Raising Awareness About Abuse and Narcissism

I want to share with you all, a short story that we read and discussed in one of my group sessions a few weeks ago. It is a disturbing story, but one that describes what my situation was like when I was pregnant. And one that describes many situations I am sure.

I hope that this story can make people realize how many women out there are just "living" with the abuse and trying to keep the peace for their childrens sake. I hope that this story gets you thinking and I am hoping that some of you will share your comments and opinions as to what you think about it.

MISPLACE COMPASSION
BY SHIRLEY OBERG

She picked her way painfully through the littered living room strewn with the debris of his violence. With a muffled groan she sank into the brown stuffed chair crossing her hands on her swollen pregnant stomach. She had to rest a minute before putting everything aright. The kids would be up in a few minutes. Three children, and not one of them ever slept past seven.

Under her hands, the baby moved. Looking down she noticed that her wrists were swollen and bruised. He had grabbed her wrists and twisted her to her knees. Her body was awakening to the sore spots. Time later to assess the damage. Imperative now to get the house in order so the kids wouldn't notice. Get the water on for cereal. Start the coffee. Make things right, normal. Drawing in a determine breath, she pulled herself out of the chair.

A dozen aching deeds later, she heard him in the bathroom. She glanced nervously around. Everything was set aright; Judy sent cheerfully off to school, Alice and Tony seated in front of the TV, a broken mirror and glasses tidily disposed of, a pot of leftovers simmering into soup on the stove.

The kitchen filled with his presence, but she did not turn around from the sink. A chair scraped the floor and creaked under his weight.

"Do you want some coffee?" she asked, staring into the tile above the sink.

He didn't answer. The baby moved heavily in her stomach. Glancing over her shoulder she saw his brooding face as she stared out the window. Her hands continued washing plates and glasses, as the sinking feeling settled into her.

"What's wrong?"

"it's no use," his voice was heavy with defeat. "I'm letting the garage go"

"No. You can't"

The ramshackle building down on Fifth STreet proclaiming "ARTS CRAFT; BODY SHOP AND SMALL ENGINE REPAIR" in bright red letters across the top had been his dream for five years. Five years of seemingly endless sacrifice.

"Can't we just make partial payments on these bills?" she asked.

"No." He shoved the chair back in disgust. "Too little, too late." Running his hand through his hair he snorted, "How in the hell can I get ahead by making payments? I can't even support this family on what the shop is making."

Not looking at her, he took the cup of coffee held out to him.

"Let the bastards foreclose." He turned and stared out the window in studied defeat.

Bracelets of pain clasped her wrists as she wrung the dish cloth and started wiping down the counter.

"We can't give up now, Art" She made her voice determined.

"We," he mimicked with a pointed clance at her stomach, then glaring out the window.

"Don't worry," she said brightly, her mind racing. "You don't have to give up the shop. I know where we can get the money"

His look was half suspicious, half incredulous.

"Where?"

"From my dad," she plunged forward before he could object. "He called yesterday and said if there was anything he could do for us to let him know, he would be glad to help."

"He said that? I thought he didn't like me"

"Oh, don't be silly", she lied cheerfully, "that's just the way he is. He thinks you're one of the hardest working men he knows."

Watching the relief smooth out the tension on his face, she kep her reassuring smile stuck firmly in place while he gathered up his jacket and tools.

With his red and white cap perched back on his head he gave her a wink and a wave from the car, and gunning the engine to show his excitement, squealed out, once again in charge of his world.

Soon she could rest. Take the two kids with her into the big bed, and they would all take a two-hour nap.

But quickly, before her courage failed she dialed the phone.

"Dad? Hi, it's Laura"

"Really?"

"I know. It's been a long time. How are you? Good, that's good. I'm glad. Me?" As she gripped the phone, pain rippled up her arm. "Oh, fine. We're just fine. The kids are doing great. Except..." She laughed nervously. "I'm pregnant again. Which is why I'm calling Dad..."

I find this short story to be very though prevoking and disturbing.

Any comments or thoughts?