I blamed mys elf f or my violent hus band Sarah*, 50, from Aberdeenshire, thought she had met the perfect guy, but as soon as he got a ring on her finger he changed into someone completely different. Here she tells Dawn how she finally found happiness again. It was 8:45 on Sunday Morning and I woke up to the sun shining through my window and my husband, Trevor, walking into the room with a tray of coffee, fresh orange juice and homemade Eggs Benedict. “I hope you’re hungry,” he smiled at me. I looked up at him beaming, my life wasn’t always like this – 10 years ago I was trapped in an abusive marriage. I met my ex-husband, Mark, while working in a nightclub in Aberdeen called Mr G’s. I was really tired and a little grumpy from working all day, but I was 21 and really needed the money. My boss told me to work the floor. I didn’t really feel like talking to people but begrudgingly took the pad of paper and walked up to the first table. That’s when I first noticed him. He was wearing a black suit and staring at me intently with beautiful deep hazel eyes, I blushed a little. “Don’t you have beautiful eyes,” he said. “How original,” I retorted but I was secretly beaming. After taking their orders back to the bar, I realised I had gotten them all wrong. My boss started to shout at me but Mark came over, calmed him down and sorted it all out. He was my knight in shining armour. After that night we went on a couple of dates and it wasn’t long before we were inseparable. Mark was really kind and generous. He owned his own business and always insisted on paying for everything. I felt like a princess, I couldn’t believe my luck. After six months we moved in together. Everything was wonderful. We saved up for a new house and even talked about marriage and children. We spent four wonderful years together before I found out I was pregnant with my first child, Jacob. I told Mark and he seemed really happy, we decided to get married straight away and it was only a few months later that we were saying our vows in a registry office. One night when I was seven-months pregnant I was so tired after a long day working and my wrist was really hurting me. I was undergoing six-weeks of physiotherapy for a child-hood injury that had never healed right. Mark came home and asked why his dinner wasn’t ready. I told him that I was really tired and my wrist hurt too much to cook. “I don’t care. You are my wife and you should have my dinner prepared for me for when I get home,” he said with a harsh look on his face. He took me by my injured wrist and started to twist it slowly until I was screaming with pain. He just stared at me with an evil glare in his once beautiful eyes. I didn’t recognise him. I couldn’t understand how my perfect man could’ve changed so much. I decided to put that incident behind me. I told myself it was a one off and it would never happen again. But things started to get gradually worse. Mark would insist on setting the alarm for five every morning so it would wake me up, when I tried to turn it off he would pin me to the bed. I was constantly exhausted. One night he got so angry I was using the phone that he cut the cord in two.
When Jacob was born he was diagnosed with serious allergies and asthma, and was in and out of hospital all of the time. One day he was rushed into hospital straight from nursery with breathing problems but as I left to visit him Mark stood in front of the door and screamed at me: “What’s the point in you going to the hospital? You only make him worse when you’re there.” Mark was so angry he parked the car in front of the door to the house so that I couldn’t leave. I would sneak out to the hospital during the day while Mark was at work and sneak back into the house before he got home. As the years went on Mark’s anger got worse and worse. He told me he wanted more children and I thought it would bring us closer together but it only made the situation worse. After I had had my second and third children, Mary and Jack, Mark started to become even more controlling. Both children suffered from asthma and Jack had particularly bad breathing problems and frequently suffered from Stridor, a frightening breathing complaint that meant he needed immediate medical attention. Mark used to tell me that it was my anxiety that made the children unwell. I began to believe him, which made me worry even more. Mark was always jealous of the children. One morning I was cleaning the kitchen and I heard a high-pitched wheezing coming from the next room. I went to investigate and found Jack lying on the floor struggling to breathe. I knew he was going to get worse and could easily have one of his episodes, so I decided to take him straight to the hospital. I went to one of the cars to drive him there. Mark stormed up to us and pushed me out of the way. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted, grabbing me. “Jack is unwell Mark, I need to take him to the hospital.” “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “It’s you just worrying him again.” So I carried Jack back into the house and called a taxi straight away. Whenever Mark was angry with me he always stopped me using the cars, as a punishment. Later that evening when I got back from the hospital and put Jack to bed, Mark pushed me to the floor and sat on top of me grasping my neck with both of his hands. I started to panic, I felt so scared I didn’t know what to do. I just lay there not moving, while he stared at me waiting for my reaction. After a while he loosened his grip and got up. “I had to do that to teach you a lesson, you were getting too angry,” he said. After that whenever I talked back to him or tried to defend myself he would take me by the neck and tell me it was for my own good, to calm me down. I learned to just take it. I became numb inside. I know what you must be thinking. Why didn’t you leave him? I tried to leave him a few times but Mark told me that he would find me and when he did he would take the children from me. I felt trapped. But I stayed, for their sake. Over the years I distanced myself from my family and friends, that way they wouldn’t ask too many questions. I walked around the house like a zombie most of the time. I felt empty inside, worthless. Mark had to go away on business every now and again. I would fear his return. I remember wishing he would have an accident on his way home, so that the children and me would finally be free. On the day I decided to leave him he pushed me into a door and I twisted my ankle. The kids were older now and out of the house a lot. So I decided to go to the police
and they asked me why I didn’t just leave him. I told him that I couldn’t that Mark would find me. The policeman was really nice and put me in touch with a Domestic Abuse Worker. She was my saviour. If it wasn’t for her I don’t think I would ever have had the strength to go. She made me understand that what Mark was doing wasn’t my fault. She took me to see the solicitor and held my hand through the whole process. It took me three-years to finally get Mark out of my life. The day my divorce finally came through, I breathed a sign of relief. After the divorce I found it difficult to move on. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress and had to take medication for my anxiety. I found it difficult to trust people, especially men. On the rare occasion I went out, I would shun any man that gave me attention. I didn’t feel confident enough to be with anyone. That is, until Trevor came along. He was sweet and kind, if it wasn’t for his patience and persistence I don’t think I would ever got over my trust issues. He always told me we could take it slow, even the build up to holding my hands was a long process, but he never pushed me. He was the perfect gentleman. After about four-months I began to trust him and finally let him hold my hand, he just looked at me and smiled. I knew from then he was different. He would make me breakfast in bed every Sunday. It was something I had never experienced before. Two-years later, we got married at Gretna Green, in front of all of my family. It was an amazing day. Trevor made me trust people again and I can’t thank him enough for that. Sometimes when I think back to the times with Mark, I get nervous again and a bit of the old me resurfaces. You have to realise that domestic abuse is not your fault and there are alternatives. But, if it wasn’t for the help of the Domestic Abuse Worker I may still have been in that situation. I am thankful to Mark for one thing, he gave me four beautiful children, and now Mark is out of our lives we are closer than ever. A real family for once and I couldn’t be happier. *All names have been changed for legal reasons. An Article for Dawn Magazine