I feel ridiculous
I’m looking around the net for a family counselor who specializes in domestic abuse. I keep putting it off, not really meaning to, but there’s never enough time and the days start to pass. It occurs to me that the local women’s shelter would have the best advice on who to turn to, but…
This is going to sound sexist…actually, strike that. This IS sexist.
I feel ridiculous. The more I contemplate actually talking to someone about this, the more ridiculous I feel.
C’mon. How do I, a six-foot-tall man, walk into a counselor or abuse center and tell them: I’m a victim of domestic abuse and I need help? ???
I’m afraid they will just ask, “Does she hit you?” and that will be that.
Hopefully, that’s not how it will go. I have to believe it won’t. I have to hope they will know their stuff well enough to know it doesn’t all come down to that question. If I don’t believe it, I won’t go. And I need to go. For myself, for my kids.
I’m concerned this could get out of hand, affect her career. She’s good at what she does, she provides an invaluable service, and she’s a great provider for our kids. It’s a profession that doesn’t tolerate much, though, from a legal and psychological perspective. Psychological therapy services would disqualify her from ever holding a license again. At least that’s what she’s told me. (I need to double-check that. Maybe it’s not true.)
I know that if push comes to shove, even her career and income are secondary to the abuse issues. To my, gulp, personal welfare. Not so much because I’m convinced that I’m worth it yet, but because I see it harming the kids and affecting their development now. My ‘sacrifice’ doesn’t look so much like a sacrifice anymore. I wanted to protect them, but my choice to stay didn’t do that. It only helped fuck them up.