one, shadow an abusive
relationship,
accompany the end of a marriage, and cloud your holidays.
Many of us know from personal experience that depression
is
a residual of divorce that can unexpectedly haunt us years
afterwards. More
than just “the blues,” its markers include enduring
thoughts of hopelessness and worthlessness, difficulty concentrating
and making decisions, along with sleep and appetite changes.
Experts say depression affects twice as many women as men
and is the leading cause of suicide.
In
this newsletter, you’ll meet Kathy in California
who shares the story of her infant daughter’s death,
a verbally and emotionally abusive marriage that ended
in divorce after 37 years, her struggle with depression—and
how today, through God’s help, she comforts and
inspires others.
Here’s
what is new
Campus
Crusade for Christ’s website for women adapted
a chapter from Kari’s book, Dare to Trust, Dare
to Hope Again for its December issue. Click
here to
view this excerpt entitled “Breaking With Tradition.”
Personal
Reflection by Kathy in California
On September 20, 2000, my entire world crashed down upon
me. I found myself in the middle of a nightmare that surely
belonged to someone else. At 4:20 in the afternoon, I was
swimming in our backyard pool, as I did every day in the
warmer weather, when my husband of 37 years came out to talk
to me. Earlier I’d heard his countless trips from our
home office to the garage, but could not see what he was
doing, so I had paid little attention. Before I could get
out of the pool, he announced that he was leaving. I had
assumed that he was going on the bike ride he had mentioned
earlier, but I was wrong. He was leaving to be with a woman
whom he’d met a year and a half before during one of
his morning walks. Now I knew why he always refused my offer
to walk with him, saying that it was his time to think and
make plans.
I cannot express the feeling of total abandonment, betrayal,
hurt, and utter loneliness I felt in that moment. While I
had been in the pool, he had packed his clothing and other
personal items. The man whom I had been with since my teenage
years, the only man I had ever made love to, the man with
whom I had borne five children was leaving me for a woman
he barely knew! How could this be? I spent my life trying
to help others. I worked with children, taught religion,
served as a scout leader, on our school board, the parish
council, and even taught crafts as a volunteer at two care
facilities. Why would anyone want to hurt me?
For the second time in my life, I felt that I did not want
to live. Many years earlier I was so depressed because of
this man that I had considered suicide. The only thing preventing
me from taking my life was my religious beliefs. I had grown
up with the knowledge that suicide is murder and a mortal
sin. According to the teachings of the Catholic Church, no
one who has a mortal sin on their soul at the time of death
can enter the Gates of Heaven and will be forever cast into
the depths of hell. As I look back on our life together,
I now realize in the earliest days of our marriage that he
was a cold, controlling person. He was a 25-year-old Dutch
immigrant when we married; I was 18 and attending cosmetology
school. I can still hear him telling our friends, “If
she had half a brain, she could be dangerous.” After
listening to that putdown for months, I broke down and told
him how painful that comment was. He stopped. But the constant
degradation didn’t.
I had come from a dysfunctional family and vowed that my
children would never endure the type of pain I lived with
as a child. My father cheated throughout my parents’ marriage.
I saw him at most twice a week; his constant insults often
cut me to the quick. I felt useless and unloved. One of my
father’s pet names for me was “lout”—a
degrading, hurtful term. I think this is why I am an overachiever.
I worked harder than I needed to work because I felt that
I needed to for acceptance.
As a young bride, I was constantly criticized and ridiculed.
Nothing I ever did was right. In two and a half years, I
gave birth to three children. Our first son was born nine
and a half months after our wedding. Our second son came
16 months later. A third child, a little girl, arrived 15
months later; but she suffered from a rare heart disease.
She died at the age of 13 ½ months. When we buried
her, a large part of my heart went with her. The following
year, our third son arrived and another daughter a year later.
Since my husband was Dutch and only one of two of the family’s
fifteen children to come to America, we often had visitors
from Holland. My mother-in-law came the day after I arrived
home from the hospital after the birth of our first son.
She stayed for nearly three months and made three other visits
over the period of a few years. Although she bragged about
what a wonderful wife and mother I was, she also found endless
things to criticize. On a daily basis she confronted my husband
with petty gripes. I felt that I couldn’t do two things
right in a row. For my husband’s sake, I endured her
criticism in silence, but each visit was a nightmare. I always
maintained an open door policy with the family. We even had
two different relatives living with us for extended periods
of time. Because of this, I have always been on good terms
with the brothers, sisters, and their children.
We were married for twelve years before I ever had a vacation.
The excuse was that we had a business to run. Actually, I
really don’t believe that my husband liked to travel.
He also didn’t think I deserved a vacation. I wasn’t
his ideal—the perfect wife—nor was I thin enough.
He was as controlling with money as he was with the verbal
abuse and kept me on a tight budget. I have always been a
good money manager, but he constantly threw it in my face
that in the beginning of our marriage I had made payments
on a Sears bill instead of paying it in full. The small amount
he gave me to run the house was never sufficient. He didn’t
want me to know exactly how much money we actually had in
the bank. I remember one September when our children were
small I asked him for money for Christmas shopping. He simply
told me to save the money out of the household budget; then,
in anger, he opened up his wallet, removed a $100 bill, threw
it at me, and said, “Make that do. You aren’t
getting more.”
Because of that humiliating incident, the following
year I secured a job as a teacher’s aid at our local
high school and have worked ever since. My husband was infuriated
with this show of independence and made life more difficult
for me by criticizing my working. He told my mother that
I wasn’t doing an adequate job of taking care of the
house. Not only did I have a full-time job, but I also managed
to go to school. Over the years I bought all my clothes and
personal items and paid for most of the furniture in our
home. Also, I paid for gifts for our children and the gifts
we sent his family. Eventually I received my teaching credential
and worked as a teacher for six years and even taught an
adult class two evenings a week. Never once did he congratulate
me on earning my credential. My hard work and diligence went
unrecognized, while my responsibilities for our business
grew. I helped him with secretarial work and painted the
company name on the sides of an old truck he purchased.
After 20 years of working for the school district, I quit
to devote more time to our business and substitute teach
on the side. Yet the harder I tried, the more criticism I
received, including degrading comments about my cooking and
even my oil paintings. In the summer of 2000, my husband
left the office daily with a variety of excuses from “going
to the post office” to “going to the bank.” The
door to his office was closed regularly because he needed
privacy “to discuss a pending deal with another company.” I
never doubted him. He even purchased a ticket for Hawaii “for
a meeting.” When I voiced that I was working too hard
and had decided to quit substituting, he talked me into quitting
my job at our office and continuing with the school. We set
September 1 as my last day.
On September 2, after he walked out on me, I realized my
husband and his girlfriend had choreographed everything.
Later, I learned that she left a note for her husband who
was out of town at the time. While I have forgiven him for
what he has done and for all the pain, I’ll never forget.
There are days I still cry, but I also pray for my husband
and this woman. Someday I want them to come to grips with
what they have done, realize how many people they hurt, and
make peace with God. One of my sons recently told me that
he grew up hating the way his father treated me. He said
one of his earliest memories is hearing his dad talk cruelly
to me. I never realized how apparent the abuse was. All four
of my children feel I am much better off without their father
around. Yet I can’t help wonder how a formerly honorable
man, a member of the church choir, a well respected and admired
man in the community could turn into such a hypocrite? Despite
his controlling ways, he is the only man I have ever loved.
I meant every word of my wedding vows. As for me, I will
make it. I realized that I would be okay when I successfully
made it through the holidays without him.
I have always been an upbeat person, seeing
the good in people and overlooking their faults. Yet for
a period of time after my husband walked out, I didn’t
want to live. But instead of just totally giving up, I threw
myself into my work and hobbies. I was asked to join the
Board of Directors of a home for developmentally disabled
adults. Although I’d been active in the organization
for years, I’d never considered serving on the Board.
Yet getting involved with the residents is a wonderful experience.
I get countless hugs and kisses from these dear people and
enjoy this labor of love. Also, as an artist I find that
painting is a tremendous way of expressing myself and a great
stress reliever.
Life is full of disasters. I’ve faced many in my lifetime.
I lost two sisters to childhood illnesses, lived in a broken
home and through my mother’s periods of deep depression.
When my children were small, our house burned down. But of
all my experiences, my exhusband’s leaving was the
most traumatic. Today I’m using my experiences to help
others because I know what they go through. I’m also
a lot more open and frank. A year and a half ago, I spoke
to my priest about forming a Catholic Singles group in town
and have been successful in that endeavor. It’s a strictly
social group offering a good opportunity to reach out to
others and listen to their stories. Last year I was asked
to join a ministry program in my Diocese called “Healing
Hearts.” We had training classes for the ministers
on Saturdays and now meet twice a month in our parish to
help people open up and discuss their situations. The website
for the North American Conference of Single and Divorced
Catholics is www.NACSDC.org
Last year, I attended my 40th class reunion for an all-girls
Catholic high school in Southern California. 75 gals attended
out of the 150 in our graduating class. We were asked to
talk about what we had done since our last reunion five years
earlier. I was the fourth person to speak. I started with
my teaching, my grown children and grandchildren. Then, I
got real. I said, “On September 2, 2000, my husband
of 37 years left me for another woman.” Everyone gasped.
I added, “But I’m really doing well; and, after
all, he was such an (choose the noun you like best).” Instantly,
there was an uproar—and laughter! The room’s
attitude changed dramatically. Suddenly, I realized that
there were nuns present in the room and they were probably
shocked. In fact, my older sister is also a nun. Later, after
everybody had spoken, Sister Patricia Mary thanked me for
being so open and frank. “At most reunions, people
try to impress everyone with their perfect lives,” she
said, “but your being candid caused everyone to be
more honest.“
Help
for today by Kari
 Troubled
about your own personal struggles and world events? Who
isn’t. Few people are immune from seasons of worry
and despair. Over 32 million Americans, 1 in 6 adults,
will experience depression during their lifetime—some
with bouts lasting 10 years, while others will be unable
to perform normal activities for five weeks a year. Unfortunately,
this time of year it doesn’t take much for us to
feel blue with darkness descending at 5 p.m. and the holidays
magnifying past memories. Divorce may mean that our children
spend part of their holiday vacation with our former spouse—while
we’re home alone. Perhaps this is your first Christmas
being single-again—and you dread telling family and
friends that the marriage ended. Or a decade after the
split, you wonder why you still tear up when the radio
plays a certain Christmas carol. Try as you might, you
can’t get into merry or joyful. Not yet, anyway.
Don’t worry, be happy. Get a life. Get over it! That’s
what well-meaning friends and family often say. These are
nice sentiments easier said than done. I’m not sure
that we ever get over it. I think we just get on with it
like Kathy is doing. We get on with the rest of our life
by refusing to squander the moment in front of us. I believe
that every day we stand at the threshold of a decision that
will determine the direction of the rest of our lives. How
we define what happened to us is one of them. You know, even
the simple realization that you did not dissolve during the
grieving process but survived with soul and sanity intact
can give you the inner fortitude you need to ponder the next
step. It can reaffirm your faith that God is still working
in your life. You see, when you and I begin to engage more
with the present than the past, we start concentrating on
what we can do with what we have left instead of what we
can’t do about what we have lost. We begin to hear
the hurts of others and reach out. Sometimes the hardest
step of dancing to the holiday blues is slinging our feet
off the bed on a dismal day and embracing the blessings right
in front of us. The blessing of cradling with cold hands
a warm cup of cocoa or caressing with grateful eyes that
vase of flowers on the kitchen table. The blessing of surprising
the grocery clerk with a smile—and maybe being surprised
by one in return. The blessing of a roof over our head and
a jacket to wear.
Whatever you’re facing, remember that
sadness does a job. Feeling blue during the holidays may
mean that you’re still in the process of healing the
wounds of the past and the losses of your heart. Thank God
for His presence, then ask for His peace. And don’t’ ever
be embarrassed to admit you need medical or professional
help if you experience five or more of the following symptoms
for more than two weeks:
- Sad, anxious, or empty moods.
- Sleeping too much
or too little.
- Loss of interest in activities once
enjoyed.
- Difficulty concentrating, fatigue
or loss of energy.
- Guilty, hopeless, or worthless feelings.
- Preoccupation
with death or thoughts of suicide.
A
promise you can trust
Oh,
God ... my soul thirsts for you; my whole body longs for
you in this parched and weary land where there is no
water. ... I lie awake thinking of you, meditating
on you through the night. I think how much you have helped
me; ... your strong right hand holds me securely.
— Psalm
63:1; 6-8
In
the meantime
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