An Open Letter To the mother of my abuser (AKA: My Mother-In-Law)

The question I keep getting asked when I talk about this ongoing abuse from my husband is, did his mom know? 

Yeah. Of course she did. I’ve come to her so many times. When he left me without food or water, and unable to go to the bathroom for the better part of a day right after my gallbladder removal, I called her first for help. 

This is why he says he’s so mad at me now. Because I told his family about his mental health issues. That’s a way an abuser keeps you isolated. “If you tell anyone about these shameful things I am going through, I will never ever forgive you.” And if you’re someone who sees the good in people, someone who believes that if they can just be kind enough, good enough, and magic enough they can truly genuinely help– you don’t want to make it harder on them. They need someone they can trust while they’re going through this, after all.

His mom listened to me cry for a while, watched me hide from her son on Facetime, and then, when I bought her a ticket to come out here and just help me, she missed her flight.

His dad blocked me when I called for help looking for his son after getting a suicide note and him disappearing in the middle of the night. He had work the next day and no time for his kid’s drama.

I guess you don’t rock the narcissistic tendencies of a classic abuser without a bang up origin story, so this all tracks.

But I am still upset about it.

To My Mother-In-Law,

From one woman to another. From someone who truly knows the inside-out way this man’s brain works, where were you?

Where were you when he used grocery money to pay for a hooker while I was out of town speaking at a conference trying to make more of that grocery money?

Where were you when he asked for a woman to pee on him in that craigslist ad?

Where were you when I told you he was addicted to video games that Christmas eve? When I begged you for help getting him away from them?

Where were you when I told you of yet another failed career attempt and how he needed help finding his way?

Where were you when I told you he pushed me down?

Where were you when I told you he pulled a knife on me?

Where were you when I told you he was suicidal? That he drove his car at speeds of 150+ miles an hour and had several warrants out for his arrest?

Where were you? Why did you miss your flight when I begged you to come and help us? To come save him?

That’s the worst part. Every time I asked you for help… up until I physically couldn’t move after my gallbladder surgery, it was to help him. I never asked for it for me.

I asked you to help him find his way.

I asked you what would make him happy.

I asked you how I could help? Who I could talk to you?

I came to you again and again lost. And again and again you shrugged and left me to deal with him.

He’s your son. Why did you leave this for me? Why did you do this to me? You raised him to be the man he is today. Not me.

I needed your help. I could have sent him to jail, but I didn’t. I sent him to anger management for months and months. I still owe on that. It’s thousands and thousands of dollars. That’s where he met his newest girlfriend.

Can I send you that bill? Do you think you could maybe cover at least that for me?

How could you raise such a monster and then just leave me to deal with it. How can you do this to me? How could you be the one who knew all this time… every single thing I’ve been through and say nothing, do nothing.

Oh, and if you do respond? Why lie to me that you haven’t spoken to him in days when I can see the phone numbers texting back and forth on the phone bill?

Why is it that you and your son even make me have to know that is a thing? Why is that something I know?

I needed help. You let me down. Time ang again. Woman to woman, I deserved so much better.

Thanks, I guess,

Jamie