When Being the Perfect Wife Isn't Enough

At seventeen I became pregnant and thought that getting married was what I was supposed to do. Just like I thought staying married in spite of the abuse was what I was supposed to do. For me, everyday was a new day to try to be the perfect wife. I looked forward to the sun coming up because I knew that the storm was over. Our relationship was great as long as it was daylight. It was when the sun would go down that the storm would start.

The day after we were married was the first time I got hit. I had ironed a shirt and missed a small wrinkle. For that I got slapped. From that day on it was an everyday thing that continued to get worse. Alcohol played a part in the abuse and I soon realized that. The next day when he was sober he would sincerely apologize and no matter how bad the beating was the night before, he would do something extremely nice for me. Several times he had huge bouquets of flowers delivered to me at work. My bruises didn't show and everyone thought I was the perfect wife and married to the greatest guy in the world. Somehow I wanted to believe them.

I was beaten through my pregnancy and it's a wonder that I didn't miscarry. The first time I felt some kind of compassion from another person and control in the situation was when I was in the hospital and the doctor threw him out and told him to come back when he was sober. My daughter was delivered by caesarian almost seven weeks early. After she was born and I was recovering at home I got the longest break from the beatings I'd ever had. It lasted about two weeks. Then they became even worse than before. No amount of makeup could completely cover the visible bruises and my co-workers quit believing that I'd ran into a door or gotten hit with a ball while playing tennis.