It seems very important to people for them to be able to classify us. Like ogres, and onions, and probably all of you, I have layers. How many you see under depends on a lot of factors. Personally, I have to trust you. In a public context like this, I have to trust myself. Mostly not to say anything that will hurt my custody stuff later. I’ve also reached an age where I am kind of done filtering myself for the comfort of others. This is good because my people lean toward “oversharing,” and it’s inefficient to get things done if you can’t be forthright. I’ve spent the first half of my life (I hope) observing everything and saying little. Following rules. Then I realized these “good” features were being used against me. Fuck that shit. Imma say what I’ve noticed!
My birth name was given to me by my first abuser. My middle name is after an aunt to used to be cool but got just as mean, probably due to trauma from her abusive marriages. I was kept from my father, who was a good man and tried to get custody of me when I was 2. It was harder for men to get any custody then. Since my first abuser was very much like my last, I can only imagine how nasty it was. I also disappeared to escape that woman, so solidarity, not resentment lies there.
I was moved across the country, given every last name my mother married, and did not learn my own until my uncle took care of us when my mother was not mentally able to and enrolled me in middle school. Attendance that day was confusing. I tried several times over the years to find him. Maybe I was afraid to try too hard. I was afraid he would think I was like her or acting on her behalf. I wasn’t. It looks like he died the same mm/dd one of my daughters was born. That’s enough connection or closure for me, I guess. Other than exploring ancestry (harder because it was so common) I am not particularly attached to that last name.
In Washington, you get a free name change with every divorce (it’s $400 otherwise). I know couples who changed both of their names to older (cooler) family names. It can also be a completely new name, which I opted for. Every part of my name was associated with some pain. Even my childhood nickname (a shortened version of my first name) was used throughout court filings. Abusive use of conflict. I do not refer to the other party so informally anywhere ever, post-separation.
So why Love? Part of it is a reminder. There are times I did not believe in it, at least not romantic love. My mother was suspected of Borderline Personality Disorder and a covert abuser regardless of diagnosis, I doubt she is capable of it. I have only heard the words uttered as a tool to pull me in closer to control and hurt me more. Except I noticed I seemed plenty capable of giving love.
So maybe accepting it just wasn’t for me. I was just a delivery mechanism. That works! It explains my sex drive, at any rate. A mentor slapped some sense into me (over text). I cannot imagine how frustrating it must have been to deal with me in all that. Please keep in mind I have never really seen a healthy romantic or parental relationship. Neither variety came with a manual. It was like asking a blind person to paint a beautiful landscape they’ve never even heard of to find the balance of sharing love. With the kids, it’s always been fine. They fulfill (and have repaired) a lot just by existing. By allowing me the opportunity to have a healthy parent-child relationship. It is not a child’s job to make us feel loved or validated, trap a mate, repair a relationship, act as an accessory, coparent, or anything else in service to us. It is their job to grow and learn into adults with our guidance. It is our job to keep them alive, nurture and care for them, and guide them on that journey so they can survive when we are not here to do so. My children are told and shown often they are loved. I know they love and depend on me (for now). All is well.
How about a romantic relationship where I’m not just dispensing it without my needs being met (if you think an unbalanced marriage is bad, wait til couples start trolling you for unicorn action to spice up their toxic-ass dynamic). I don’t “need” a romantic relationship (the thing we are told is the end all be all in this culture). I want to share my love and be a competent, present, not too demanding, decent partner to another human I resonate with if that’s what I’m presented with (I’m all boo’d up now). I do not chase, pursue, or beg for it or the attention I could get trying to. I live my life and meet really interesting people while doing it. Someday I’ll even figure out when they are flirting with me. A lot of people mistake my enthusiasm on any given topic for flirting. I’m a little flirty because of my sexual energy. I am not aggressive nor is it a means to an end.
This, my friends, is why I take a couple of years off after a long-term relationship ends badly. I give too many “second chances” so I’m not spending that time in sweats eating ice cream. I have processed much of what I need to and involved the other party in many discussions about it before I finally end it. One rule I’ve made for myself is that I do not return to abuse. Once identified, that person is as dead to me as legally possible. Imagine a court order forcing you to co-parent with one.
I do a relationship postmortem that examines my role as closely as theirs. If he is a nasty abuser, that’s on him. To protect myself, it’s in my best interest to understand how another one snuck in to avoid it happening in the future. It is not victim-blaming to do this. It is short-sighted not to. Learning lessons and avoiding similar outcomes we don’t enjoy is self-preservation and growth. Blaming the other person entirely, as tempting as it is, just keeps us in the same sort of cycle. We are our only constant. We can become a variable if we don’t get stuck in our ways ;).
So now that my (last) name is legally Love (we have some Valentines in the family line) people think they get to decide what it does and doesn’t mean. As I’ve mentioned before, I was afflicted with a nasty case of people-pleasing, primarily groomed for abuse by abuse from the start. The wrong sort of person prefers me best that way or assumes I should be. In the last 3 years (a boss was also abusing me the first several months of that) I stopped apologizing and explaining myself (all the time) or scurrying around like Edith Bunker (as much) trying to meet everyone’s needs. Gnat will tell you I am all about personal accountability. Honesty is more loving than blowing sunshine up someone’s ass. If you want to lie to yourself, that is your choice. If I notice, I will mention it, because I love you. My court filings further indicate I mean business about accountability based on facts, not sob stories and bullshit.
I will not dispense endless sympathy or other energy for drama people insist on bringing on themselves repeatedly. How many times does someone need to touch a hot stove before we laugh? I am permitted to have these boundaries so people do not suck me dry with their circuses and monkeys. You are an adult and do not have to take my advice or agree with my observations. Or seek me out for them. You also do not get to drown me in misery you are willing to take no action to end. However, “tough love” was bandied about by abusers in the past; it is not any more “loving” to enable someone or solve their problems for them. It is also arrogant to assume you are always the teacher in any scenario but a classroom. Depriving others of an opportunity to learn and grow seems to lead to resentment. For external validation, they’ve essentially bullied you into providing. I’ve been told this approach or philosophy is “abusive.” I am good company. Some people say the same regarding the doctor who coined the term “narcissistic abuse” in the 90s.
In my case, I’ve noted the people who think so about me seemed deeply attached to their identity of “survivor” and remaining “safe” by policing others to walk on eggshells to accommodate them. A temporary bubble for healing may be healthy and necessary, but it’s no way to live the entirety of our lives. I’ve commented before this is outsourcing their work to third parties instead of doing it themselves. I’ve been raped. Look at me using the word like a big girl. RAPED. It did not upset me to type, no emotional charge whatsoever. That does not mean it didn’t happen. It means I can be a bit robotty sometimes (Audhd), and it is only a fucking word. A word for a thing that happened to me a long time ago that happens to a lot of people all the time. It’s fucked up, but does not make me special or define me. It is a factor in my fight at the moment, so I have to use that aspect of it. If I had no children to fight for, I’d be off doing something else more fun, and have no contact whatsoever with another random abusive ex. I don’t speak to my others either.
In my case, it happened 6 years ago, mostly when I was sleeping. Given I am safe now, why should it still upset me to the point that others must filter their vocabulary to accommodate a deeply personal thing that happened 6 years later? Perhaps if I was obsessed with it, made it my identity, and turned a reasonably overgrown 6-year bunny trail neuropathway to trauma into a super highway with an express lane? Outsourced my resilience? Granted others real estate in my head, or power over my emotions long after the fact? Refused to establish boundaries to ensure I’d become retraumatized? Sounds great!
My choices seem right to me, for me. Many were suggested by therapists and friends in one way or another. I can tell because I’m not stuck there, feeling like a victim, directing others how to accommodate me or feel about it. I was initially pretty quiet about the whole hot legal mess until I realized I was by far not unique. I am merely one of the ones still standing to fight. Yes, I’m stubborn, but also that magical “resilience” is paying off for me. Not everyone has fared as well. My most vulnerable child has 10 years of childhood left. I’m not done until she is safe from being sent back.
I do think it would make great Lifetime Movie fodder. However, I may be too Autistic to make it “dramatic enough,” and Meridith Baxter Birney may be too old for my role. More importantly, someone in my situation could possibly learn from my many failures and hopefully do better sooner with less legal expense. I’ve learned from others in my situation, so it’s simply an exchange and paying forward of knowledge and ideas. I would like to change policy and/or have it followed with accountability. My case should probably be some sort of case study in how a people pleaser groomed by childhood abuse and abuser play out in the family court system that doesn’t ask enough questions or read enough evidence, simply because it’s been allowed to go on so long and in dissolution, we make a lot of assumptions. It’s rare to have 6 years of documented history to point to showing the predictions were correct.
I’ve covered why. I’ve, hopefully, mostly explained actions complete strangers assume “aren’t loving” that make me a hypocrite for choosing it. In-person, I’ve even been told I look like my name, so there’s that - it must be the widow’s peak giving heart vibes (I was robbed, story for another time). Another reason I chose it is that the first name, with middle initial (I have no full middle name now, 1:26 chance of getting it right), is also part of my DJ name, and I may choose to use my new legal name for music production or vocal work.
The last reason, you will immediately know if you’ve ever changed your name. It’s probably the reason my Grandma kept her last husband’s name post-dissolution. It’s a huge pain in the ass, and I’m never doing it again. I picked a name I’ve embodied my whole life, that was also meaningful to me in various ways and was cool enough to want to hang on to. Easy.
Bonus: As the Respondent in the original dissolution, I am forever Respondent against him in family law. Everything I file now is his last name vs Love, which is kind of how we got into this mess. He cares only about money and control. He’s shown very clearly what regard he holds “Love” of any type in. I kind of hope another abuse case references it someday.