Today I have the privilege of sharing with you a guest post.  It’s written by Claire Matthews.  Claire is the main character in my debut novel, Masquerade. She has a story to tell.  I hope it touches you.

 

Hi.  I’d like to introduce myself.  My name is Claire Matthews.  I was asked to write a guest post today.  I have to be honest.  I didn’t really want to.  I mean, I really don’t think I have anything of interest to say.  But, I felt as though I owed it to my “creator” so I agreed to do it.

I sat down multiple times to write out my story.  But it’s all documented in the book Masquerade so that seemed a little redundant.  Instead, I decided to answer the question I’m asked most…Why did you stay and put up with the abuse?

This is a tough question to answer.  I’ve spent a lot of time mulling it over.  I wish there was an easy response like, “I was raised in a violent home.”  Or maybe, “I never knew my father.”  But the truth of the matter is I wasn’t raised in a violent home.  My parents have been married for many years.  We are a very close-knit clan.  We get together once a week for dinner.  We talk on the phone multiple times a day.  My parents are and have been very supportive of me.  When I decided to become a nurse, my mom and dad were my biggest encouragers.  Sure, my parents disagreed sometimes.  But, it never got out of hand.  It never escalated.  I would call it more like fussing than fighting.

So, if it had nothing to do with my childhood or home life, than the answer to the question why I tolerated the abuse had to lie within me.  This isn’t something I like to think about.  I mean, who would?  It involves some soul searching that usually ends up with me feeling totally worthless.  Not my favorite pastime.

I knew the first time that he hit me that it was wrong.  I knew that wasn’t the way people generally handled conflict.  I was raised to know right from wrong and I knew that when Steven smacked me that first time outside the movie theater it was wrong.

In fact, I remember reading a story in the local newspaper about a woman who had been attacked by her boyfriend.  The story came out right around the same time that this happened with Steven.  My reaction to the story was anger.  I was truly mad at this guy who treated his girlfriend in such a way.  Believe it or not, I remember wondering what was wrong with that girl.  Why would she stay with a guy like that?  The article made it clear that she refused to press any charges even after the police were called to the scene.  For some reason, though, I didn’t equate that story to my situation at all.  I didn’t call what Steven did abuse.  I called it a mistake, or an accident, or a momentary lapse.  At least when I allowed myself to think about it, which I rarely did.  I believed it to be a one-time thing.  And it was…for awhile.

One thing people don’t understand is that the times of “peace” were really great.  I mean, they were intense, but they were good.  We spent every free minute together.  He lavished me with attention.  He genuinely cared about what I was doing and who I was with.  It was flattering…at the time.  I mean, I thought it was incredible that someone would want to be with me, that he cared that much about me. Sure, looking back I can see some signs I probably should’ve picked up on.  I’m not sure why I didn’t call his needing to know who I was with and where I was jealousy and control.  It was just easier to call it love, I guess.  I was willing to overlook some of his faults.  After all, he made it a point to remind me that he overlooked mine.

By the time in our relationship that the abuse had become a regular thing, I was in over my head.  Way over my head.  I was embarrassed about what was happening to me.  I believed the threats that he made to me about what he’d do if I told anyone.  I also felt very connected to Steven.  We shared something that not a lot of couples share.  I know how crazy that must sound, but it’s true.  We had a bond that no one knew about.  I realize that the bond was abuse, but it still seemed to somehow tie us together.

I believed that I was responsible for the abuse.  I had agreed after the first time he hit me, to stay and help him work out his issues.  So, each time he hit me, I viewed it as a failure on my part.  I hadn’t done my job well enough.  I hadn’t helped him work through whatever it was that was troubling him.  I had promised I would.  Plus, I knew what bothered him and yet sometimes I did it anyway.  Not on purpose or anything.  Sometimes it would just happen.  I thought if I tried harder, he’d be happier.  If he was happier, he wouldn’t get violent.

But, the bottom line is, somewhere along the course of our relationship, I began to believe that the abuse was okay for me.  Like I said, I knew it wasn’t okay in the lives of other people.  I would even feel very outraged when I heard of other instances of abuse.  But for me, I believed it was okay.  I believed there was something about me that warranted the abuse.  This is the part that makes answering the question as to why I stayed so difficult.  It’s not easy to admit.  It wasn’t an easy realization to come to.

That was all a long time ago.  Things are different now.  But, I promised Lissa I wouldn’t give away the end of her story…my story…you know what I mean.  And what kind of a main character would I be if I went against my author’s wishes?