The Great Escape: Finding Freedom from an Abusive Marriage

I could feel the dark oppression encompassing our home that night. It was about 11pm as my nervous system spiked to overdrive and I found myself laying in a fetal position on my bed, door locked, and unable to move. I couldn’t even cry. I eventually pulled out my phone to play music that would drown out his verbal abuse.  But, as the music got louder, so did he. His roaring voice crashed its way through each musical note like an angry hurricane. For almost two hours, this horrific baggery carried on. It wasn’t until I finally prayed for it to end “in Jesus name” that there became a sudden eerie silence. I held my breath and listened, not yet convinced it was over, but it was like a calm after the storm, where all that remained was stillness and debris. 

Woven within every story of breaking free from abuse is an event that changes the direction of the tide in one’s life. For me, that event was the day I fled my home.  It was the start of an incredibly painful journey towards healing…a journey I’m still on. But before we get to how I escaped, let me set the stage. 

When you’re married to someone with true narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), you find yourself very suddenly and unexpectedly trapped in a cycle, a cycle that is nearly impossible to break from.  It’s a cycle of love and hate, peace and chaos. A “christian” narcissist adds an extra layer of destruction because not only do they inflict damage emotionally but they also hijack God’s Word and twist it to meet their own personal agenda. They forge it into a weapon to control and assert authority. This is spiritual abuse. And yes, it can happen under the very roof you call home. In this cycle you find yourself in, you eventually don’t remember what it’s like to feel safe, you’re just in survival mode.

The cycle for me went something like this. Stage one, he became my knight in shining armor. He whispered sweet words of affirmation into my ear, held me in his strong arms and made me feel safe and secure again. He lovebombed me so skillfully that I told myself, this time it will be different. This stage in the game felt so real and so beautiful. A magical fairytale I never wanted to end. 

Stage two was the egg shell stage. It was subtle at first as he was still there and semi calm but would occasionally slip in a negative comment about women or dismiss a feeling I decided to share. But then the wind kicked up and he’d act like he didn’t want to spend time with me or he’d take my dog (instead of his dog) and go to bed in the spare room without much more than a “goodnight.” My stomach would lurch with each heartless jab and grief would set in as I inwardly battled why I wasn’t worthy of his love. As time went on, the loneliness that would encompass my soul felt as though I was drowning.

Stage three was the worst. This stage wasn’t just being under water, it was also being slammed over and over again by an ocean wave during a violent storm. The smallest thing could set it off and there was no predicting. The attacks, the rage, the verbal and emotional torment became sheer hell. When this stage first started I was taken by surprise and immediately tried clarifying the misunderstandings. When that didn’t work, I cried and yelled back, I challenged his accusations and tried to reason with him, but I soon discovered that all these things made it ten times worse. Then I just shut down. I remember my whole body coiling up the moment I sensed the atmosphere shifting. My brain would freeze, my stomach would twist, my heart rate would increase and it felt like a 200 pound boulder was sitting on my chest. I would just sit there, silent tears rolling down my face, wanting so badly for him to stop. Eventually I learned to walk away but often he would follow me. He roared louder the longer it went and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Hands over my ears, knees to my chest I would beg him to stop, but he continued to attack who I was as a woman. He attacked my walk with Christ, saying I was weak and didn’t understand scripture. He attacked my physical appearance, intellect, and family. He shamed me over and over for past mistakes, weaponized every insecurity, and threatened divorce, claiming he made a mistake marrying me. He demanded submission (or obedience), demanded respect (without earning any), and used every scripture about women (and more) as a weapon to belittle me and gain control over me. Each word that came out of his mouth was like shards of glass slashing my heart over and over.

In this cycle my mind started longing for the peace that the lovebombing stage brings. Like an addiction, that ”love” that comes back around is the only thing that’s capable of relieving the deep pain you feel.  It took me a long time to finally start calling these cycles for what they were. Abusive. Breaking free from this type of mental cycle requires a force only God can provide. Sometimes showing strength is bringing others around you. Strength is realizing you’re actually weak; but God.

Let’s revisit the aftermath of that oppressive late night storm that started this story. The following day was a Sunday. I felt so sick to my stomach as I told myself I needed to escape.  I went to church alone that morning. When I got there the tears that had been wanting to fall finally did and I fell into the arms of the people who had become my family. They immediately came around me, heard my story, prayed over me and put up their shield of protection. In a time of great need, they saw me and didn’t hesitate taking me under their wing. This is what it looks like when God’s true people come together. This is how I was able to take that step towards walking away from abuse. My family in Christ helped me plan my escape that day and gave me a place to rest in the church parsonage. My heart was so broken I could feel the beating organ inside my chest shredding apart. My mind became a complicated battlefield. I wanted the relief of being away from the oppression but I also loved him still. I feared what he’d do next and yet wanted to go home.  Stepping out of my home that day was the hardest first step I took towards my healing journey. But the journey was so very far from over. 

Through this process of trying to catch my breath, my family held me up when my body wanted to crumble to the floor. There were so many times I told myself that I wanted to go home and there were so many times my closest sisters in Christ talked me off that ledge. Just like Christ desires a relationship with us, we were designed for relationships with one another. We were designed to build each other up; iron sharpens iron (Proverbs 27:17). We were designed to carry each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), to rejoice and weep with one another (Romans 12:15) and to suffer together (1 Corinthians 12:26). If I did not have my people, if I had isolated myself and not allowed them to come around me, I would have run back into the arms of an abuser. 

Allow me to visualize this concept of community in a different way. In one of the many battles played out in Lord of the Rings there is a scene in The Hobbit where an army of “good guys” came together to build a tall shield wall to protect those behind it, to slow the impact of the oncoming enemy and to show strength and intimidation as they prepared to execute their battle tactic. 

There were days where I felt like I was standing alone, holding one shield, as an oncoming army stampeded towards me. Standing alone made me vulnerable to unexpected, manipulative and controlling weapons that were hurled my way. They came swiftly and they hurt deeply. Standing against someone with NPD felt like I was standing against an army because he threw everything he had at me and he did his best to turn credulous minds against me. In my story, though there were times I tried to do it alone, I eventually chose my shield wall of strong Godly people around me, making me far more protected from any piercing object that flew my way. 

I want to take a moment to be clear about something. These people didn’t just fall into my lap. It took strength and work to bring people into the shadows of my private life and allow them to hold me accountable.  I realize that some of you who have been severely hurt do not have a circle of truly godly people to lean on.  Some of you may have even been cast out or abandoned by so-called Christians and loved ones. Some have experienced severe church hurt and find yourselves trusting no one.  These are valid feelings and nothing to be ashamed of. I say this because I too have walked through similar feelings. 

At the same time I was going through the torment of escaping my marriage, my church was going through a major division in leadership. I was on staff and in the middle of the trenches. My heart throbbed as I saw the spiritual abuse and biblical ignorance come to light in my church after just escaping the abuse in my home. The evil I witnessed left me feeling unsafe in the one place I thought I’d be safe. I soon found myself fleeing yet another home in search of a place I could feel safe and rest.  This body of Christ ironically gave me a family when I needed it and simultaneously inflicted additional spiritual pain I never imagined experiencing. And honestly, the spiritual darkness that occurred in my home was eerily parallel to what was happening in my church. 

As my church split and I lost my sanctuary and my job, I found myself feeling the tragedy of two divorces that year. I felt utterly depressed and alone. Submerged in anguish I struggled to step out the front door of my apartment, struggled to find more work, struggled with the question of why everything seemed to have been taken from me. It truly took a divine strength to call my closest friends and family and ask for accountability, to request truth on the days I was feeling the lies take hold.  Some days I utterly failed and some days God gave me the courage to be strong and pick up the phone. I had people in Georgia, Tennessee and Pennsylvania… I just needed the fortitude to call one of them. 

Finding safe people is hard, but possible. When you are going through something as agonizing as spiritual abuse, you are not only fighting to survive the physical wear and tear, you are also fighting a battle you can’t see. Though people are inflictors of pain, I also believe God gave us people to wield His spiritual armor beside us and help carry us through fire. So pray for safe people and when God provides, hold them tightly. Though the grief and heartache still reside, the storm within me subsides with each passing month. May your inner storm continue to subside, too.