Stephanie Yarema
I find myself lying on the hardwood floor in my son’s bedroom, next to his little Lightning Mcqueen car bed. I piled comforters and throw blankets on top of each other to make it more comfortable. I stare at my son in awe while he sleeps peacefully snuggled up in his blankets. I’m awake sitting on my makeshift mattress researching how to attain full custody of my two children. I’ve saved child support, custody, and PFA applications to my laptop so I can print them out when he’s not home. As I look down at my hands, I can see the imprints of his fingers on my wrists. The blood from the scratch marks on my forearm has dried up. I touch the back of my head and it’s sore from being dragged down the hallway by my hair. I quickly take pictures and save them in a secret file for proof. I break down in tears. How did I get here?
You are probably wondering who “he” is. He’s the father of my children, my high school sweetheart, the love of my life. The one I thought could do no wrong. The one I thought I could spend the rest of my life with to grow a family together.
It’s 2012, I was a freshman in high school. I have my first job at the mall working at a jewelry kiosk. I’m wearing my black wide-leg yoga pants, my favorite bright blue Aeropostale shirt,and the brightest white Cami I could find to put underneath. I sit and patiently wait for customers to stop at my kiosk. As I look around, I see a familiar face walking my way, we lock eyes, and he starts walking toward me. He had a friend with him and I remember thinking “Who’s his cute friend.” I quickly wipe under my eyes to make sure my black eyeliner isn’t running. I run my fingers over my hair for a quick fix and take a peek at myself in the small mirror beside me. He comes up to me and we begin to talk.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked.
“We went to middle school together; I think we had detention together a couple of times, Felix, right?” I said with a smile.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right! So, you know my friend Eli from school?” he asked.
He looked familiar, but I couldn’t think of where I knew him from. We looked at each other, smiled, and said hi. His friend walked away and that’s when Felix began to ask me if I would give his friend my phone number. I was hesitant at first, but I thought his friend was cute, so I agreed, and they walked away. As he walked away, I could feel my face as hot and red as a tomato. I sat there with the biggest smile, and he looked back at me and gave the slightest smile in the cutest way possible. When I think of the first time we met, his smile on that day is what replays in my head.
We continued to text and talk on the phone every day. He had jet-black hair and olive skin. His eyes were a dark hazel, and he had a smile that was bright and perfect. That’s what I thought of him. Perfect. I thought he was too perfect for the girl who stayed to herself, shy and quiet, who barely had any friends.
Throughout high school, we were joined at the hip. Wherever he was I was there next to him. I thought he was all about me and only me. But when we weren’t together, I would notice him with other girls in the hallway, hugging and laughing and what looked like flirting to me. If we were together this was something he shouldn’t have been doing. On my 16th birthday, he gave me a promise ring, so to me this had a lot of meaning, but I guess it didn’t mean the same to him. When he gave me this ring, he made a promise that he would be faithful to me and not do things behind my back.
After confronting him about showing attention to other girls, he told me he wouldn’t do this anymore. Things continued and we would fight about it constantly. There was even a time when I found out he had a whole other relationship with a girl in a grade below us. I learned from this girl that he had told her we had broken up and that I was obsessed with him and wouldn’t leave him alone. There were several red flags throughout our relationship, but I ignored them because I was in love. I struggled with my self-image and depression. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t like what I saw. I would go to school some days in baggy clothes, no make-up or
expression, not caring how I looked. I always thought if I looked like these younger girls who were prettier and more outgoing maybe he wouldn’t have cheated on me. How could I be so in love with someone who made me feel like I would never be good enough?
In July of 2013, I missed my period and started feeling sick every day. I knew something felt off and I just felt different. I bought a pregnancy test and hid it from my mom. I took the test early in the morning. I peed on a small white stick for all of 15 seconds. A timer was set for three minutes, those three minutes felt like hours. The anticipation of finding out if I would be a teen mom was unbearable. I sat on the cold toilet seat watching the timer count down on my phone. The timer vibrates at zero and it’s finally time to turn the test over and read the results. There they were two little pink lines. What am I going to do?! I asked myself. What is my mom going to think? How could this be happening to me?
I rushed to my room with the pregnancy test hidden in the waist of my shorts. I jumped on my bed and immediately texted Eli the famous words, “We need to talk.”At this time he and I were broken up and haven’t talked in a few weeks. He calls me immediately, I’m too nervous to answer. “Answer the phone!” he texts me. I send him a picture of the pregnancy test. He calls again.
“You only took one test?” he asked
“Yes, and followed all the directions like I was supposed to,” I replied.
“So, you are sure you’re pregnant?!”
“Yes, Eli, it’s right there, two bright lines. “What are we going to do?” I asked with tears in my eyes.
“I don’t know, but my family can’t know about this. They’ll kill me,” he said.
Eli came from a strict Turkish family and grew up Muslim. Something like this was unacceptable in his culture. He told me they would send him back to Russia and I would never
see him again. The idea of getting an abortion crossed both our minds. I even made an appointment to go to the clinic, but I couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t the baby’s fault; they didn’t ask to be created. This was our mistake, and we had to take responsibility. Or at least one of us.
Things between Eli and I changed drastically after he found out I was pregnant. One minute he loved me and our baby, ready to be a father and take care of the baby, then the next we’re broken up and he hated me and never wanted to see me again. This was very hard on a teenage girl in high school who just wanted to be loved and not be alone during this hard time. I suffered from depression during my entire pregnancy. I would stay in my room for days at a time just crying and sleeping, wishing he would come to his senses and love me and our baby. I sometimes would go days without eating. My mom would try and talk to me and tell me it was not healthy for the baby, but I was 16 and heartbroken. My mom was my only support during this time. She would make sure that I had taken my vitamins and drank enough water even when I refused to eat. I was beyond grateful to have her there during my time of need.
On March 15, 2014, baby Elliot was born. This was the most terrifying yet happiest day of my life. The only support system I had was my mom and her best friend who was like an aunt to me. They helped me through the pain and would constantly tell me, “You’re okay, you got this!” Even though I was grateful to have them there I wished Eli was the one there rubbing my back, telling me everything was going to be okay. I was in labor for about 8 hours and only pushed for about 15 minutes. Once he was born, he was placed right on my chest. I could feel his warm little body lying on my bare skin. He was covered in the white coating that babies have once they are born. He had the sweet newborn baby smell that everyone had told me about. I looked at him while he looked at me crying, “Hi baby boy, I’m your mommy,” I said with tears running down my face. I felt a new love I had never felt before.
Eli came to the hospital to see his son after he was born. This would be a wake-up call for him and help him want to be in his son’s life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Once I brought the baby home, I didn’t receive a call, a text, or any visits from Eli. My mom and stepdad helped me buy
diapers for the baby and anything else he needed. I wouldn’t hear or see Eli for another three months.
I continued to go to school and take care of my baby on my own. My mom would watch the baby while I was at school and when I got home, I was on my own. At this time Elliot is a happy, chubby three-month-old. I unexpectedly receive a call from Eli telling me his family has found out about the baby, and they want to meet Elliot. At first, I was hesitant, but I thought they deserved to know the baby. We arranged for his family to come to my house. I was nervous about meeting this whole family I had never met before, and I didn’t know what to expect.
Eli and his family came to my family’s home. Once we all made our introductions, they immediately held the baby, and all began to cry out of joy. They spoke in Turkish to one another so I had no idea what was being said, but I could tell it was all good things. They asked me if Eli had seen the baby, and I told them this was the first time he had seen him since he was born. His family told me they would make sure Eli did his part and took care of the baby as he should.
After meeting Eli’s family, he started picking up the baby every weekend and took the baby for weekends at a time. This was a big change, but I enjoyed the break and was happy my son would finally have a father. Eli and I even started to talk more and would talk about working together on our relationship. We realized how much we missed each other and were back in a relationship. I thought this would be a great opportunity for our child to grow up with both his
parents.
In April of 2015, Eli, and I were spending every day together again. He would pick me up in the mornings for school, then give me a ride home and we would hang out afterward. The three of us started spending a lot of time together. Elliot had just turned one and graduation was approaching quickly. I was so proud of myself for enduring pregnancy, giving birth, keeping up with my schoolwork, and making the grades I needed to graduate. Moving that tassel from the right to the left was such a great accomplishment.
After graduation, I moved in with Eli and his mom into their apartment. I was so excited
to be on my own and have my own family to care for. Once Eli and I started getting more serious I had to start making changes in my life to accommodate his culture. I stopped wearing makeup, and I no longer painted my nails or wore tight-fitting clothing. Everything I wore had to be approved by Eli. I couldn’t wear anything too revealing or short, this included even showing my arms too much. Cardigans and longer shirts were my new everyday look.
Once I moved in, it was like my whole world was changing. Eli started to become very controlling to the point where I wasn’t allowed to leave the house without him, and I was not allowed to talk or hang out with my friends anymore. At this point, he and my toddler were my only friends. Even talking to my family too much became a problem. My social media was a big issue for Eli. If I posted a picture of myself and he saw other males liking my picture he would fight with me about it. He acted as if I was able to control who liked or commented on my posts. I was given the ultimatum of keeping my social media or him, so I deleted all my accounts to please him and keep him. He looked through my phone at the end of the night to check my messages and to see what I had used my phone for all day. This became normal to me. I learned to delete certain things such as messages or tabs on my phone to save the need for explaining myself and to avoid a fight. I still loved him and wanted nothing more than for us to be a family, so I complied with all his rules and wishes.
It was the Summer of 2016 when I got my first job, It was a third-shift job at a warehouse so that I could work while my son was sleeping. Eli’s mother would take care of my son during the night while I worked. During this time in the relationship, I felt very sheltered from the world so having a job and being able to get out of that apartment was a big deal to me. I would find myself enjoying any attention I could get. But even though I enjoyed the attention I felt overwhelmed with anxiety when anyone would speak to me. Being away from society and being cooped up in a small apartment daily makes the real world seem scary. While at this job, I developed a friendly relationship with someone that turned into something more than a friend. I was not proud of this, but I wasn’t receiving the positive attention I wanted at home so when someone else noticed me and took an interest in me, I enjoyed it.
One afternoon, Eli was leaving for work. Once he left, I received a text message from the guy I was talking to at my job. We exchanged about ten messages within a ten-minute time frame. As I sat on the couch texting, my worst fear became a reality. I heard the lock to the apartment door turn and the door opened. What was he doing back here? He must’ve forgotten something and come back for it, I thought.
“Who are you texting?” he asked.
“Oh, no one, just my mom,” I replied.
I guess my face showed a different reaction and he could tell I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing. He grabbed my phone and started to read it. I tried to get my phone from him. I kept telling him not to go through my messages but he did it anyway. He reads the messages I would have deleted before he could ever find them. I could see the rage in his eyes and the pushes became stronger.
“What is this?!” he yelled “Who are you texting like this?!”
“It’s no one please just give it back!” I yelled.
That’s when I feel the first hit to my stomach. I held my stomach and fell to the floor. “What is wrong with you, why would you do that to me?!” I cried out.
As he was sitting on my stomach, he began to choke me. When he was on top of me, he yelled in my face, calling me a whore, and saying I ruined everything. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I try my hardest to push him off me. He finally lets me go, throws my phone at me, and walks out the door. While this was all happening, there was my two-year-old son sitting on the couch watching his father hurt his mother. I immediately got up grabbed my son and held him tight while crying. The amount of guilt I had was unbearable, I felt like a terrible mother.
We never discussed what happened that day. I quit my job, and he started acting differently towards me. His attitude had changed, and I felt like he didn’t like me or want me around. He started coming home later than usual and would barely speak to me. This was the point in my life where I wished I would’ve just left. But I was 18 and had nowhere to go, so I felt as though I had no choice but to make this work.
I started enduring mental abuse and physical abuse regularly. There were several occasions where I would check his phone while he was sleeping and I would see he was texting other girls. We both agreed to delete our social media accounts when I first moved in with him but when I checked his phone he still had an active Facebook and Instagram. Anytime I would mention things that I have found he would become angry and get in my face telling me it was my fault he was doing these things. I continued to go through his phone but kept whatever I found to myself. I found myself home alone with my son crying and wondering why I chose this life and wishing things would get better.
His mom even started to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough for her son. She would yell at me in Turkish and tell me I was a dirty American. If I did not pick up after my son and myself right away or put the clothes away after the laundry was done and folded, I was told only Americans live this way. If I slept any later than nine in the morning, I was woken up by her barging into my room yelling. I still didn’t quite understand everything she said but from what I did understand it wasn’t good things that were said. I am American but I am also half Mexican. She would use this against me as well. She would tell me I was dirty and it was because I was Spanish. Before living there, my only responsibility was to clean my room, and occasionally had the chore of doing the dishes. I was still a teenager and learning how to care for a whole home and a child. I wasn’t raised to start my day with cleaning and chores, but I didn’t think this made me a dirty person. I started to clean up everything right away and made sure everything was tidy but she would still find things to yell at me for. Would I ever be good enough for these people? Will I ever live up to their expectations?
Throughout the years I had gotten the courage multiple times to leave and try to make a
better life for my son and myself. When I would leave, Eli would call me crying telling me how much he loved me and how bad he felt for treating me the way he did. Each time I left, my family would tell me I couldn’t go back to him and that they would stop talking to me if I did. While I stayed with my family I would sneak out and see him any chance I could get. I couldn’t stay away from him.
“Please just come back, I promise you I won’t hurt you anymore.” he would cry “I just get so angry and can’t control myself, I don’t mean to do those things, They just happen.”
I would believe everything he would say to me and come running back. He had such a hold on me that I couldn’t understand why it was so hard to just stay away. Even though we fought and he treated me the way he did, he felt like home to me. I felt lost without him and like I HAD to be with him . How could you love someone so much that you willingly put up with all the harmful things they do to you? Would someone who loved you hurt you this way? These were questions I asked myself constantly.
In January 2019, we were back together, and we just bought our first home . We had finally moved all our stuff in and were in the settling phase. I was pregnant with my second son, my ankles were swollen, my belly was huge, and I was ready to give birth any day now. Our relationship was better than ever. Once we found out I was pregnant, we were getting along wonderfully and acting like a real loving couple. He was there the entire pregnancy and was so supportive. I had dreamt of him acting this way for so long that I wanted to hold on to it forever, I prayed that it would always be this way, and we would be happy for the rest of our lives.
Good things don’t always last forever. My oldest had just finished kindergarten and the baby had just turned 5 months old. Once again, Eli started acting weird towards me, he would constantly yell at me for the house not being clean and not having dinner on the table when he got home from work.
He would tell me, “All you have to do is take care of the kids, clean up, and cook for me,it’s not that hard!”
I was still adjusting to having two kids, a child in school, so I had felt overwhelmed and exhausted over the past couple of months and didn’t put all my time into cooking and cleaning. We were just doing so well, I couldn’t understand why he wanted to treat me this way. I started to avoid him and would spend a lot of time at my sister’s house. We started sleeping in separate rooms and started acting like room-mates rather than being in a relationship.
August 12th of 2019,was the day that changed my life. Our last big fight would be our last. No more coming back to each other, no more working things out, this was it, this was the time where I was brave enough to break the tie that we held onto for 7 years.
Eli and I had been arguing and sleeping in separate rooms for weeks now. As I was sitting on our leather couch on my phone while my eight-month-old played on his playmat with his little toys, he walked through the door with anger in his eyes. We began to argue back and
forth, yelling and screaming at one another. I quickly grabbed the baby and my oldest son and
put them in the bedroom.
“Stay with your brother and do not open this door,” I told my son.
While we were fighting, I somehow had his phone in my hand. We were in the narrow grey hallway on opposite ends.
“Give me my phone!” he yelled
I took his phone, and slid it across the hardwood floor, face down. He didn’t like what I did and claimed I cracked his phone screen. Next thing I know he is charging at me down the hallway with a terrifying look in his eyes. I quickly ran to my bedroom, shut the door behind me, and locked it. On the bed behind me were my children crying. My son was holding the baby in fear. As I had my back against the door, I could feel him hitting the door with his body as hard as he could. I ran to the bed and held my children. As he hits the door, I can see it slowly starting to crack. He finally punches a hole in the door, reaches through the door, and unlocks it.
I was terrified and didn’t know what to do. All I could do was sit
was to come. Once he made it to me, he grabbed me by the back of my hair and threw me on the ground. He dragged me down the hall by my hair and back into the living room. When we got to the living room, he sat on top of me and held me down by my wrists. I try and fight back but he is too strong. I could feel the pressure of his hands get stronger and stronger; I could feel his
fingernails dig deep into my skin. After he let me go, I ran to my children and ran to my son’s room and once again locked the door. He didn’t try to come into the room and left us alone. I heard the door slam and his car sped out of the driveway. I finally felt like I could take a breath, and process what had happened. I should’ve left that night. I should’ve called the cops and had him put in jail. But a part of me still wanted nothing bad to happen to him. I still tried to make up every reason in my head to make it seem like it was my fault. If I didn’t make him mad, we wouldn’t be in this situation. If I had done better, he would never have gotten mad at me. I was truly brainwashed to think I was the problem and the reason he did these things to me.
After a few days, I convinced myself I needed to leave for the sake of my children and possibly to save my life. No matter how much I loved him I physically and mentally could not bear this abuse any longer. I called my sister and asked if my children and I could stay with her. She immediately agreed and told me to start packing my stuff. I told her I couldn’t do that if Eli was around. So, we planned for her and my other sister to come to my house after Eli went to work and we would fit what we could in their cars. I was scared and worried about what would happen if he even knew I was plotting something like this, but this was something I had to do.
The day my sister came I had already fit what I could in laundry baskets, trash bags, totes and duffle bags. I had everything ready by the door. We all moved as quickly as possible to stuff the cars with everything. While I’m in the bedroom gathering the last of my things I hear Eli’s voice, his mom yelling, and his cousins all in the living room. My worst nightmare. As I walk out they begin to ask me what is going on. I explain to them how Eli and I have been fighting and how he keeps putting his hands on me. I tell them it’s just not working out and I need to leave. His mom then begins to yell in my face telling me I’m “no good” and to just go. I tried to make my way through the door and his family kept begging me to stay. Everyone but Eli tried
their hardest to convince me to stay. If he loved me and wanted to keep our family together I would think he would’ve fought a little harder for me.
I grabbed the last basket and put it on the porch. I told his family thank you for everything they have done for me and for accepting me for who I was. The hardest part was leaving knowing I would no longer have them in my life. I grew close to his family and enjoyed being around them. Even though his mom was upset with me I still hugged her and apologized to her. Even though she and I had a lot of problems throughout the years she became a mother figure to me and taught me things I would carry with me forever. It was a very sad moment for us all. Eli couldn’t look at me and never once apologized or asked me to stay.
I get in my sister’s car with my two kids and we drive away. I knew things weren’t going to be easy and I was going to have to start from nothing. I had no job, no money, not even a car of my own and only a high school education. I felt helpless and like I made the wrong choice.
Living with my sister taught me how to do things on my own and be a real adult. But even though I was away from Eli, I still missed him. I missed my home and would think about the good times we had together. To this day I believe he and I would be together if he got help and had his anger under control. If he had fought for me the day I left and made me feel like he had remorse for what he did I would have stayed. I would force the idea of therapy as a couple and hope we would find new ways to deal with our issues in the relationship.
Here I am today five years later and living my life free and happy. I made it out of that toxic relationship and have a new value of self-worth. It took me a long time to get to where I am. I do have times when I miss being with him and wish things never got to that point but then I tell myself if it didn’t happen when it did who knows what could have happened. I remain civil and co-parent with him for the sake of my children. If we get into a disagreement I find myself becoming anxious and shaky, thinking he can still hurt me when he’s mad. I try to avoid conflict with him as much as I can because I still fear him and what he can do. Today I still endure him
controlling me and talking to me with disrespect.
PTSD is a real thing and something I still struggle with. There are times when I can hear his voice in my head telling me,” No one will ever love you.” I still struggle with my body image and wear baggy loose-fitting clothing to hide my body figure because of the body shaming I endured. I find it hard to look at myself naked in the mirror without being disgusted with myself. Starving myself isn’t as frequent but I still tend to do it in hopes of losing weight that I can’t afford to lose. Dazing out and battling the thoughts in my head is a daily struggle. Pulling myself out of bed and finding the strength and positive mindset to care for my children is a daily battle. This may be something that will take a while for me to get ahold of but I am working on it every day.
All I ever wanted was to be loved by him, to be good enough. I will always ask myself WHY. Why was I not enough to be loved? Why was I not worthy of being treated with respect? Why was everything I did wrong? Why was it so hard to love me? I always hope that he will find happiness one day with someone else he can control and manipulate.
I know now that I am strong, I deserve love, I am not worthless.
Stephanie Yarema is a student at Cedar Crest College.