What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
One of the most annoying things that I encounter has to deal with my faith. I understand that it is typical to ask about someone’s spouse after discovering their faith. However, what is the most belittling is when people find out my husband is an atheist. The first thing most people ask is, “He still lets you go to church?” or “Does he let your children go with you?” Like hold up, wait a minute. When did 2024 turn into the 1950s where the husband dictates what the family does?
Marriage is a partnership, not a dictatorship. I’ve heard of people who are in Jewish / Christian marriages and when people find out about that, they ask, “Do you celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas?” No one is discussing someone limiting anyone’s beliefs. I’m uncertain whether it’s my husband or atheism itself that drives people to ask such questions.
My daughter and I attend church regularly. She is a part of the faith formation and will take her first communion in a year or so. My stepson would be a part of his confirmation class if the other household would take him to his Wednesday class. We didn’t bring up the topic of him attending Wednesday classes, even though his mom was okay with him getting baptized. So he never started the classes. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t attend church. He does, when baseball doesn’t intervene. So that’s kind of limited.
But back to my husband and my children’s faith.
When we got together, Tyler knew I was a Catholic. We talked about how I find peace in my faith and we have talked endlessly about why he lost his. Witnessing people murder each other in the name of their God can really do wonders on a person. However, faith wasn’t a big thing for him growing up. For my childhood, my mom took me to church and my dad worked. Even if he didn’t work, he was Catholic and my mom was raising us as Presbyterian. It didn’t cause any problems in our household. We weren’t orthodox and my mom took us so we could learn from people who were more experienced in the faith. So this way of raising children was very familiar to me.
My husband has been by my side through all three of our children’s baptisms. In truth he was the one who pushed me through my postpartum depression and reminded me to set up the baptism dates. He is also the one who will tease me and call me a bad catholic or heathen when I choose sleep over going to mass. Tyler knows my faith is important to me and when I falter in going to church, he is there to support me.
I sometimes question whether my husband is genuinely an atheist rather than an agnostic. Someone who can’t put a name to their faith. I have caught Tyler a few times talking about the unexplained. Maybe the universe has been more involved in our lives than he believed. I have seen him break down and denounce God with a passion when he lost his dog far sooner than we ever expected to lose her. You don’t do that unless you have faith to lose.
What I don’t understand is how perplexed people are that someone who is an atheist would allow his significant other to raise their children with faith. It is absurd that someone so certain in their belief of nothing would be scared by someone’s belief in something. It just makes me value my relationship with my husband more. The way he empowers my faith, that we have civil discussions about things and that he has never once tried to stop me from sharing what I value with our children.
As our children get older, they will leave the house and have the same opportunities I did. They can choose to stick with the religion they grew up with, or convert into something else. Maybe their life will take them on the same path as their father and something might make them lose their faith. That’ll make me sad, but they will be adults in charge of their own spiritual journey. I just want to give them the tools for that journey.
I started writing this prompt a year ago during lent, and they revisited the prompt today. So I figured I would finish this.
I’m not entirely sure if I believe in fate and destiny in the sense of predestination, but I think we have the option of different choices and paths to take, and those paths shape us.
Sometimes when my husband smiles, I see glimpses of the past. He’ll get the same spark in his eyes that he had almost twenty years ago. Something that I thought he lost after the hard road he has traveled to get us to where we are now.
My husband, Tyler and I met in high school. He was a senior, and I was a freshman. As fate would have it, the school district decided that his four years of JROTC would no longer count as an art elective. Now, in his last year of school, Tyler had to choose between band, art, or drama. He picked drama since he couldn’t draw or play an instrument.
At the beginning of the year, my drama class was around 16 girls and one boy, Dan Mosley. I think he lasted a week before he had his schedule changed. For a short time, we were an unruly group of girls before a tall, dark stranger was sitting at the desk behind mine.
Truth be told, I am naturally shy, so I do not know how I began talking to him. Especially so since I thought he was cute, and usually, when I think someone is attractive, my mouth does not work. However, with him, it was like word vomit. Maybe because I was in a room full of females and we outnumbered him. Or possibly the idea of him being so much older than I was; I saw no threat. Whatever the reason was, we became friends. Some days he sat at the desk to the right of me, and we would talk, and other days he would sit behind me and play with my hair that covered his desk.
Looking back at our life, it reads like a Young Adult novel. Of course, my real-life crush just so happens to be the definition of a book boyfriend. I laugh because I’ve seen a meme, “Fictional men raised my standards.’ Girl, your only requirements are dark hair and trauma.'” However, when I first met my husband, he only had dark hair. It wasn’t until after two deployments did he gain the trauma.
Tyler’s transfer to our class took place early in the year. I know this because our generation is marked by one life-changing event: 9/11.
Before that tragic day, the weeks were blurred together. The only thing I vividly remember from the month of August is the tall, good-looking guy with a crooked smile invading our girls only drama class.
On that morning, I can remember practically every detail. I was in my Spanish two class, where every moment was forgettable until someone rushed into the room. The person shouted at my teacher to put on the news. The entire class turned their attention to the tv. Students were talking amongst themselves as my teacher frantically tried to call her daughter. She lived in NYC. My classmates and I watched, and I began arguing with anyone that would listen. I grew up around planes my whole life. The anchors kept saying that a small Cessna flew into the first tower. I knew that was impossible to be true. The plane wouldn’t look the way it did if it was a Cessna. As the anchors tried to make sense of the situation that was going on, a second plane flew into the tower’s twin. At that moment, I stopped talking. The world froze, and everyone had a single thought: we are under attack. As I digested what I had just witnessed, another thought filled my mind: The guy I had a crush on was going to war.
One thing that attracted me to my future husband was his enlistment in the army. Growing up with my family serving in all branches except for the navy, I found his dedication to our country attractive. And discovering that he enlisted the summer before he was eighteen just made it that much better. But when he enlisted, we were at peace.
An announcement came across the loudspeaker, and we were told that they would dismiss us from our last-period class. I am sure I was a part of the few people who were eager to move. My last period was drama, which meant I would see Tyler and talk to him about everything that happened. The entire class sat on the floor in front of the tv. I remember leaning against him and asking him what he thought was going to happen. He may have looked at me, but I was too focused on the news coverage. I just heard him say, “I guess I’m going to war.”
Two weeks passed, and so did his eighteenth birthday. I don’t know why these memories have stuck with me, but they have. He went skydiving with his mom and got the Sky Dive America’s Uncle Sam tattoo on his shoulder.
So now the guy I had a crush on had a tattoo, jumped from a plane, and was going to war. All he needed was a motorcycle to complete the bad boy package. But Tyler was anything but that. We’ve talked about high school, and he said he never really was one of those people who hung out with one group. He was friends with everyone. He played sports, was a part of JROTC, and didn’t care who you were as long as you weren’t a dick.
At the beginning of December, I chopped off all my hair. It was a rebellious move because my mom loved my long hair, and I was mad that I didn’t get to go to the Buzz Bake Sale. The Bake Sale was a local rock concert festival. I know it was a ridiculous fifteen-year-old move, but that was all I could control.
When I went to school that Monday, I wasn’t comfortable with my decision anymore. My hair was like a comfort blanket. The longest point reached my butt, and I had chopped it up to my ears. When I sat down in my seat, I felt a pencil swatting at my hair. “I like the hair, little one,”
Suddenly, I didn’t hate my hair anymore.
As the school year progressed, Tyler started taking another classmate and me home from school. That meant I no longer had to take the bus home every other day and since he drove a ford ranger with a bench seat in the front, I sat in the middle. At first, he would simply drop me off at my place, but as we got closer, we spent time together, discussing stupid things. It didn’t matter if it was about class that day, and how life was going, or music we liked. Our conversations were how I learned he only didn’t just enjoy country music. He liked the same pop-punk nonsense as I did.
One day, he came into class and plopped down in his seat. He didn’t have the same positive attitude as usual, and I asked him what was wrong. He said he got in trouble with his mom for going over his text message limit again. I turned bright red and asked, “well, who are you texting?” he just laughed and said, “Gee, I wonder who’s been texting me every day.” I might have been part of the reason he had to get unlimited text messages.
We would play twenty questions, however, those twenty questions would somehow last well into the night. It was fun getting to know someone this way. It felt more like we were sending letters as opposed to text messages, and it took the pressure off taking him face-to-face when I saw him the next day.
The closer we came to the end of the school year, the sadder I got. He was going to graduate and go off to the army, and I was going to continue on with my life as if he had never walked into it. I didn’t have any right to be sad about him leaving. We weren’t dating. We were just friends. I knew he was dating someone at the beginning of the year, and eventually, they broke up around February. I had to ask him when it happened because I wasn’t sure. That part of his life wasn’t important to me. We were just friends, and I didn’t even entertain the delusion that we would turn into something more.
At some point in the spring semester, I learned that Green Day, Blink 182, and Jimmy Eat world were on tour together. I was beyond excited and begged my mom to let me go to the concert. None of my normal concert going friends were going, and she said I had to have an adult accompany me. I ended up asking a family friend if she would take me, and she said yes.
I was so thrilled that I was going to see my favorite bands I overloaded him with information. At some point, he told me he had never been to a concert before. This shocked me. I had been to a BackStreet Boys Concert, seen Melissa Etheridge at Sunfest while in middle school, and just saw No Doubt play at Sunfest a few weeks prior. I guess all my excitement must have given me the courage to invite him to join us. Because at that point in my life, I was never that brave.
I am pretty sure I died a little inside when Tyler said he would go. Though we were just friends and I had a crush on someone else who I thought I had more of a chance with, I couldn’t believe Tyler said he would go. I think he said something about his mom not wanting him to go at first. But he told his mom he was eighteen and had already signed up for the army. He was going to go to the concert.
Mental break in writing because looking back and experiencing these emotions as a thirty-six-year-old (well, thirty- seven since I took a year break) is almost as unnerving as it was when I was fifteen. I am nervous about how my husband is going to react to reading my post because he reads everything I write. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold back. I have a hard enough time remembering what I did at the beginning of the week. I just hope I don’t mix up things from twenty years ago.
The concert wasn’t until the beginning of May, which meant it was a few weeks away, and for a fifteen-year-old, it felt like an eternity.
We texted along the way to the concert. Trying to figure out where to meet. My family friend, Joy, thought everything happening between us was adorable. I told her to stop. We were just friends. Trying to remember events from twenty years ago is kind of a blur. I don’t remember him getting there or how long we waited for the first band, but I’ll never forget when the music started.
The first band was Jimmy Eat World, and to this day, they are still one of my absolute favorite bands. As they played through their album Bleed American I sang along to every word of every song. I remember feeling self conscious at first. Wondering if Tyler would think I was silly, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The music took over, and I was there to have a good time. If this boy I liked thought I was silly, so be it. If he was going to like me, it would have to be for me being me, not a pretend version of myself.
As the last chord of The Middle played, I was a ball of energy. We were waiting for Blink 182 to come on. I need to pee and find food. Nothing has changed in my concert going habits in twenty years. I beelined it to the bathroom and picked up a sweet corn arepa on my way back to our spot on the lawn. However, Tyler had made his way a little closer than where we were for Jimmy Eat World.
Blink 182 started with Travis spinning in on his drum set above the crowd. I guess Tyler knew more of Blink’s song because this time he sang along with me. High-speed music coursed through me. At some point, I must have mentioned that I was having trouble seeing because he ended up picking me up, and I watched most of the show like a koala on his back. Then Adam’s Song came on. If you haven’t heard that song, I highly suggest it. It’s a slow, powerful song about a friend who commits suicide. I remember his thumb running against my forearm.
The rest of the concert was a blur. I barely remember Green Day. I know they were good, and I enjoyed it, but I was still on a high from being a tiny koala. Eventually, the concert ended, and we all went home. I remember talking my head off to Joy about the music and how thankful I was that she took me. She asked if I was sure if I was just thankful for the concert and not anything else. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time.
After taking a shower and snuggling into the sheets, I got a text. It read. Thanks for inviting me. The next one said “I liked us.”
Only there wouldn’t be us until thirteen years later. Tyler went to the army and war. I lived my life. I finished high school, went to college, partied, traveled the world, had my heart broken, broke a few hearts myself. I even got married and moved to Brazil. I never expected a friend request from the boy at the rock show to change the course of my life. But I’m glad it did.
Today I took the first step in actively working on my mental health. I had an hour-long session with a therapist. This isn’t my first time with therapy. The last time I sought help was to deal with my postpartum depression and anger. However, that ended quickly after the therapist said to me, “have you ever been to therapy before? Bec” Because this isn’t how it works.” The woman said, after I bared my soul… That may have been word vomit of emotions and feelings, but she wasn’t correcting me, just being rude.
Even though I had an awful experience with therapy, I have always suggested it to family, friends, and my students. My husband is alive because I pushed him to speak to those are the VA who were trained in his combat related PTSD. I have guided more than a handful of students into either talking with a guidance counselor or a mental health specialist. Even my own little clone is in therapy, learning how to handle her massive emotions. So when my husband told me I needed to get help, I didn’t fight him. I didn’t want to do it, but I did it. I would hate myself forever if I always suggested those to seek help while I became lost within myself.
Somehow I got lucky. My new therapist seems wonderful. She has a kind voice, and she genuinely seemed engaged when I spoke about the things I’ve lived through. I can’t explain why I went with the first therapist I contacted, but a tiny voice inside me said, “this one.” When she asked me to fill out the pre paperwork, she asked if I had any trauma. In that millisecond, I finally stopped running and decided I didn’t need to be strong. I said “yes.”
While I have documented my sexual assault by my boss on here before, I have lived through a lot of other extremely dark things. Situations that I don’t feel comfortable putting out in the world, I will say this: I’m essentially a statistic for many things that can go horribly wrong to a female.
One thing she was gauging me on was to see if I may suffer from PTSD because my scores were pushing me there. However, that I don’t avoid situations that have caused me trauma means I don’t qualify. Part of me didn’t like that response because, for most of my trauma, there’s no way to avoid it. As I keep finding out, Jupiter/Gardens is a small ass town and the only way to avoid being triggered would be to move.
But fuck that. I’m not leaving my hometown. This is the place I’ve always wanted to raise my kids. It’s a wonderful community offering more in one location than any other community I’ve lived in. Another reason I throw my middle finger in the air at the idea of avoiding things is that I won’t be the victim. I am stronger than that. Those people who have bruised my soul will not now or ever win.
After an hour of jumping around and explaining pieces of myself to this woman with a trusting voice, I felt drained. However, even though we didn’t dive that much into the crap burdening my soul, I felt a small sense of relief. One that I can only hope will grow.
People say money can’t buy you happiness. I don’t think that’s true at all. Money can bring happiness, but it can’t buy me the gift I need the most. For me, the greatest gift of all is knowing I am safe. That doesn’t mean an alarm on a house, or a gun in the nightstand, but knowing that the person I am with will protect me at all costs. The type of significant other has a name now, the Morally Grey.
I don’t know how many times I have read that women want a man that is morally grey. Having someone who will burn the world for you is an incredibly comforting notion. However, usually there is a horrible or at the very least an unpleasant reason for them to want to burn the world. Knowing that your man would sacrifice himself for your safety means that your safety has been threatened or taken away from you.
I did not expect my safety to come into question on New Year’s eve this year. In fact, I took every precaution to have a relaxing, safe holiday. Instead of visiting our friends who live a drive and a half away, we stayed close to home. We planned on being back at our place by the time the youngest was ready for bed. And without one minor moment, that all happened.
My daughter and I went to mass on Sunday morning. The message for that mass was to remind us we aren’t alone. I absolutely needed to hear it. My hormones were going crazy, making my lingering postpartum depression rearing its ugly head. I was feeling alone while surrounded by family and friends for the last week. At the end of mass, they were releasing white doves. Well, white pigeons, the priest confessed, sending the congregations into a bit of laughter. After a prayer asking for peace in the new year, the four white birds flew overhead. Adelyn told me she whispered to them to say hello to Zoey, our dog we lost a few days before Christmas.
We made it home, and the tiniest was napping. That made getting ready to leave far easier than having to chase down Godzooky as he terrorized the house. We were heading to our friend J.S’s house to watch the Dolphins vs. Ravens game while the kids ran around outside enjoying the cool weather. Everything was great. We had endless mimosas and steak to eat. Adelyn hit the wiffle ball a bunch of without a tee and none of the kids tried to murder each other. My husband, Tyler, and I even had a moment of peace when B laid down for his second nap of the day. It didn’t matter that the Dolphins lost to the Ravens; it was a great day. That was until someone I haven’t seen in almost a decade showed up.
I don’t know why, one of the kids could have shouted, thrown or hit a ball, but for whatever the reason was I looked over towards the stop sign to my right. With the sun behind them and the figure shadowed, I saw someone on a bike. As he got closer, my heart stopped. He wore a Ravens’ hat and jersey and though his hair had grown out; I knew the person riding towards us. He shouted out something to our friend J.S. about the Ravens winning. I don’t think he noticed me yet, or maybe he did, but all I knew is I was seeing red.
I felt my jaw clench as he rode up next to my husband and I. J.S. approached and greeted the man who almost a decade ago violated my space. As J.S. introduced my Tyler, I could feel the man’s hands on me, forcing me back into the chair. I grabbed for my husband’s hand, but I missed and latched onto his forearm. Tyler’s arm tensed under my touch and before I could say a word, J.S. said my name, and the man said, “I know Alex.”
Hearing my name come out of his mouth made my blood boil. I don’t think I have ever said one word with such hatred before. Icicles could have been knocked off of his name as I squeezed it out of my mouth, remembering the feeling of his darting lizard tongue being shoved into mine. “Shawn.”
I don’t remember when he and J.S. headed off to the garage to grab beers. But my husband never left my side. I could feel his eyes on me, but mine had not left the spot where the man had stood. “That’s him.” I finally said. I didn’t need to say anymore. Tyler understood precisely what I was talking about. He stood next to me as I tried to regroup. Being the safety I needed, knowing I wasn’t alone. I was also scared to move closer to where the sounds of J.S. and the man were laughing about something because I didn’t know what my husband was going to do.
I knew we lived in a smallish town, but I never expected it to be that small. Where the man who assaulted me would show up at my husband’s closest friend’s house. Later, I found out that his son plays travel baseball just one year above my son. And the baseball world is a lot smaller than our town because of my former coworkers, who was present when this man assaulted me. His son plays one year under my son.
We went inside to get B. I could hear the man talking to J.S., but as quickly as the man came in the shadows, he left. A lot of it was a blur. I was trying to keep my wits about me, not have a panic attack in front of the kids. My husband kept me shielded. I don’t know how he kept me stable, but he did sometimes by touch or by mere presence.
When the man left, our friends asked me what was wrong and I don’t think I have ever screamed these words so violently, but I shouted and pointed to where he stood. “That is the fucker who sexually assaulted me.”
J.S. and his wife were in shock. He apologized a million times. He had no idea. It wasn’t his fault, either. It’s not like I went around telling everyone I know what happened. But I did just that. I told them we were at a work convention in Vegas and that our group went out for drinks. While I was sitting in a chair, in front of everyone, he jumped across a table and he shoved me into a chair, bit my neck and forced his tongue into my mouth. When I reported it, everyone lied to cover up what happened because they were promoted or given a raise.
I highly doubt I’ll see that man again. The next day, when we went to J.S.’s house, he said that the man had deleted him from all social media apps and blocked him. He also said he didn’t see him at Publix like he had for the past few months. But it’s funny. It’s not J.S. he needed to block. It’s my husband.
