This correlation is  “sticking” with me this week: The lesson at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History explaining that the force of a volcano is determined by 1) the moisture content of the molten lava and 2)the quartz content (which makes the molten rock stickier)

The greater the moisture and stickiness of magma, the greater the likelihood of an eruption for the record books.

This reminded me of one of the nuggets I’ve clung to from to THE BEST THERAPIST in the world (a Guru, a Spiritual sage in a modest Midwestern persona who doled out the best advice and wisdom I’ve received in my life).

The impact of abuse is measured by the intensity and frequency. An occasional horrid event, if not consistent is able to be healed and recovered from. A low level of abuse at a consistent rate is still damaging. Abuse that is constant and intense, then, yep you are looking at a great climb out of the depth of damage and have a long road to recovery.

The greater the intensity and frequency of abuse, the greater the likelihood of devastating and lasing damage.

I used to wonder what would happen if I told the truth.

I know what my parents told me would happen, “Your father’s practice would be ruined and then how do you think we would survive!?! His reputation is what keeps a roof over your head, you ungrateful spoiled brat”

I know what my friend offered, “I’ll slash his tires”

I know what he said, “My father used to BEAT me. His father used to whip him with a belt. You have nothing to complain about. You just need to stop: making me mad, looking at me like that, trying to go out wearing that, slamming doors, having an opinion”

I know what my teacher said “I am obligated to report this by law”

I know what my other friend said, “Stop being so dramatic!”

I know what my therapist told me “Well, your options are limited. If we remove you from the home they may put you in a juvenile home or even a mental ward. Let’s just work on strategies to not be provocative and lay low until you are done with high school, you don’t want to ruin your chances at college.”

I know what my mom claimed “I didn’t see him hit you so I can’t say for sure”

I know what my other friend offered – self defense lessons – I guess so I could turn an incident into a full-fledged fight?

I also know that it didn’t stop. Not after high school. Not after college. Not even after age 35. A “smart mouth” will get you slapped or thrown around; an eye roll will get you backhanded; an opinion will blow up a Holiday and get you blamed for setting him off.

And then I had children of my own. And it happened again, in my home, with my babies in the other room. And I was able to protect them in a way I was never allowed or allowed myself to protect me – the relationship was severed

So the truth came out.

I know what my sister said, “Why did you do this to me?”

I know what my mom claimed “I didn’t see him hit you so I can’t say for sure”.

I know what my husband said “If we call the police and press charges there will be a lot of questions and there weren’t any witnesses. They are also going to ask if you had been drinking” as he eyed the glass of wine in my hand.

I know what he told my relatives “She started it, she attacked me, it was self defense.” and since NO ONE asked me or reached out in any way or ever knew the LONG history of this behavior, I guess that is what they believed.

So what DOES happen when you let the words fall out and “be brave”? Well it certainly doesn’t look anything like an afterschool special where there is comfort and healing. Lots of people, especially relatives, don’t really want the truth. They want the bubble of denial. They will listen to the person they are used to listening to, not the one who kept silent. And that makes me doubt being Brave and trying to tell the truth.

And now, there is the rift with me mostly standing alone with the truth and everyone else still on the other side. Discussion is not possible, but I’ve been accused of ruining everything, starting the ball rolling on my parents divorce, breaking up the family, being a spoiled brat. And now I know that never crying wolf is just as bad as always crying wolf…

But me, at least I know I won’t get hit anymore, I won’t let me or my family be subject to the abuse. And that the cycle stops with me and that does feel Brave.

My love, my heart, my husband puts his life on the line a lot. Not because he is stupid or careless or reckless. Anyone who knows him would laugh at the disparity between him and any one of those descriptions.

My accountant, my meticulous sweet man has a job in federal law enforcement. (No, he doesn’t have a file on you, no he doesn’t want to follow your every movement.) He follows the worst of the darkness and he tries to stop it from getting into all of our homes.

He has looked in the face of abject evil and not flinched. He runs home where it is all Legos and feeding the cat and laundry and an occasional brownie from scratch. He pays bills and rejoices in the bank statement because it is clean and free from drama and there is no need for a bullet proof vest.

My mom always wanted to know how I could deal with that. Knowing. The. Possibilities.

We had a rapidly escalating romance: A brief friendship with the common thread of surviving betrayal and divorce. A few conversations. A phone call that lasted 2 hours that ended in making plans, plans that went from friends meeting for dinner to a very late night in Union Square making out like teenagers. The next night meeting for a movie with a few friends and him taking me back to my apartment at 2am. I asked him to stay, because he made me feel so safe and at home. I woke up early knowing I could very well fall in love with this beautiful, kind, witty, funny, quiet man.

Two more nights of phone calls, and he asks if he can see me. And then asks if he can crash at my place because he has an arrest in the morning and needs to leave for that by 4:30 am. He came with his bullet proof vest.

Here is when I had to decide – can I love this man and knowing that when normal citizens leave, he will be moving towards? On September 11, 2001 when people in lower Manhattan (such as myself) were being evacuated after the second plane hit, he and his co-workers were being being sent toward the towers. That he should not be here but for the grace of an indented garage door area on the side on the Millennium Hilton when the South Tower fell.

Yes, the terror of what he does – running toward the horrors we all only see and read about from a distance – does get to me. He has discussed with me his plans if we are all in a mall, restaurant, school, etc where the unthinkable happens. Because he has to think the unthinkable and be prepared. I spend some nights getting back up when I think he’s coming up to bed and he’s actually grabbing his gear and vest and heading out GOD KNOWS WHAT and watching stupid TV until I know he’s okay.

But I had to choose: live in the drama or compartmentalize. It’s not denial; there is no way to send your love into the void and not KNOW on some level. But isn’t that the true lesson every regular person learns from a September 11 level experience: every goodbye could be the last; no guarantees.

So to all of the spouses and partners of all of the law enforcement, military, firefighters,  and more: here’s a toast to the incredible power of the human mind that lets us send our loves, our hearts, our everything out into the abyss daily without being flattened prostrate by the possibilities!