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I went around to my minister. He heard me out, then said, quite correctly: “Naturally Mrs. Doormat, I only have your version of what is happening in your marriage. I need to talk to your husband. I’ll ring him, and ask him to come around.” I was quite happy for him to do this. My husband’s reply – as relayed to me by my minister – was, “I don’t have time.” The minister and I having nothing further to say to each other, I left.

But I daren’t go home. I was too terrified of what I might do.(My husband never physically abused me in my life. It was just continual mental and emotional degradation.) So I stayed at a cheap hotel in a nearby suburb for a couple of days until I cooled down. I didn’t want to run the risk of running in to him..I finally went home, and he acted as though nothing had happened. This sounds fine – except that it meant that the disharmony in our marriage was once more swept under the carpet instead of being dealt with.

So once again I felt betrayed; betrayed by my husband who had promised to love, honor and cherish me; by my minister, who had no help for me since he couldn’t talk to my husband, – and worst of all, by my God – who seemed totally indifferent to my plight, and whose only interest in me seemed to be making sure that I obeyed my husband.

Did I ever consider divorce? No. My marriage was permanent, in Gods eyes and in mine. This was non-negotiable. However I did consider separation. But there was a problem. In those days society at large didn’t recognize such things as psychological and verbal abuse. It was not into accepting how damaging and devastating these can be to a person’s well-being and sense of worth. Since I didn’t have one physical bruise, one broken bone, one limp to display; society in general, and my church in particular, would have taken a dim view of me walking out on a man who was so “good” to me. They couldn’t see that in my soul there was “no soundness – only wounds and welts and open sores, not cleansed or bandaged or soothed with oil.” I had gaping emotional wounds. And they bled continually.

God could see – but He didn’t seem to care. I felt that His attitudewas the same as society’s. I felt I couldn’t give Him a good enough reason for leaving Bob – so I stayed. So our marriage limped on. It was stable, since neither of us believed in divorce, and Bob seemed content with things as they were.

Throughout my marriage I tried to love and serve God, I still read my Bible regularly, went to church as often as possible, gave regularly. I taught my kids little Christian songs like Jesus loves me, this I know, For the Bible tells me so. The problem was, although I taught this to my kids, I didn’t really believe it for myself. I could believe it for them, because they were young and innocent. I wasn’t. And I continually carried a burden of guilt because I had defied God’s will in marrying a non-Christian. I don’t think I could accept His forgiveness. And I found it VERY hard to forgive myself.

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