'For six years, me and my husband had separate rooms. Then he wrote me a letter.'

This post discusses domestic violence and might be triggering for some readers.

I am living a movie.

Each day there is a new set with new players and while for some part, I have taken centre stage; I am merely a supporting act in a show that’s so terrifying and unpredictable, no one quite knows how or when it will end. 

I have lost my home, marriage, $104,000 in legal fees and counting, almost $1million in reckless financial decisions by my ex-husband and many more months to go. But my two beautiful boys are healthy and safe in my care, and I could not wish for anything more than that.

Watch: Coercive control is a deliberate pattern of abuse. Story continues after video.

In the last year of our six-year relationship, my ex-husband and I had our own rooms. One evening, after putting my 18-month-old to sleep beside me, my then husband entered the room. In his hand an iPad with a letter he would recite to me without eye contact or any further conversation.

The letter said I had to leave our house (the house I half owned, furnished, found for us, and mortgaged against my wages) in seven days. I could not take the children and if I didn’t leave in that week, he would have me forcibly removed by the police and courts. He told me I had no chance of getting access to the kids or the house and should not waste my energy trying. He would retain the children I had grown inside me, the home I had created, and do whatever he could to ensure I did not get my hands on either of those again. He planned to destroy me, something he later admitted in a raw confessional on that same iPad.

In the weeks prior to this, he had been stalking me, monitoring my movements, refused to let me be alone with the boys or take them anywhere outside the house. If the boys and I went upstairs to play, he would appear, if we went to our tiny terrace garden to play, he would appear. When I mustered the courage to go outside with my youngest to chat with the neighbours, he confronted me and demanded I hand over the child. Standing over me with his 187cm frame until I gave up the babe in my arms. This was heartbreaking. I had nursed these children, breastfed them until they could walk. I carried them in my womb and loved them like only a mother can love. He would say, ‘you know, you can’t have the children on your own, stop causing a scene’. When the neighbours would question him, he’d tell them to mind their own business. They were visibly shocked that this man of almost 60, with a polished English accent, who they knew as a Cambridge scholar with high moral standards, had a very dark side – and this was no longer in hiding. I'm 23 years younger than my ex-husband. 

Before this, I would not call myself a feminist. While I still believed women were good, I had been told daily that women are bad, evil, on a jealous mission to destroy men. I was shamed for being a woman. When I became pregnant, I was told to enjoy the kind treatment for nine months as it would not last. I thought this was a joke, but once I gave birth, it all began to unravel. He had what he wanted and would do everything possible to rob me of motherhood, my self-esteem and dignity.

You see, according to this man I shared my life with, the patriarchy was the reason for everything good in the world. And so-called attempts to dismember the patriarchy, would result in global doom and destruction of the entire human race.

I often wonder what sort of father he would be if he had girls. It was ironic. He had boys, but wished for girls. He continues to fear for our son’s lives, believes they are doomed to a life of oppression and horror, and has little hope they will amount to anything much. He believes white males are the most oppressed in the world and our boys have no chance of survival.

I stayed. I didn’t leave within those seven days and nothing happened. I was not forcibly removed. However, the situation did escalate. His behaviour intensified and the justice system could not keep up. The police took out an AVO to protect the children and I after two physical incidents, but there was insufficient evidence to remove him from the home. The domestic violence advocacy service worked with the police to strengthen the protection, but a mastermind manipulator, with a high IQ and decades spent coercing women, is hard to outrun.

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So I fled. I did what they do in the movies. I did what I had only ever seen in the movies, took those two beautiful boys and moved to a refuge. Bags hidden at the neighbours' house. Police on standby. And me, walking with two children and what would be our only future possessions, up the street to hail a cab. Only when I got moving would the address be released to me and I would truly be on my way to start a new life. Those bags, few toys and the children’s two bikes strapped to my back were heavy, but I felt a lightness as I weaved the pram through the tiny streets to get a cab.

But what I want you to know is this. 

The courts won’t save you. 

The police can’t save you.

The justice system is flawed, drawn out, and will rob you of courage, strength and the pennies you have left. 

I fought for the children. I got them.

I fought for our home and lost.

The courts decided I was the fit parent, but that their father was too unfit to move out, so he kept the house.

Instead, a single mother, on unpaid leave from her job, in fear of her husband, was made homeless by the courts.

But I have my boys, a community that cares so much for us, family, friends and many others journeying with me. 

We will get there in the end, but at least for now we have a roof, food and each other.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons.

If this has raised any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, please call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service. 

Feature Image: Getty.