I recently, unwittingly, stumbled into the role of mediator.
Not that it was an accident that I did that-
But rather it was a situation I COULD not see clearly.
So the “unwittingly” was not that I injected myself into the role of mediating,
More that I was unaware of what, exactly, I was injecting myself into.
A very good friend of mine is in quite the toxic predicament, and has been for a while.
She jumped into a relationship, became reliant on that relationship, only to discover it was a horrible situation.
By the time the magnitude of the situation became clear, she had backed herself into a financial corner, having no job to speak of, no place to go and feeling trapped.
As any good friend would-
I tried to help the best I could.
Once upon a time I would have swept her into my home without a second thought.
Current status being:
Thinking around corners with self-preservation at the forefront of decision making.
Frankly-
If it’s YOU drown
Or WE drown....
It’s YOU drown.
Basic principle of life saving.
You approach- feet out.
My friend had described these terrible situations of domestic violence.
Screaming. Pushing. Smacking. Name calling. Belittling.
This intense drama,
That I translated based on my exchanges with my ex (he was current at the time)
So I imagined it got loud, there was swearing.
But to extend it beyond that- I could not imagine.
I also weighed her statements against what I knew about her.
And God love her- she is my polar opposite in many many ways.
Flamboyant. Loud. Quick to cry and quick to rage.
Emotionally damaged at times, taking things very personal, with a bottomless pit of love and kindness.
While I on the other hand-
Stoic, described as cold, unemotional unless extreme, prolonged events evoke a response. I too, am prone to dramatics, but more on the cynical, dark humour- I tend toward using passive aggression like a well sharpened blade.
She expressed being “fearful” and I could just not imagine why- if it was “so bad”, she would not report it, call the police, get out at all costs, get the kids safe....
So instead of exploring that avenue with her-
I simply assumed she was a part of it- yes a victim for sure, but likely (I thought) it was more a two-way street situation.
Not that she was lying-no.
I genuinely believed she was afraid, and some things had happened to cause that.
I genuinely believed that “he” (the guy) was not all there, was an angry little man- but that it was their toxicity for one another that was bringing out this ugly-for the most part. The furthest I would extend my judgement of him, was that he was likely an ass hat before she met him, faked it pretty good for a while- but then became a controlling ass hat once he felt comfortable.
Besides, I met him a couple times and wasn’t fond of the vibe he sent off, or the underhanded belittling of her that he laughed off as “joking around”.
-truth is, I recognized that trait in him because it’s something I’m learning to not do, but have been doing a long ass time.
But that her idea of what was bad and my idea of what was bad was different.
I mean really-
I was comparing it to my relationship.
My drunk. My mostly happy or weird drunk pirate- who has a heart of gold, that drowns like a fat worm at the bottom of a bottle.
A blow hard that got really loud now and then.
Self-righteous and boisterous.
Definitely lied to himself way too often.
But hardly scary.
Just annoying and selfish.
That yelled sometimes.
He liked to try and be the loudest voice in the room- and for sure the “rightest”....
But NOT abusive.
Not in the sense of violent abuse.
Certainly not intelligent enough to be overly manipulative or emotionally abusive.
I suppose at times intimidating, but not once you realized that he was more afraid of hitting a woman than a venomous snake bite.
He would recoil at even the idea that someone might THINK he had ever touched a woman.
That even in his most angered state, while in the midst of a physical confrontation with my son-
He froze like a person spotting Medusa when he thought he had accidentally pushed me- onto a bed!!
I still sort of chuckle when I picture his face.
So my template for her expressions had only the most distant of comparison,
Coupled with my adoration for her.
Her being expressive, highly emotive, vibrant and flamboyant in her description of events.
I kinda figured the truth was laying somewhere in the valley in between.
So as the “bad situation” progressed,
I focused less on the “him” aspect, and more on the “her” aspect.
Get yourself organized.
Get yourself financially able.
Get yourself out.
The last being the bottom line, along with safely.
Get yourself out safely.
As we all know, the exiting is always the most risk filled period of time in any relationship.
Double that, if it’s not immediate, and compound the interest the longer it goes on.
So when she asked me to be a proxy between them due to communication break down;
I was happy to help.
Get the message. Give the message. Keep the peace.
Kinda like a lawyer would do, if she could afford one.
How could I even imagine what I was agreeing to?
From his very first email,
I was triggered.
Reminded of my first husband.
First long-term relationship.
The genus of my adulthood.
The man who would stalk my nightmares for years to come.
The man I fled from, my boys, returned from his shadowy talons.
The beautiful, magnificent prince that turned out to be the crooked, gaping-jawed monster from the closet.
He was the spook from underneath my bed.
And here he was, devouring my friend right in front of me.... and I had no idea.
My horror and guilt compounded as I heard him over snap chat audio pounding on the door, his voice causing my heart to do a double time and my ears to ring.
The frail distant “dad stop” whisping through the speakerphone amidst the echoing pound and clatter and yelling.
Then the “I fucked up. I’m sorry”... was it ten times? 15? I lost count,
Until it went away.
That was the very moment that I realized I had no ideas about what I did not know.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t know.
It was that I couldn’t know.
Or didn’t want to know.
Or didn’t think I knew.
Or wished I didn’t know.
It was the triggered, traumatized part of me, tied up in the closet years ago.
Peaking around the corner to see if he came home with friends.
Making sure everything was as done as I could get it, before he walked through the door.
It was the bottom of the stairs moment,
Recalling the emotions roll over me-
The giggle trapped in my chest.
“I fell down the stairs”
There, him at the top, turning into a comedic caricature of a beast-
Takes such a big man to push a little girl down, doesn’t it.
The deep, cynical side of my humour, born at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.
I know a bully when I see one.
Yet, I hadn’t seen it, had I?
Didn’t want to?
Doubted my instincts?
And for the love of god, why is she still there?
Those kids....that rage.... what about them?
It’s become so normal for them?
This is their life?
How is that okay?
I wish I had shielded my boys better.
I wish I had made better choices.
I wish I had not been so consumed by drama, discord, instability, sickness.
Yet here I sit, a witness to these kids....
I could not remain silent.
Even if I don’t know what I don’t know-
I do know what I do.
And I have a responsibility with that knowledge.
I could not imagine neighbours hearing this, or seeing this, and letting it go by them like a bad dream.
What about those kids?
I could not imagine why the police would not be called....but did I?
No, I slept on it.
I woke up with it fluttering about my head and my heart growing heavier with this weight of guilt sitting on it.
During devotions, I was struck by a verse.
Struck by a verse I was familiar with, seeing it in a whole new way.
Romans 12:18
If possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.
...if possible:
Not at all times.
Not, no matter what.
Not-Thou shalt.
No.
If it is possible.
As far as it depends on you:
Not when it’s the other guy.
Not when it’s not your choice.
Not for the stuff that has nothing to do with you.
No...
As far as it depends on you-As far as you are responsible for it-As long as it is something that relies on you, impacts you, matters if you do or do not.
Live at peace with everyone.
I need to get help for those kids-
I have the burden of responsibility, having been an audio witness to what I know to be domestic violence.
I am aware of the impact those sorts of situations can have on children,
I am aware of the level of “not okay” I had heard.
Not only is it within my power to speak about what I heard, it is my responsibility.
I have zero right to pass a judgement on an unknown (to me) neighbour- who may or may not have observed children being treated in the fashion I had heard him treat her.
I have zero right to think “well if it’s so bad, why doesn’t she report it”? “Why doesn’t she leave?” If I’m gonna sit on my haunches and munch candy bars while ignoring the fact that I KNOW! I know dang well it’s not okay. It’s not right. Those kids do not deserve to grow up thinking that’s okay.
No one is allowed to act that way, and not be called out on it- over a few hairs contained in a sink. That’s overkill. That’s not okay.
So I called child protective services.
I told them exactly what I heard.
I told them exactly what I knew for sure, what I thought was concerning, what evidence I had and what I couldn’t answer due to lack of knowledge.
And somewhere far away,
At the top of the stairs,
Seen from peaking around the corner,
A shadowy figure shrinks a bit more.
My heart feels lighter.
I forgive that silly little cynical fool,
Tell her it’s all clear to get back out of the closet.
Nothing to see here.
I have no idea if I did the right thing.
None.zip.zilch.nada
Not a clue.
I can draw up images of all sorts of potentially poor outcomes.
Is she safe?
Have I put her or the kids in danger?
Will it be my fault if something bad happens?
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I don’t know.
What I do know, is I am actively breathing YHWH into this one.
I genuinely want a good outcome.
This guy needs help.
He needs to get a handle on himself, and I’m in no position to help with that- that is an outsourcing situation for sure.
These kids need to be protected- protected from thinking this is normal or acceptable behaviour. Protected from thinking they have no way out. Protected from believing that this is what love looks like, this is how life is. Protected from going numb, from losing all empathy, as they shrink into their own mental closets for safety.
They too, might one day be turning a rotten shade of cynical, at the bottom of their own metaphoric staircase.
They might look up one day, to see their hero has a face of stone. Or maybe he will stretch out, like slender man, slinking down to gobble them up.
Then my thoughts wander back to my friend.
My friend, who I believed, but could not possibly understand. My friend, whom I’m hoping will be out safely and swiftly.
Can I do anything more?
What can I do to atone for my err in judgement?
How do I adjust, to HEAR what I’m hearing clearer, better, sooner?
And how do I forgive the feeling of not believing hard enough, or in the right way?
Perception and understanding is such a tricky little trickster.
We know what we know, see what we see, understand what we understand-
Based solely and completely on our own perception.
Regardless of our level of empathy or our ability to "take a step back"-
What we see and what we know are exactly (and solely) based on that.
I will one day write about my recent experience of being the center-focus of a witch hunt, and the impact that had on my life and career-
But for now (as it's too fresh)
I will simply say:
It is a fact that people only see what they want to see.
Once they have decided a thing-
Confirmation bias makes it that they can never see it any other way.
And I am no different.
Peace be with you.