December will always and forever be the month I celebrate and give thanks for Mom’s pecan pie recipe and my personal freedom. It was four years ago when I finally made the decision to leave my abuser. I awoke from a six and a half year fog and knew I was done having chaotic, heartbreaking holidays.
I was looking forward to Thanksgiving in 2017, excited to have a convection oven and make one more attempt to make a favorite holiday dessert of mine, pecan pie from my mom’s personal recipe collection. I woke up early and got started as soon as I could to avoid being in the abuser’s way when he began baking the ham. Unfortunately, the pie wouldn’t set in the amount of time and temperature I had set it for. Once it was obvious my efforts were failing, I was overcome with disappointment and panic.
I had never had so much trouble baking pecan pies before I met him. I’m certain that this time, the small oven played a part in the misfortune. I tried putting foil around the crust to prevent it from burning and leaving an open circle to continue exposing the filling to the heat. I turned up the temperature and waited, hoping for a beautiful, perfectly baked and flavorful pie.
“What is taking so long,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know, I did everything exactly as the recipe instructed but it’s still not done,” I responded in frustration. I don’t remember the exact words of the rest of the conversation, but it quickly became evident my panic was totally justified. I knew if things weren’t just so, he would explode and make this another holiday to remember. Let the chaos ensue!
He spewed hateful, critical, demeaning words at me, even quoting passages from the bible to reinforce his idea of how terrible of a person I was; reminiscent of the many times he literally spit in my face. Where would it end this time? Would he keep me awake with his insults all night and blame me in the morning when I was finally too exhausted to stand my ground against his outrageous claims? Would I get tired of his shit, react aggressively, and submit to his obvious desire for a physical fight? Would he pretend nothing happened and hope I bring it up, so he can tell me I can’t just let shit go or keep the past in the past? Would he force me to kiss and make up? Would he strangle me and make me beg for my life again?
Trauma responses are unpredictable with all of the variables in any threatening/frightening situation, but especially in abusive relationships. I never chose the same response, because I never knew exactly what his punishment for my reactions (whether fight, flight, fawn, or freeze) would be. That day, though, I knew no matter what the risk or the punishment was, my choice was finally freedom.
We somehow managed to finish cooking Thanksgiving dinner. We delivered plates full of food to our neighbors, who were home alone for the holiday with no traditional meal. Performing false acts of kindness was so often his excuse for treating me like his handmaid. I became deaf to his excuses as I fantasized of a life without him. There was no excuse good enough for the abuse he inflicted on me, never again would I accept it.
It took a few weeks of trying to convince him to leave, before I finally found a safe place for me and my dog to flee to. This Thanksgiving was spent with my amazing husband, his loving family, and my parents. We celebrated Christmas early with the same group and the continuing tradition of singing Christmas songs together. Here I am, the last day of the last month of the 2021, free to joyfully celebrate each day (including holidays) with or without pecan pie (perfect or not), but most definitely without daily fear, chaos, or abuse.
Thank you to my husband for showing me what true love looks like, his family for accepting me for exactly who I am. I appreciate the countless friends and family members who planted the seeds that helped guide me out of the fog and the ones I’ve made or reconnected with who treat me as well as they did twenty plus years ago. Of course, I’m also thankful to my parents for loving me through my bad decisions, and my mom for the pecan pie recipe that I’m free to try to bake again anytime I wish, or not.
