7/31/2016
There was a booming knock on the apartment door. A police knock? I knew that sound well. The last 3 years had been nearly a constant stream of police interaction. My thoughts were racing. I was trapped. Truman was still in the car. I had just gone inside to check on the cats. I was only supposed to be in and out.
Just minutes before, I opened the door to the apartment and was greeted by both cats. The cats my ex had claimed via text were missing. I was also greeted by my drunken belligerent ex. The prior three days had been filled with non stop phone calls and voice mails, 100's of emails and texts across all platforms (Facebook, Hangouts, etc). I just couldn't take it anymore and in that moment I snapped. I remember yelling "You are ruining my life!"
His laptop and phone were sitting on the end table next to him where he would perch in his green recliner as if it were his throne. In that moment I thought, if I take his laptop and phone I can make the abuse stop. I just wanted it to stop. And so I picked them both up and held the devices to my chest. He seemed confused in his intoxicated state and asked me what I was doing. And I firmly stated that I paid for these items and I was making the abuse stop.
He stood from the chair to take his things from me. My ex's 6 foot, 220 lbs towered over my 5ft, 160 lb frame. He grabbed for the devices and I let them go sending him stumbling backwards. It was physics not intent that caused him to fall. This just made him angrier. He took the devices into our kitchen and placed them on our son's table and then went out to the porch for a cigarette, an unfiltered diatribe flowed between each drag.
He sounded distant in my mind. I was still in the kitchen, my eyes focused on the phone. I discreetly picked it up, placed it with my phone in my left hand, and began to head towards the front door of the apartment.
There is so much clarity in hindsight. I should have never gone back alone. I should have never tried to take his phone and laptop. Should have, could have, would have...truly means absolutely nothing in the reality's end.
He came from behind, dragging me back into the kitchen of our small apartment. I felt like a dog toy being slammed back and forth between the counter that housed the dishwasher and the breakfast bar. But what I remember most is that I simply could not get out of his grip. I can still hear my screaming like an out of body experience...as if I was a spectator in my own life and possible death.
"Help!"
"Let me go!"
The knock had startled us both and I was able to get lose enough from his grip to reach the door. As I pulled it open, he was pushing it shut his arms and legs wrapped around me like a constricting snake around it's prey. And there standing in the door way was our neighbor with his hand gun drawn down.
He said clearly and firmly, "Let her go now!"
And my ex said "NO!"
The weight of the word "NO" had never felt so heavy and final.
The neighbor asked again, "LET HER GO NOW!"
I still believe it is in that moment my ex saw the gun. I felt his grip release. I stood frozen, like a deer in headlights. My neighbor said, "RUN! GO! Get out of here!" Whatever spell I was under broke and I ran to my car, my ex's phone still in my left hand. Once inside the vehicle a little voice from the back seat said, "Mommy, are you okay? Mommy, I could hear you screaming!"
I could not stop shaking. I still had his phone. I drove to a safe parking lot and called a friend. We briefly discussed how I could return the phone and decided the best decision would be to take it to the closest local substation and ask an officer to drop it off during a welfare check. I was collected enough to begin driving again. It was while en route to the police that the phone rang...
Officer: "Mrs. Hobbins? This is Officer Cruz. Where are you?"
Me: "Please don't make me go back. I will return the phone. Just don't make me go back. I am scared."
Officer: "Mrs. Hobbins, this is not about your husband. Your neighbor called. They are worried about the safety of yourself and your son. Where are you?"
I pulled into the closest parking lot and gave the officer my location. Minutes later she arrived. What happened next still feels surreal. She advised me that it didn't matter what I said, there was enough evidence for my ex to be arrested and he would be. I fell into her arms, tears streaming down my face.
"I'll tell you everything. My life is a shit show and I just want off this ride."
She took my statement, explained the mandatory protection order and the process for a permanent order. She checked me for injuries and took pictures of my bruise marked body and my phone's texts for evidence. I was bruised on my left side from my upper arm to my ankle. The police report states I continued to complain of pain in my ribs and left arm, but refused medical attention at that time.
The next day I could hardly use my left arm and hand. I finally went to the hospital. It would be the beginning of a process to repair my arm that is still not completely healed 19 months later. Two surgeries, 7 scars, nerve damage, intermittent paralysis...
I never thought my ex husband would lay his hands on me. Yell...yes. Name call...absolutely. Break things...consistently. But physically harm my body...NEVER. One would think this would be cause to part ways and never, ever, under any circumstances look back...
...But it would be 13 more months to the day before I left for good.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Monday, March 5, 2018
Nature vs Nurture
A friend reached out with questions regarding some feelings I might have had in regards to my birth mother and my adoption. I came across this article I wrote in my FB notes. Why reinvent the wheel...
The recent loss of a friend's parent brought me pause. Though this is the natural course of things, it is still something that causes me reflection, pain, and a well of emotion.
I have had three mothers. Yes, three...
One gone...
Claudia was an amazing soul. She raised me from the time I left the hospital until she passed in 1984. She not only worked a full time job in Hollywood as a PR coordinator for the Academy of Television, Arts and Sciences (a means to reaching her goal of becoming a script writer), but also was a foster parent. Many children came through her door over the years. She embraced this endeavor of care giver and savior to the unfortunate and left behind. Of these many I was the one she chose to keep as her own. She chose me! She was my "Mama" and to this day her sudden removal from my world cuts me to the core. It was an accident and she was irreparable. She is gone and she will always be missed. I will always remember.
One forgotten...
MaryRita was Claudia's sister in law, her brother's wife. Young with two small children of her own. They signed a Will. A Will that said if Claudia died I would be theirs. Who signs a Will and thinks what they sign will come to fruition. Well, the unthinkable actually happened and the "formidable" (Claudia's words enclosed with the copy of the Will she sent them) document they signed came true. They kept me fed, clothed, and appeased. For this I was gracious (my husband can attest). At 19, I left to find independence. The response a choice. Chose them or independence. I chose independence. And for this response I was the one who was forgotten. On a side, recently I attempted contact yet again by calling MaryRita at work. I informed the secretary to relay her "oldest" daughter was on the phone. When she answered the first thing she said was "Christina!" I have been FORGOTTEN!
One found...
On July 29th of the 29th year of my life I went to my mailbox and found a letter. The letter was postmarked from Hawaii and was addressed to my maiden name. Odd, yes, but un-thought of no. I opened it to find I had been found. My birth mother had found me! She was alive and well. She was patiently and un-abrasively requesting my interest. Through my contact with this woman who bore me I am experiencing a whole new world of acceptance and love. It has given me the opportunity to explore nature vs. nurture first hand. I am my own experiment. I have siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins...all of whom want me in their lives. Their questions are for knowledge, not judgment. I am accepted and loved because of my lineage, not in spite of it. I was lost, and now I am found!
And with this knowledge comes great responsibility and challenge. The responsibility to remember and the challenge to be open enough to take what you need and leave the rest.
Shalom and Good Night!
Amber
Originally written: May 1, 2007
One gone, one forgotten, and one found
I have had three mothers. Yes, three...
One gone...
Claudia was an amazing soul. She raised me from the time I left the hospital until she passed in 1984. She not only worked a full time job in Hollywood as a PR coordinator for the Academy of Television, Arts and Sciences (a means to reaching her goal of becoming a script writer), but also was a foster parent. Many children came through her door over the years. She embraced this endeavor of care giver and savior to the unfortunate and left behind. Of these many I was the one she chose to keep as her own. She chose me! She was my "Mama" and to this day her sudden removal from my world cuts me to the core. It was an accident and she was irreparable. She is gone and she will always be missed. I will always remember.
One forgotten...
MaryRita was Claudia's sister in law, her brother's wife. Young with two small children of her own. They signed a Will. A Will that said if Claudia died I would be theirs. Who signs a Will and thinks what they sign will come to fruition. Well, the unthinkable actually happened and the "formidable" (Claudia's words enclosed with the copy of the Will she sent them) document they signed came true. They kept me fed, clothed, and appeased. For this I was gracious (my husband can attest). At 19, I left to find independence. The response a choice. Chose them or independence. I chose independence. And for this response I was the one who was forgotten. On a side, recently I attempted contact yet again by calling MaryRita at work. I informed the secretary to relay her "oldest" daughter was on the phone. When she answered the first thing she said was "Christina!" I have been FORGOTTEN!
One found...
On July 29th of the 29th year of my life I went to my mailbox and found a letter. The letter was postmarked from Hawaii and was addressed to my maiden name. Odd, yes, but un-thought of no. I opened it to find I had been found. My birth mother had found me! She was alive and well. She was patiently and un-abrasively requesting my interest. Through my contact with this woman who bore me I am experiencing a whole new world of acceptance and love. It has given me the opportunity to explore nature vs. nurture first hand. I am my own experiment. I have siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins...all of whom want me in their lives. Their questions are for knowledge, not judgment. I am accepted and loved because of my lineage, not in spite of it. I was lost, and now I am found!
And with this knowledge comes great responsibility and challenge. The responsibility to remember and the challenge to be open enough to take what you need and leave the rest.
Shalom and Good Night!
Amber
Originally written: May 1, 2007
Where it all began...
If I am ever going to sort out how I got here, I am going to have to go back to the beginning...
We met in my friend Renee's apartment. I was barely 20. Renee and I worked together at JC Penny's. One of three part time jobs I carried while also attending college. A mid nineties preppy girl in a hippie world. I waltzed in wearing my Express jeans and pleather jacket, surrounded by tie dyes and patch pants. The apartment smelled of incense and pot. Intimidation and social anxiety were not yet a part of my vernacular.
Renee's boyfriend and a guy I didn't know sat on the couch playing video games. I stuck out my hand and said, "Hi, I'm Amber. It's a pleasure to meet you." He stood, taking my hand in his and introduced himself. He was tall, dark, and handsome.
A friendship blossomed quickly. We were both broken people. Each coming from difficult pasts. Working hard to create new personas. I had had the perspective for many years that I was a walking miracle. My ex, unfortunately, did not.
My birth mother was a heroin addict. She was barely 19 herself when I was born. I was immediately placed into the California foster care system. I was one of the lucky ones. From the beginning I knew I had been "chosen". Adoption wasn't a curse, it was a blessing. My foster mother had picked me to be her own. She was single, in her 30's, and on track to be an executive at the Academy for Television, Arts, and Sciences. Though it was practically unheard of, she adopted me as unwed woman in the 70's. A feminist before feminism was cool. We lived an unassuming life in the outskirts of Beverly Hills. When I look back on my early childhood it feels idyllic. I still dispute that I feel any trauma at all from the experience of being adopted. If anything...I feel blessed.
It must have been too good to last.
January 28,1984, we began an early drive to my Great Aunt and Uncle's home in Exeter, CA. A few hours into our drive, the car malfunctioned and we hit another vehicle head on. I was thrown from the car on impact. My mom...was killed instantly. When I came to on the side of the road I didn't fully understand my life would be forever changed. But in the days that followed, I quickly realized the impending truth. Nothing would ever be the same.
I was sent to live with an aunt and uncle I barely knew in a town outside of Pittsburgh, PA. Though they were kind enough, I don't think they ever fully embraced the commitment of accepting a child via someone's last will and testament. Sincerely, the emotional dynamic of such a situation is not lost on me. As a mother now myself, I understand the pure exhaustion and varied emotion that comes with parenting. Their parenting styles were quite different from what I was familiar with. There was way less independence. I'm sure at times it was a battle of strong personalities. But what shines through the most when I look in the rear view mirror is an intense desire to be loved. Unconditionally loved. And I sadly admit, I never found it in this nest.
By the time I left for college, I was already more free thinking. The family rift was bound to occur. There have been several attempts on my part over the years to mend the bond. But in the end, it's been irreparable. Over the years I have continually struggled with issues of attachment, love, and trust. Yet, in spite of those setbacks, I have always attempted to be the ever present optimist. I am of the opinion that I have lived through more than most and survived. This combined with the finality of understanding death at a young age has encouraged me to remember that this life is a gift best used wisely.
My ex husband came from an extremely broken past as well. Full of parents with addiction and continual emotional and physical abuse. I still don't blame him for feeling angry and broken. I just thought we were on the same path towards growth and change.
In the end, he preferred to remain trapped in the darkness, inflicting and projecting his own pain and abuse onto others. All the while, I wanted so desperately to keep moving towards the light. Unfortunately, if you don't grow together, you are bound to grow apart.
This past August 31st, after many, many unsuccessful attempts to leave my failing marriage; my own need for self preservation, emotional stability, and mere survival took over and shook me free. I can't say...and I haven't looked back. Because I would be lying. But I am looking forward to the future more often than not...and from where I stand it appears to be full of love and light.
We met in my friend Renee's apartment. I was barely 20. Renee and I worked together at JC Penny's. One of three part time jobs I carried while also attending college. A mid nineties preppy girl in a hippie world. I waltzed in wearing my Express jeans and pleather jacket, surrounded by tie dyes and patch pants. The apartment smelled of incense and pot. Intimidation and social anxiety were not yet a part of my vernacular.
Renee's boyfriend and a guy I didn't know sat on the couch playing video games. I stuck out my hand and said, "Hi, I'm Amber. It's a pleasure to meet you." He stood, taking my hand in his and introduced himself. He was tall, dark, and handsome.
A friendship blossomed quickly. We were both broken people. Each coming from difficult pasts. Working hard to create new personas. I had had the perspective for many years that I was a walking miracle. My ex, unfortunately, did not.
My birth mother was a heroin addict. She was barely 19 herself when I was born. I was immediately placed into the California foster care system. I was one of the lucky ones. From the beginning I knew I had been "chosen". Adoption wasn't a curse, it was a blessing. My foster mother had picked me to be her own. She was single, in her 30's, and on track to be an executive at the Academy for Television, Arts, and Sciences. Though it was practically unheard of, she adopted me as unwed woman in the 70's. A feminist before feminism was cool. We lived an unassuming life in the outskirts of Beverly Hills. When I look back on my early childhood it feels idyllic. I still dispute that I feel any trauma at all from the experience of being adopted. If anything...I feel blessed.
It must have been too good to last.
January 28,1984, we began an early drive to my Great Aunt and Uncle's home in Exeter, CA. A few hours into our drive, the car malfunctioned and we hit another vehicle head on. I was thrown from the car on impact. My mom...was killed instantly. When I came to on the side of the road I didn't fully understand my life would be forever changed. But in the days that followed, I quickly realized the impending truth. Nothing would ever be the same.
I was sent to live with an aunt and uncle I barely knew in a town outside of Pittsburgh, PA. Though they were kind enough, I don't think they ever fully embraced the commitment of accepting a child via someone's last will and testament. Sincerely, the emotional dynamic of such a situation is not lost on me. As a mother now myself, I understand the pure exhaustion and varied emotion that comes with parenting. Their parenting styles were quite different from what I was familiar with. There was way less independence. I'm sure at times it was a battle of strong personalities. But what shines through the most when I look in the rear view mirror is an intense desire to be loved. Unconditionally loved. And I sadly admit, I never found it in this nest.
By the time I left for college, I was already more free thinking. The family rift was bound to occur. There have been several attempts on my part over the years to mend the bond. But in the end, it's been irreparable. Over the years I have continually struggled with issues of attachment, love, and trust. Yet, in spite of those setbacks, I have always attempted to be the ever present optimist. I am of the opinion that I have lived through more than most and survived. This combined with the finality of understanding death at a young age has encouraged me to remember that this life is a gift best used wisely.
My ex husband came from an extremely broken past as well. Full of parents with addiction and continual emotional and physical abuse. I still don't blame him for feeling angry and broken. I just thought we were on the same path towards growth and change.
In the end, he preferred to remain trapped in the darkness, inflicting and projecting his own pain and abuse onto others. All the while, I wanted so desperately to keep moving towards the light. Unfortunately, if you don't grow together, you are bound to grow apart.
This past August 31st, after many, many unsuccessful attempts to leave my failing marriage; my own need for self preservation, emotional stability, and mere survival took over and shook me free. I can't say...and I haven't looked back. Because I would be lying. But I am looking forward to the future more often than not...and from where I stand it appears to be full of love and light.
Introductions
My name is Amber. I am 41. And I was a victim of nearly 2 decades of domestic abuse. I am now a single, solo parent (of an amazing 6 year old) desperately trying to heal while navigating this thing we call life.
Abuse. It took me years to realize that was the most fitting term for what I had been living. I spent a long time feeling inadequate. Looking for the wrong kind of help. This included visits to multiple therapists in an attempt to gain the tools and knowledge to be a better wife. A better wife?!?
My soon to be ex husband was my abuser. I technically spent 18 years of my life married to a man that tore me down vebally, emotionally, and finally physically. After several unsuccessful attempts, 6 months ago, I left for good. This time there is no going back. There will be no reconciliation. I will not be swayed by the endless empty promises and suave manipulation tactics.
Living in abuse is like living in a drug induced fog. You are in a constant state of confussion and second guessing. I understand now that is the intent of the abuser.
This is my account of the events that led me from there to here. The good, the bad, and the ugly. My intent for this safe space is to tell my story in the hopes of helping others. Thanks for reading.
Keep moving towards the light,
Amber
Abuse. It took me years to realize that was the most fitting term for what I had been living. I spent a long time feeling inadequate. Looking for the wrong kind of help. This included visits to multiple therapists in an attempt to gain the tools and knowledge to be a better wife. A better wife?!?
My soon to be ex husband was my abuser. I technically spent 18 years of my life married to a man that tore me down vebally, emotionally, and finally physically. After several unsuccessful attempts, 6 months ago, I left for good. This time there is no going back. There will be no reconciliation. I will not be swayed by the endless empty promises and suave manipulation tactics.
Living in abuse is like living in a drug induced fog. You are in a constant state of confussion and second guessing. I understand now that is the intent of the abuser.
This is my account of the events that led me from there to here. The good, the bad, and the ugly. My intent for this safe space is to tell my story in the hopes of helping others. Thanks for reading.
Keep moving towards the light,
Amber
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