From Episcopal Priest to High Priestess...how I got here

Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel

Kyrie eleison down the highway of the night

The words of the Mr. Mister song cycled over and over in my mind, as I tried to find a comfortable position on the jail cell bed.

Never in my life did I ever imagine I would experience the backseat of a police car, the cold steel of handcuffs cutting into my wrists, or the dehumanizing experience of being led in and out of a locked cell.  Yet there I was…

The night before I was trying to explain my dissatisfaction with a marriage that was no longer meeting my emotional needs.  I was worn out, beaten down, and never felt fully safe.  I had been working with my therapist for nearly a year and with her help, I was finally setting boundaries, insisting on respect for my own needs, and no longer bending to the demands of my now ex-husband.

That night I told him I was unhappy with the state of our marriage; he just demanded more sex.  But emotionally, I felt unsafe…the constant walking on eggshells, the silent treatments, the unstated expectations and cold shoulders when they weren’t met.

It wasn’t until I was giving my statement to the NCIS investigators weeks later, as I was recounting the sexual abuse I had endured—and challenged by the investigator to call my experience what it was it was--that I realized just how bad things had gotten.

That night I snapped. 

When I made it clear I needed things to change, my ex’s response was, “Well, we already have kids together.  You can stay here and make this easy, or I will make this difficult for you.”

This was followed by stonewalling and more silent treatment…standard narcissistic abuse techniques.

I was dysregulated.  I knew it!  I should NOT have gone back downstairs in an attempt to reconcile…to try and find a solution.  But you know what they say, “Never go to bed angry.”  When my ex turned over to face me, pretending to have fallen into a deep sleep less than 10 minutes after we had argued, I snapped.  I slapped him.  I didn’t even mean to.  It was a knee-jerk reaction.

It was a slap that cost me my whole family but probably saved my life. 

My ex took 3 of our children out of the house with him, claiming they were upset after hearing him scream for help.  (It seems odd that someone who claims he was scared for his life would then follow me up the stairs and threatening to use the sex toy he purchased as a Valentine's gift on me, "Since I obviously don't satisfy you." He also didn't mind our kids overhearing the threat. In fact, he spoke louder, because he "wanted them to hear what he had to deal with.")

While they were gone, I did what I had been trained to do in our nearly 20 years of marriage…I wrote an apology note.  I took the responsibility of all of it onto my shoulders.  Admittedly, physical violence is not the answer.  I know that.  But my body, on high alert from the physical, emotional, and/or psychological attacks I endured in that household on a daily basis, was in fight or flight mode.  Apparently, it was in full fight mode.

However, rather than taking the kids on a drive to help everyone calm down, my ex took our children to the police station and had them make statements against me about an altercation they were not even present for. His own statements, many of which were bald-faced lies, weren’t even corroborated by any physical evidence, but I guess that doesn’t matter. 

A few hours later, I found myself braless and in my jammies in the back of a police cruiser, on my way to the local lockup.  However, when I was processed for booking, my blood sugar was so high that I was taken to the ER for screening.  It was nearly 400—a lethal level.  During my 3-day stay in the jail, I was given daily insulin (having never needed it before), and my numbers barely dropped.

That night I was arrested and charged with Domestic Violence, Level 4 (the lowest level), and I began a nearly two-year fight to clear my name.  I am still fighting. 

This arrest was also the catalyst for a massive spiritual awakening…