The Exodus

After I had Weston, I had such an immense joy for the little person I had made. I had the immediate maternal love and bond with him that I had only ever heard of. "You don't know what love is until you have a child" was truly a statement that made sense to me then.

My Mom drove C, Weston and I back to the house after 2 nights in the hospital. I remember the anxiety of having to bring Weston into the house for the first time. My heart rate was through the roof.

...But part of me still wanted that acceptance from J. Maybe having a baby in the house would be good for him. Maybe he would finally accept me? Be nice? Like Weston being around? Bring the happiness into his life that he didn't deserve.

That was shot down almost immediately.

I walked into the living room with C and Weston.

He leaned forward and looked at Weston curled up sleeping in his carrier, just days old. Just a blank stare on his face when he said...

"Get that thing the fuck away from me".

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Postpartum healing is hard enough as it is. Learning to be a mother, bonding with your baby, healing from tearing during childbirth, navigating life. Doing it in a house with a man who hates you, and now hates your brand new baby is a whole different beast.

Weston's cries would bring fear, and anxiety immediately. It would typically be met by annoyed sounds out of J, or a "shut that thing up". Threats of being kicked out still loomed in the air daily. I was in constant fight or flight for the time I still lived there with Weston.

J looked at Weston with such disgust and hatred.

My days were short, but those 4 hours from when J got home to when he went upstairs to bed were long.

During the day, I could breathe. I could sit in the living room and fold Weston's laundry, put him in his bouncer, and take him outside for fresh air. Live like a normal mother. But when 4 pm came around, the bouncer was brought back into my room or put in the sunroom, the bottles were no where in sight, and we were back in the bedroom.

I had to erase our existence daily.

Weekends, J would stay up later, and sleep in longer, so I could go into the living room and spend time with my Mom and brother on weekend mornings. But once I heard him stumbling out of bed at 10 am, and going to pee with the door wide open (looking back, this man was vile and weird for this),I was back in my room. Unless I was cooking or cleaning, of course.

I did this almost every day for 5 months.

That house was the last place I wanted to raise my baby, and the threats of getting kicked out and aggression towards me and Weston was heightening. He was arguing more with my Mom. C and I started planning. We were going to move out and go to the farm. I didn't want to be so far from my family, but that was the only acceptable option to C, so we did it. And honestly, anything was better than the current situation.

May 6th, 2015, we packed up our belongings and left that house for good.