You Will Be Sane

Charlie was screaming and cursing at Esther again. Esther didn’t want to go to bed and was throwing a tantrum. She was just shy of two years old, so it didn’t seem too out of the ordinary to me that a two-year-old would fight bedtime, but it had really set Charlie off.

Esther usually went to bed just fine, but lately, she had gotten really fussy and was throwing monstrous fits. We discovered she had a pretty severe iron deficiency and were supplementing it, but her levels (and attitude) were still low. She was in a particularly trying mood that night, and Charlie had hit his boiling point.

I was standing in the kitchen when I heard his outburst and whirled around to see what was going on, my heart racing in anticipation of his anger.

Charlie was sitting on our couch, and Esther was standing in front of him. About the time I turned around, Esther screamed in Charlie’s face. Faster than I could move to intervene, Charlie put his hands on both sides of Esther’s head, picked her up by her head, and stood up with her head in his hands, swinging and throwing her onto her back on the couch. He then leaned over her, pinning and shoving her onto the couch, screaming and cursing at her, “Don’t you ever scream in my face again! Be quiet and go to bed!”

Thank God, Esther’s self-preservation instinct kicked in, and she grabbed Charlie’s forearms when he picked her up, which I think was the only thing (other than God’s protection) that kept her neck from snapping when he swung her onto the couch.

I yelled something like “What are you doing?” as I ran into the living room. Charlie looked at me like I was a piece of refuse on his shoe and said, “What are you talking about?”

I was examining my crying child and yelled at him, “Charlie, you picked her up by her head! This is abuse!”

I watched in horror as Charlie’s face morphed into something so hateful, so angry I couldn’t even find words to describe it. Have you ever looked at someone and could swear their eyes turned black? He stared at me with dead dark eyes as I scooped Esther up in my arms, holding her protectively against my chest.

Charlie spat his words at me, “Don’t you dare call CPS, and how dare you accuse me of abuse? Do you want them to take our kids away? Because they will. I was an EMT. I saw these things. CPS takes kids without even asking questions. Do you want our kids living with strangers and being asked if adults have touched their privates?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t have any experience with CPS, but I had heard some horror stories from a couple of family members.

Charlie’s words scared me, but they didn’t fully deter me. I knew at that moment that I needed to get the kids and me out, and I was terrified. Charlie was much bigger and stronger than I was. How was I supposed to safely take the kids and get away? Would CPS really take my kids from me if I did?

That evening, while Charlie slept, I wept and texted Mia the whole story (deleting my texts as I went because Charlie was still checking my phone pretty regularly).

I poured my heart and fears out to Mia and asked her what I was supposed to do. Mia responded that if Charlie had done that, it was wrong and I needed to pray for him. She also said that fathers needed to be strict, that they were the disciplinary authority in the house, and that we, as women, didn’t always understand it but had to trust that our husbands were disciplining as God wanted them to.

She told me not to report to CPS. She was sure Charlie was harmless and that I just needed to pray more, be more understanding and submissive, and try to get him to consent to counseling.

I knew in my gut that this advice was wrong. Man, it was so confusing though. It made me second-guess what I knew was the truth. My thoughts were racing. Am I overreacting? Is it really as bad as I think? Am I taking things too far to think I need to report to CPS and get out? Am I being a bad wife?

…Am I losing my mind?