e were married for 14 years. Early into our marriage, he began to call me names or put me down when he was angry or frustrated. He was jealous of the time I spent with friends, family, or even the kids. Soon, he demanded to know where I was going, who I talked to, and even controlled what I was wearing. A couple of times he shoved me. I told myself it wasn't that bad. At least he never hit me. That would change. The first time he hit me, he promised never to do it again. And he didn't for several months.

Things were good for awhile. He was back to the man I first fell in love with. Then slowly, it started again. The intense jealousy, name calling, accusing me of having affairs when I wasn't, and then eventually he hit me again. The kids heard the fights. They didn't understand.

I wasn't ready to leave my marriage. I felt like I was in the middle of a tug-of-war with myself. I wanted my marriage to work but I knew that my children and I were not safe. My family and friends told me that I needed to stay until I had tried everything to make it work. The problem was that I was running out of things to try and he didn't want to try anything.

I heard about SafeHouse Denver from a friend. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I was scared. I finally called their 24-hour crisis line. They listened. They understood. They didn't judge me. They didn't tell me what to do. They offered support. They told me about resources and options available to me. They helped me put together a safety plan for my children and me.

I met weekly with an advocate at the Counseling Center. It was a safe place for me to go and talk about what was happening at home. The abuse continued. My husband came home after work one day and was furious because I hadn't gone to the post office yet. Later that night, I was putting our 3-year-old son to bed. He pushed me down twice while I had our son in my arms. It was getting worse. Despite how much I loved him, I knew we had to leave. My advocate helped me make a plan. We stayed with my best friend. It wasn't easy. I joined a SafeHouse Denver support group and the kids went to a weekly children's group. I realized I wasn't alone. There were other women going through what I was experiencing, and there was hope.

I have been away from my husband for over a year now. With the support, information, resources, and safety planning I received from SafeHouse, things are getting better. I am getting back the pieces of my life that were taken from me by my abusive husband. My children are getting support and healing from the abuse they witnessed.

We are making it. I am reclaiming our right to a life free of violence.

The Gilded Cage

One can only imagine what the fairy tale is like in the gilded cage. And if one’s imagination would run wild, they could possibly think how lovely life is without worries about money, no worries about time, a plethora of friends, parties acquaintances, social engagements. Life as it seems has no complexities. Or so one would think. How brilliant a lifestyle this seems to be…in the gilded cage.

Let me share with you my life after signing up for the fairy tale. The gilded cage in which I live is very large. In fact, I have two gilded cages because of the privilege wealth offers. I ramble around in over 16,000 square feet in both homes. There are no bills to worry about. The furniture is new and lovely – I picked it out. The colors are soothing; the design is artistic – with potential of being a vibrant, active oasis where anybody would die to be living and loving life in. The surrounding country clubs are spectacular – golf, the social life – anything I want, I can have.

I can buy what I want; buy what I need; buy what I don’t need. I have a closet filled with beautiful clothes and gowns that I call my princess closet. I meet my presidents, senators and dignitaries. I socialize with some of the richest people in the world. Albeit this doesn’t mean these people are always interesting, nor does it mean conversations have any depth. Typically social functions include gown gazing, chit chat, discussions on where one is traveling and what you’ve been doing, blah, blah, blah. Parties, parties and more parties. There’s always a reason to buy new clothes, and oh the pressure of finding the perfect outfit.

And let’s not forget about the photo shoot. People are positioning – everyone wants their picture taken for the newspapers. The media love pretty people, pretty gowns, and pretty smiles. I actually find the media quite nice. They’re so polite to me. They always come up and ask permission to take my (oops), our picture. They even let me look at the shot to make sure I’m pleased. I’m so humbly grateful for their kindness. My husband is jealous because they ask me, not him. I always pay later for this – he’s got a vocabulary of four letter words that doesn’t end.

My days have no definition. I can get up when I want; I go to bed when I want. I do whatever I want most days. This luxury of time has potential of turning one’s life into a waste facility. It’s so easy to let the days turn into the nights without doing anything substantive. Freedom without structure is a waste of a sacred resource of time in one’s life. But don’t be mistaken, life in the gilded cage has enormous complexities.

Inside, living in my fairy tale there are rules in our house:

Rule 1: Pictures and photographs
I had better make certain there are lots of pictures of my husband in every room. “He likes to feel good about himself.”

Rule 2: Toilet Paper
I must make sure I actively monitor the toilet paper. Hell breaks loose in the form of ranting and raging if a roll runs out of paper while the king of the household is positioned on the throne. This is a serious offense, usually leading to name calling, predictably I become an a—hole, or a f—king b-tch. Can you possibly imagine how I could be so negligent? This transgression even has the potential of getting screamed at from the top of my husband’s lungs, usually threatening divorce and accusing me of “getting my hooks into him for his precious money.”

Rule 3: Ice Cubes
When serving my husband a beverage, “the glass must be filled to the brim with ice when serving water.” This typically is a nightmare request. When serving juice, “the glass should be filled half way with ice and the juice must be a recipe of half and half of two different types of flavors – predictably late morning request.”

Rule 4: Bed
My husband is very picky about covers. “The comforter must be turned down completely at bedtime. The blanket on the bed must not be hanging too far over on his side. This creates added weight and has the potential risk of annoying and disrupting his sleep.” Should sleep be disrupted, jumping around on “all fours” in the bed occurs, loud talking, usually cussing and Popsicle eating in bed is routine. Often times my husband turns lights on, walks around, and even sets off the security alarm. Sweet dreams have become a fleeting memory.

Rule 5: Windows and Doors
Winter is a breeze. The rule is: “keep every door and window closed, even on marginally nice days.” The rest of the year – fall, spring and summer – get trickier. We have an indoor/outdoor thermometer in our bedroom. “Monitor the temperature both inside and out. When the inside temperature gets close to the outside, close everything immediately.” Daring to leave something open leads to trouble, typically slamming doors, cussing and screaming.

Rule 6: Music
I love music. I remember a time when I’d play music all day long in my home. How sweet…it gave my home a heartbeat. Oh well, not anymore. Music is an annoyance to my husband. “How can one possibly read emails, listen to voicemails, or talk on the phone with that music playing?” I mustn’t forget – sudden storming around turning everything off.

Rule 7: Ironing
Don’t ever appear lazy. After all, I’m so lucky to have so much. “No worries a beautiful home, great golf, a new car, expensive clothes and no bills.” I have been summoned more “care” responsibilities. This list is growing. Pants: most don’t fit because my husband is overeating. This is all the more reason to keep the three pairs that aren’t so tight around his tummy wrinkle free. Shirts go to the cleaners – phew! I never perceived myself as a lazy person. However, it has recently and very frequently become a new dimension of my being – according to my husband.

Rule 8: The refrigerator
Our refrigerator has rules. The second shelf is my husband’s private space. There he keeps his distilled water, a variety of fruit juices, carrots in a bowl of water. Fruit has special consideration. Bananas are not allowed in the refrigerator. Oranges must never be thrown out, even if they’ve been in the storage compartment for a month. The typical duration for an orange is two months. Grapefruit is “hands off.” Even if I should desire a grapefruit for breakfast, I must wait until my husband gets up (usually around 10 or 11 a.m.) and he will cut the grapefruit for breakfast, because it’s “his job.” The freezer is equipped with Popsicles and fat boys – lids torn of for easy access and, on “his special shelf.” “All food products must be in the tidy order, monitor quantity frequently, replenished immediately.”

Rule 9: TV Time
10 p.m.: News – “must not watch in real time – BIG TROUBLE – could be accused of being “selfish, inconsiderate, uncaring.” Since my husband is a night owl, TV time takes place in the bedroom, typically not before 11:30 p.m. Never would I dare think to hold the remote control. The routine is: hand my husband the Tivo control, wait for him to finish getting into position to watch the news, don’t mind the loud volume, don’t comment about the fast forwarding during the middle of an interesting news commentary – this will only lead to late night name calling and possibly screaming – usually in my ear while he hits me on the side of my head. All this takes place only to watch him storm off to his office slamming doors.

Rule 10: Lights
My husband controls all the lights on and off. He controls the living room lights, the kitchen lights, the bedroom lights. He knows when the best time for them to come on and off. “How could I even possibly think I should be free to handle such a simple task?” There are lights with timers – my husband sets these – I had better not touch them. I risk being called stupid, or an idiot if I even touch a lamp.

Rule 11: House Telephone
My husband rules over the telephone. If the phone rings, the protocol is: he answers. He is the first one to check messages, review the caller ID, and erase caller ID. My husband is the “telephone police.” There have been many times where I’ve been on the phone in the kitchen and my husband has come downstairs to stand in front of me to listen to whom I was talking and what I was saying. So many times, he’s accused me of “secretly talking to people.”

Rule 12: Mail
Oh my gosh, can one imagine getting yelled at for picking up the mail from the mailbox and sorting. I can and have on many occasions. I must be a slow learner, but my curiosity gets me every time. “How dare I check our mail before my husband looks at it.” This leads undoubtedly to name calling and accusations of reading “his mail.” But more notably, my husband is checking what mail I receive. HE often times opens my mail and leaves it to pile up on my desk. He’s demanded to see my bank statements.

Rule 13: Setting Security System\
Yikes! Guess who must set the security system when we’re on our way out the door? If I forget, it usually means a forceful shove and a few bad words, and a reminder of how stupid I am. When that happens, it’s a sure thing, I open the car door for myself as he tells me how “I have to do everything myself” (whatever that means).

Rule 14: The Checkbook
We have a joint checking account. And of course, my husband keeps the checkbook in his briefcase at all times. I must ask permission to write a check for household expenses Often times I’m accused of “taking his money.” He’s called me a thief, a cheat, a liar and some pretty bad names that don’t warrant mentioning. Money is his idol. At any given moment, and for no good reason, my husband has exploded more often than not when any conversation has led to discussions over money. This is probably the scariest area I have ever experienced. He has shoved me, hit me, stepped on my foot, blocked me from leaving the room and called me every name imaginable.

My gilded cage has been a nightmare.

Are there more rules? Yes. Of course there are – too many to list. Is there a pattern forming? I think so. When I first got married I just wanted to please my husband. I lost myself, my dignity, my self-respect. I don’t know how I got here, but I did. I still think about not putting too many blueberries in the muffins or too many chocolate chips in the cookies. Oh, cringe at the thought of being reprimanded! Our marriage counselor told me I was living in Baghdad. I know one thing for certain and that is to put one foot in front of the other. “Dwell on those things that are lovely and pure and of good rapport.” And don’t be afraid to leave.