Love that Counts: A Journey of Healing through the Heartache of Destructive Relationships

Introduction

This is the story of a marriage – my marriage. As simple and obvious as it may sound, it took me some time to discover that a marriage cannot be built alone, and mine nearly destroyed me. It is also my attempt to understand what happened and to find reason, hope and healing from an experience that almost cost me, me. It is an account of my own journey (a messy one) and of my painstaking and at times painful searching for answers.

While my experience and story come out of my personal faith in the Christian God, it is my hope that this book will resonate with many people, Christian as well as those of other faiths. My hope, especially, is to give a voice to those women who have been and continue to be hurt by the prevalent tendency of the church to be impartial, silent or ‘neutral’ in cases of abuse that happen within the family unit, the church and broader society. When it comes to injustice, this is not neutrality at all.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu says it well: ‘If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.’

There is a belief that marriage is unqualifiedly ‘ordained and holy’. It is a belief that is commonly held and also actively taught by many churches worldwide. ‘God hates divorce’ is what we are told and what we accept when we enter into ‘holy marriage’. It might well be true that God hates divorce, but God also hates sin, and I cannot subscribe to a belief that the death and destruction of millions of women around the world is part of God’s intended design for marriage and family.

When there is an absence of understanding of God’s requirements for the institution of marriage, this throws the window wide open to destruction, evil and, far too frequently, death. The majority of those who suffer in this situation are women who are bound together with a partner in marriage or in a relationship they feel powerless or forbidden to leave.

Ultimately, it was my limited understanding of God and His plan for my life that kept me in a marriage for much longer than I ever should have stayed.

Hosea 4:6a says: ‘My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge.’

In the case of marriage and the good but often misguided intentions of many churches, this holds true.

Thankfully, the good news … God is not neutral. He desires the best for you, and for you to be dying in a marriage is just not it. God receives no glory for this and your purpose is to glorify Him. He did not create you in order for you to be yet another martyr for a marriage that could not have reflected His intentions when He created it to start with.

‘For God is the defender of the weak and the oppressed. Psalm 82:3 God is compassionate, righteous, just, slow to anger and abounding in love.’ Nehemiah 9:17

God’s purpose for your life is so much greater than a constant battle with a relationship that causes continued destruction and hurt. And His desire for your family is much more than that. Marriage is a covenant that takes two to build and this cannot be accomplished alone.

Some of the questions I grappled with during my marriage are quite possibly the same ones you might be grappling with right now.

Perhaps you are asking yourself:

Can a destructive marriage really be God’s plan for my life, from a God who loves me?

How does a relationship get this wrong?

When is divorce an option?

How much hurt is enough?

Am I in an abusive relationship?

Does God simply watch when I cry myself to sleep at night?

Does God care about my marriage more than He cares about me?

There are different kinds of abuse within a relationship, different levels, extents and strategies. Abuse can be physical and it can be emotional, and many things in between. The sad truth is that we live in a society that shows it has an increasing tolerance for abuse and it is this tolerance which contributes greatly toward the breakdown in relationships, families and society.

Drawing on deep personal experience, I have spent a great deal of time in thought and contemplation, and have applied my mind to the dynamics of relationships in an effort to understand how and why they break down, what happens when they do, and the options this understanding presents.

Out of this reflection I have developed the theory that is the backbone of Love That Counts.

In essence, abuse happens on a continuum. It is not a state of all or nothing. In the pages that follow, I demonstrate this continuum graphically and in a way that can be tested. It is easy to use. It gives you a visual representation of where you might find yourself at any stage in your relationship. The model is intended to help identify relationships that are going wrong and to empower people to make alternative choices. If you are already on the road I travelled, perhaps it will help you to pinpoint where you are. Perhaps the hurt I suffered and its implications may resonate strongly with you. It may even encourage you to consider the dynamics of your own relationship and to change your own relational legacy.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. What I do have, though, is my thinking on the matter, a degree in psychology (which did not seem to equip me to find the answers I needed), and a collection of life experiences – some amusing, some tragic, some not so smart, and others downright foolish. In combination and with the luxury of hindsight, they have taught me a few things. I hope the telling of my story will impart to others a certain level of wisdom and some insight about human relationships and God’s abounding grace.

‘YOUR HUSBAND IS ABUSIVE …’

Chapter 1

‘I understand that you don’t have money,’ I say to Mzalo, my husband of seven years, ‘so I’ve approached someone to help me fund my business.’

‘And who is that?’ he responds, his guard up and his jaw forming into a familiar clench. His freshly washed, silver BMW 5 series is parked in the driveway.

‘Cebiso.’

‘You are so stupid!’ he shouts at me, furious. ‘What do you do? Do you go out there looking for rich men?’ He puts his hands around my arms in a vice-like grip and gives me a good shake. ‘You are so naïve about men!’ he says, still shouting. ‘What does he think – my wife going around and asking him for money!’

Well, I think to myself, if you supported me, I wouldn’t have to, now would I? But I keep quiet, not willing to have my face permanently reversed, as Mzalo has regularly threatened to do for me.

I try to feel calm inside but I am struggling. The months of secretly trying to find someone willing to invest in my business idea have come to an abrupt end. Another door has slammed closed on my desperate attempt to secure financial independence from the man who calls me his wife, my desperation feeding the secrecy.

I have papers that indicate that I am Mzalo’s wife, but a relationship that indicates instead that I am more of a maid and personal prostitute. Maid and prostitute are both paying jobs, though. Oh, he claims publicly that he loves me, but I don’t feel loved. Privately … well, I am not even sure what his form of ‘love’ would be called.

The next morning I phone Cebiso to let him know that I am no longer going to pursue a business partnership with him because Mzalo doesn’t approve of the idea.

‘What was your husband’s reaction?’ he asks.

‘He was furious,’ I admit.

‘How furious?’ he asks dryly.

‘He said I was stupid and accused me of going around looking for rich men. And he threatened me,’ I tell him.

I can hear Cebiso’s annoyance and disgust on the other end of the line, before he even says anything. Then he says, ‘So in other words he’s abusive.’

I don’t respond. This is the one label I have not brought myself to call my husband. I guess I know it, though. I have just never admitted it to myself or to anyone else for that matter. But Cebiso won’t let it go.

‘Your husband is abusive,’ he repeats.

Still I say nothing. He presses further.

‘Say it!’ he says. Then, ‘Say it’ – a little more gently this time.

‘My husband is abusive,’ I whisper.

***

So many times I had wished I could step off the course that my life was on. The pressure I was living under was too much. The lumps I had been pushing under the carpet for years were just too many. How often had I wished I could take a break. Opt out. Pack up and go home. Take my daughter and run.

I would have given anything to hear someone say to me: ‘It’s enough now. Enough tears. Enough heartache. Enough hurt. Enough time invested in something that will never come right. It’s okay to pack and leave your marriage. I will support you and love you anyways. I understand. I can see that you are hurting.’

I would have given anything to hear the voice of God saying, ‘It’s enough, my child. You tried.’

Or ‘I have heard your prayers and I will change your husband.’

Or to have had the phone ring and somebody say, ‘There’s been a terrible accident …’

Something, anything that would stop the path I was on. Finish it quickly. Something that would have prevented me reaching the fork in that path that was now in front of me.

I couldn’t understand how a God who loved me could allow this to happen. Couldn’t He just change it? What purpose could a life like this possibly have? What glory was He getting if my purpose was really to glorify Him? Nothing made any sense. A God of LOVE? Really? A God who cared about me? I truly could not understand it, but I could not take any more.

Something needed to break. In order for me to survive, something had to give. Each day was slowly killing me, sapping my desire to live.

Waking up in the morning started every day with finding a reason to get out of bed, and the reasons were scarce.

In fact there was only one really.

My daughter.

But the years of religious indoctrination and hours of catechism would not let me go so easily. Marriage is sacred. It’s a covenant. When you get married, you work at it until death do you part.

This was a mandate which my family took seriously and so, as a result, did I. My parents were married for 34 years until my father passed away. My grandparents on my father’s side were married for more than 50 years and on my mother’s side for more than 45 years. Marriage ended when someone passed away.

Divorce was not as simple as ending a marriage and getting another certificate. Divorce was sin. And a far larger sin than the other little sins such as lying or fudging the truth a bit. Divorce was up there with the really ‘great’ sins like homosexuality and, dare I say it, dancing. When I was in Junior High we once had to petition the school to have a dance. It was a ‘good Christian school’. You know those sins – the ‘areas of weakness’ that are easy to point fingers at. The majority of ‘good church going folk’ do not struggle with those sins and so they are quick to stand in condemnation.

Divorce was a no go area.

‘God hates divorce.’ How many times had I heard that sentence and how many times had I repeated it to myself?

But right now, it felt like God hated me.

My marriage and understanding of a loving God were no longer compatible. The two things were not able to co-exist. One or both was wrong. God could not love me and desire this marriage for me. It was not possible from a loving God.

So there I was, stuck between an abusive husband and a God who hated divorce, praying earnestly for death.

I was in an abusive relationship. Now that I had said the words out loud I was in trouble.

How had that happened? I still had no idea. What was I going to do? I was not sure. My dream of building a bright future with the man who was my husband had somehow turned into a nightmare. My adult games of pretend were out there for someone to see and now, for the very first time, had been acknowledged. ‘My husband is abusive.’ It was a revelation I was not sure how to deal with. It was a position I had never thought I would be in. What does someone do now?

Making a conscious choice to continue the game is different than slowly being drawn into the charade to avoid discomfort and try to keep peace in your house. One is a decision while the other is a natural human response to a situation that is beyond one’s immediate control.

Okay, so the old saying also holds true: admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it.

The problem is that when you don’t admit it, you are in a place where you just function as best you can and where what is happening is not your fault. When you admit it, however, you either need to make a conscious decision to continue the charade, knowing that you are also now a part of the problem – you have graduated from being an unconscious participant to a conscious one – or change it and become part of the solution, which might mean no longer participating in the relationship.

That is a whole other dilemma and so sometimes ‘ignorance is bliss’. Ignorance gives you an excuse not to change anything.

Changing things is never easy and I can understand why so many people die in abusive relationships. That is the easier option.

Admitting I was in an abusive relationship was forcing me to make a choice. Whether I wanted to accept it or not, I had come to the fork in my path. I needed now to do something about it or choose not to do anything. Denial has its advantages as life can continue under the pretence that ‘things are fine’. Fine – so long as all the lumps, including the ones still to come, are kept hidden under the carpet. If I was able to keep up the charade and just keep adding to the lumps, that was one thing. But I would also have to keep lying to myself.

The lies had stopped dead the moment I admitted the truth.

I had been in denial almost from the beginning of my marriage.

FROM THIS DAY FORWARD

Chapter 2

Nestled on a hill, the university’s campus is large and the gardens are immense and well kept. There are jacaranda trees everywhere and flower beds bursting with clivias and agapanthus. It is an old institution and the buildings are mostly of stone, monuments to British colonial influence in South Africa. I registered months ago – for an Honours degree in Psychology – and so soon after my wedding, I spend my first day here going through the motions, finding my way around, meeting people, climbing more stairs than I am used to. There are so many buildings in each faculty. The campus is larger than I am used too, and Johannesburg is new to me. At the end of the day, tired and a bit bewildered, I wait for Mzalo to collect me. My mind wanders, thinking about the first time, or rather the second time, that I met my husband.

***

‘So, do you remember my name?’ he asks, standing with his hands behind his back.

The African Student Christian fellowship meeting has just finished.

He is taller than me and lanky. His teeth protrude slightly and there’s a gap between the middle two. He is dressed in a crisply ironed white shirt, which makes his skin seem darker than it is, khaki dress pants with reddish brown dress shoes. He wears gold coloured framed glasses.

‘Ahh … no,’ I respond, ‘not exactly.’

‘I remember yours and so why don’t you remember mine?’

Well …’ I respond to the challenge in his voice. ‘Let’s see. Last week you met exactly two new people and I met more than thirty, most of whom have names that I have never even heard of before, and so out of all the people I met last week, what makes you think I should remember your name?’

He has been duly chastised and has the decency to be somewhat embarrassed. He laughs out loud.

‘No, you are right, I hadn’t thought of that.’ He grins and charmingly reintroduces himself as Mzalo.

‘Hi, Mzalo, I’m Wilma,’ I respond, chuckling and shaking his hand, clearly for the second time.

We chat briefly. He’s an engineering student in his fourth year of study. He has already completed another undergraduate degree in mathematics.

I look around for my roommate, Sarah, and our friend Sylvia from res who invited us to come and join the fellowship group. As exchange students in Cape Town, South Africa, we are not yet familiar with the university campus and needed some help finding our way back to the residence.

The fellowship group provides us with a platform to meet people socially and soon we begin to be invited out to other places and functions by other members of the group. And we see Mzalo a few times on other social occasions.

Mzalo carries himself with a certain level of charm. He’s outgoing and sociable, easy to hang out with. Fana, a friend of his, takes an interest in Sarah and me and proceeds to invite us out often, being a foreigner in the country himself. We see a lot more of Mzalo, too, and we begin to debate and argue about politics and social issues. We begin to spend more and more time together, taking walks on campus, going to the Waterfront, out for dinner, like couples do.

When my girl friends and I hear that the local church is planning a square dance, Sarah, Sylvia and I decide we’d like to go and we invite Fana and Mzalo along for fun.

The caller plays the violin and calls out the steps. It’s the first time any of us has gone to a square dance, but the caller has a group of eight demonstrate how each of the calls work and soon we organise ourselves into a larger group and give it a try. Amid laughter and amusement, mistakes are made, but the caller is clear and we untangle ourselves and carry on. After a few rounds we are becoming accustomed to the steps and are doing quite well, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. The room is filled with other squares of eight stamping their feet to the rhythms of the violin, and the room temperature is getting very hot.

We decide to take a break and make our way outside to cool off with something to drink and some fresh air, girls and guys naturally migrating into separate groups.

Amongst the guys there is a bit of a good natured scuffle going on and Mzalo suddenly shoots out of the group, two other guys in hot pursuit. All those days playing soccer in the rural village where he grew up have paid off – he’s too agile and quick to be easily caught and the guys soon give up as Mzalo laughs.

Aside from an easy charm which makes him likeable, I am impressed with Mzalo’s determination to make something out of his life. His sense of direction, focus and the number of obstacles he has already had to overcome to get to where he is now in life is admirable. He lost his father at the age of seven and his life growing up was not easy. Still, he was determined to change it for the better and to give back to his family. He had been awarded a scholarship and he was already using some of the money the company was giving him for his living allowance to build a house for his mother.

That was two years ago.

Smiling at the memory, my life flashes back to the present which is focused on the task at hand, namely, finding my way around a new campus, in a new city.

I look down the avenue for my husband’s car