An abused wife.
There are friends at work, friends at church, friends in the neighborhood, friends at school, and the friends that don’t fit in any category. Most of the time, none of the friends in the different groups meet each other. At least, that is how it is in my life..
In the small category of “friends that don’t fit in any category” is a woman that is kind, loving, intelligent, serves her family, and doesn’t blog, read my blog or know any of my other friends. I know that if she did read my blog, she would not be offended and would hope that it helped someone somewhere. Even though none of my family or friends would know her if I used her real name, I am just going to call her Sophia.
In a beautiful home in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of town, Sophia lives with her husband, three children and a little dog name Rosco. She has been married to her high school sweetheart, Mark, for eleven years and they have been blessed with three children: Jacob, 10; Meredith 8; Jeremy 6 (all the names have been changed).
Sophia is a beautiful woman and I find her to be very intelligent, quite witty and enjoy long conversations with her. She has many friends, but no one really close until one day when she opened her heart to bear her soul to me.
I have that affect on people and I don’t know why. I do wear my emotions on my sleeve most of the time or when I think it is concealed, it shows in my eyes. I just am not that great at hiding my feelings. Sometimes friends and sometimes perfect strangers tell me things that they don’t intend to tell me, but once it is out in the open, they don’t quit talking. Often it is very personal information, which leads to lots of tissues being used by them and me. I cry too easily too. When I was young and people started this “tell all” I didn’t know how to react, but as I have grown older, I have learned to listen and show compassion. I hope I have also been able to impart wisdom from time to time. I think this has molded me into a better friend and person. I often think that if “this were my daughter” I would want someone to listen to her.
While talking one day, Sophia tells me that her husband has a violent temper. This immediately makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I guess I fear a man’s physical strength and I have seen the damage that it can do to a woman’s body. Strong men with hard fists scare me. Not wanting to pry, I simply say, “Oh.”
“He didn’t used to have such a bad temper,” Sophia said almost trying to lead the conversation to a topic she found unpleasant.
What followed was a long pause because I did not want to encourage her to talk about it. I remember selfishly thinking, “I have enough on my own plate.”
When the pause actually became uncomfortable to me and guilt set in, I finally responded softly, “Do you want to talk about it.”
I knew she was going to spill her guts and I tried to brace myself for the onslaught of emotions that I was sure would take over my rational thinking. I become involved from the first moment and I pour so much of myself into helping someone that it is often hard to let go. I keep working on this aspect of my personality.
Sophia opened the flood gates and began telling me her story.
that he is a beast,
and the nearer a man gets
to being a beast,
the less he knows it.”
I don’t want to give you a novel to read in one post, so I will try to catch you up to the present over several posts that you can read and digest rather than dumping it all in your lap. Hopefully the story of Sophia can help other women who suffer the same agonies of an unhappy life. Please feel free to give your opinion and advice because I am often at a loss for words yet my heart aches because of her sadness.
Are you a good listener or do you run before the conversation gets tough?