If you were to ask my favorite season with my children around, I would say summer without any hesitation. Summer doesn’t need an explanation. It’s winter, though, where I find the most perspective. I am able to sit in silence. Process. Revisit a memory. Plan. For the last few years, photographs have captured the words I couldn’t write. I was far too broken. There’s something beautiful about being in the same place at the same time as a completely different person.
In 2019, I got on a plane for the very first time. I was 27 years old, and I’d never flown. Flying seemed so complicated. My process for preparation included throwing everything I could remember from the running list in my head into a bag, and yelling “let’s go!”. There is no warning before your life changes forever, it just does.
I was surprised by how easy it was to get on a plane and fly somewhere else. Maybe it was all in my head. I could travel. I wasn’t trapped. You have to make a choice to be set free.
In 2020, I uprooted my entire life. I walked out of my job, typed a resignation letter, and never returned. A few weeks later I said “yes” to the first job opportunity that came my way. I hung up the phone and started preparing for a travel assignment. Three years ago, I’d say that it was only for three months. I’d say that I had every intention of moving back to Nesbit, Mississippi. But now that I have nothing to lose, I’ll tell you the honest truth.
Nesbit, Mississippi is a little too flat for me and I am not responsible for what he chose to do.
My body doesn’t do well with change, being autistic & all. Being empathetic crippled me then and for many years to come. I’d wonder if I was the monster because I could relate to the feelings of one.
By 28, there was not a single person I could trust. I couldn’t trust myself. I definitely couldn’t trust a man. There was a time I was frozen in a studio apartment in Seattle. For a moment I was homeless and for a long time I was broken. I text my best friend for months off and on and received an inbox from her husband. The sound of a man’s voice pushed me into a different frequency, one that begged me to disassociate among the trees.
“It’s totally fine. We only have about 10 more miles and a bunch of switch backs left.”
-Me, desperately trying to avoid carrying my five year old this early on in the hike.
I worked in a Virology lab in Seattle, Washington. I was surrounded by travelers from all over the world who all had a story to tell. I remember walking in after Micheal dropped me off, thinking that maybe not all men are from hell. He sent me a text to say he’d love to see me again even after I told him that we could never happen. I was married, you see, to a monster who would never in a million years let go of me.
I searched for vices and had my own share of Champagne Problems.
My ability to mask was wearing off and I’d reached the point where all I could feel was burnout. In the South, everyone already knows your business. In the Pacific Northwest, you can blend in and disappear. I decided to do just that.
After my (then) husband left us, I felt a sigh of relief. I thought he felt too ashamed of what he’d done to ever return, so for a while I felt safe. I took the shame that was projected onto me and used it to explore. I sang Goodbye Earl every night to stay awake, accidentally making friends along the way. I fell in love with nature, with Michael, and the idea of motherhood.
We built a life in that tiny blue house before, once again, we were faced with a change. My husband was selling our family home in Mississippi. He would hire two attorneys in two separate states, claiming that I’d committed adultery and treated him inhumanely. In Mississippi, he claimed that he had no idea where I took the children and that I refused to provide him with my physical address. In Washington, he admitted to driving my daughters across state lines and leaving the state of Washington in my vehicle. I couldn’t keep up with the stories. It was my daughter’s sixth birthday. Why couldn’t he wait for a less important day? I gave him the satisfaction of one last phone call before deciding that it no longer benefited the children to keep the peace.
I took a new job across the bridge, tackling yet another of my greatest fears. Bridges over water and driving a car were tasks my PTSD hated with a passion. I worked ten-hour night shifts while Micheal stayed home with the girls. I drove an hour to work and an hour home. I flew to Mississippi, despite being granted a Domestic Violence Order of Protection in the state of Washington. I stood outside the courthouse of our emergency custody hearing as my husband’s mother followed me around and yelled for everyone in my hometown to hear what she thought of me. I was stalking him?
Bullshit. I was only at Desoto County Chancery court because I absolutely had to be. Apparently, Mississippi didn’t believe in Zoom and the Covid protocol consisted of everyone standing around on the grass and courthouse steps.
For eight months, I’d raised my girls alongside a man who had no obligation to us. Michael had shown us nothing but compassion and empathy. He didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve this. The girls definitely didn’t deserve any of this. I’ll spare the anger and complete madness I felt then because often times, now, I choose peace over a reaction.
I’d learn over the course of court hearings and declarations back and forth that a narcissist will say anything to avoid being confronted with the truth. He’d claim he fell down a mountain, and that the mountain had moved to Nesbit, Mississippi. He was the victim in any and every situation, and this battle was never about the children.
In August of 2022, in a series of discovery questions, I was, once again, portrayed as the villain. This time, I took the title with stride and answered the questions in a way that would anger him the most…honestly. By August, I hadn’t spoken to him in over a year, nor had I seen him in almost two. I asked for help on my discovery questions because they felt invasive. List every group I’ve ever been a part of, provide a detailed description of every episode of narcissistic abuse I’ve experienced?
I’d write about the coercion, his ties to my family that left me feeling extra vulnerable. I’d write about a time when I felt that I had no one, and how it angered me that I felt as though I should view my relationship with Micheal as “dirty” when it was anything but that. I requested medical records from both Mississippi and Washington. I organized all of the texts, police reports, and other documentation into Dropbox folders. After three weeks of reading and rereading to make sure I hadn’t mixed anything up, I turned in my discovery questions.
Micheal booked a cabin for us in Leavenworth, Washington. I’d taken down every website, blog, social media page, etc. that I could think of so that he could not find me. He’d sent packages to my new home, and I knew that I couldn’t move because of court proceedings. It’s silly, isn’t it? Someone you haven’t seen in two years, who has not provided in form of support for the four children you are raising…can have that much control over your life through the legal system?
I’d asked my mother to attend a therapy session with me at the suggestion of my therapist, and she refused, stating that abuse was “locking people in cages” so she didn’t feel that I was.
I stayed up all night in the cabin after the therapy session I attended with Micheal instead of my mother. We essentially yelled over each other about our rage the entire session. That night I set up my camera, and away from all the city lights, I captured the stars. My goal that summers was to chase down the Aurora Borealis and hike as much as I could.
With very little preparation, we decided to hike to Colchuck Lake via the Enchantments, which, according to All Trails, is about 8.7 miles out and back. This does not include the time it takes to get to the trailhead from the parking lot if you are lucky enough to get a spot. We decided to do this hike on Labor Day weekend and did not arrive at the trailhead early. I believe it was a Thursday, which is the only reason that we got a spot. All Trails states that the average time to complete the hike is about 5 hours. All Trails is a liar.
I always take into account that we have four small children, but we hike a lot. We’ve done several moderate hikes, which I thought would adequately prepare us for our first “hard” or “challenging” hike. I’m in quite a few hiking groups and knew that this is one of the most popular and photographed hikes in Washington. We had the ten essentials, plus an Osprey carrier for the littles. All of the kids had camel backs with water, but somehow we did not have enough protein bars.
I used all the fuel I had from the rage I felt at the beginning of the hike, and by the time we reached the Alpine Lake it was almost dark. I could hardly feel my legs. We’d passed people who were coming down who took one look at the toddler on my back and said, “you win”. I couldn’t tell my kids that we’d come this far and couldn’t make it out. If you’re familiar with the Enchantments, you know that camping was not an option. There is a lottery system, and we were NOT that lucky.
We hiked back down in the dark and didn’t make it out of the woods until around 11PM. Micheal asked another hiker for a protein bar, for which I will forever be grateful. I’m sure he was excited that he would not be leaving the woods a single dad as well. When we made it back to the car, the girls were all given the Dr. Pepper they’d been promised for miles and miles. We weren’t very far from the cabin, but I was so exhausted that I thought it best I pull over and stand up because I felt my eyes closing while driving with a car full of children.
As I started to veer off and call Michael to say that I couldn’t do it, I saw A BEAR. I am grateful for my fatigue in that very moment because he was extremely fluffy. The bear cub ran across the road as if I wasn’t even there. I drove to the nearest Safeway to get food before returning to the cabin.
On that hike, I learned that nature is my home, and that family are the people you meet along the way. Maybe the first time you barely get by, but you learn a few tricks for the next time. Like, you know, bribing your kids with a Dr. Pepper to cross the finish line. I learned that sometimes to feel in control you have to completely let go of everything you once believed in.
As Michael would say, a hiker’s journey is not flat. It’s full of switchbacks and moving rock beneath your feet. Keep moving. Only slow down long enough to take a deep breath and enjoy the view.
Zombie Mom 