A Cry For Help

A Cry For Help
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1960


As early as living at McGraw St. seven years into the marriage, in 1955, I sought counseling for a relationship gone sour. I went to Family Service, where Aunt Wanda was getting help. It was a beginning, but it was not enough.

My husband had absolutely no time for family. He was so wrapped up in his guns, ammunition re-loading and hunting that he had no time for us. Actually, I know now that he was totally wrapped up in himself and his own desires. For a long time I thought it was because he came from a poor family, from the wrong side of the tracks, and was just trying to make up for those years by letting hunting absorb all his time and thoughts and energy. He was either, gone or preparing to be gone on hunting trips. There was no interaction with family life, except to anticipate his next trip away from us.

“You can’t just wait until the kids are sixteen to take up with them. If you do that, they won’t have time for you. The tables will be reversed.”

It fell on deaf ears.

By 1960, shortly after my hysterectomy, we went together to Pastor Garman for counseling, (Christ Lutheran) who said *we were beyond his help* and he suggested we see Dr. David Lester in Hillcrest. One of the reasons *we were beyond his help* was that I’d been told by my husband that after the hysterectomy I didn’t feel the same physically. A lot I could do about that after the fact. Here, my mother had told me the surgery was due to sin in my life, and now he was telling me it had ruined anything we had together, which was not a whole lot. I was devastated.

Ben refused to go to the Psychologist. I went for 18 months to two years. I nit-picked my way through most of the sessions, blaming Ben for everything that went wrong in my life. What I couldn’t come to grips with was that I had made an error in choosing him in the first place, (see my story Pretenders to The Faith) and then I could not accept the fact that he killed my love for him with his actions. Angry outbursts over nearly everything I did.

I believed that marriage was a sacrament and vows were forever. For sure, I heard enough from my mother of the old proverb ‘You made your bed…now lie in it!’ Meaning…you made your choice, you’re stuck with it. Power Over or verbal abuse, is a killer. It kills the response of affection or sexual drive. It kills respect for the other person and respect for yourself in ‘taking it’. It kills the will to go on struggling in the situation.

After muddling through counseling for what I thought was eternity, because the verbal abuse was getting worse, one day I jumped up from my chair in Dr. Lesters office and shouted “I hate his guts!”

“That was a long time coming, but you’re going to get better now that you’ve admitted it.” Dr. Lester said, folding up the piles of papers in my chart.

“What? A Christian girl hating someone? I married my mother! This has just been more of the same!”

The flood gates had opened, and I consider this a good thing, otherwise, had I continued to stuff my feelings, it would have ruined my life totally. It was only the beginning. The rest is confidential.

One other good thing that came out of the counseling was that Dr. Lester gave me a barrage of tests and I came out with the educational equivalent of three and half years of college. I had continued to go to Adult Ed through all those years, honing my skills as a bookkeeper, a writer, a political activist (see my story 1990 Book Larnin’) But, due to the verbal abuse I had been brain-washed into believing that I was no good for anything. It is amazing to me that even though you know a thing is not true, if you hear it enough you begin to believe it, it’s insidious, but that’s a fact of life.

Whether my cry for help was too little too late, or whether the old adage ‘It Takes Two To Tango’ figured into it, it takes two people working and striving at marriage to make it a succeed.

The marriage dissolved in 1963. It died a slow death.

Due to a healing of memories, I no longer cry over the past. I cried for help back then. I got it. I no longer beat myself up over the past. Whether memories are good or bad they are to be learned from. Hopefully I have learned from the past and I have moved on.

If you ever find yourself crying out for help, do whatever it takes to get it. That’s why it’s important for us to leave a road map for the next generation. That’s why my stories have value…not just as memories, but as help in learning about our family. You have our DNA…and as my family practitioner Dr. Salley says, “You’re only working with about 20%...the rest came through your genes!”

Remember, a cry for help is a good thing…it means if need be you’re willing to change!