Chapter 4

I thought it couldn’t get any worse. But it could. And it did. Much worse. 

During those infamous two weeks of March in 2020, schools were closed. Son2, age 14, came to stay with me and Son1 in a shared rental in Grass Valley. Son1 was out from the grips of the child-molesting cult, and I was glad to have them both safe, under the same roof. 

Then, Son2 started saying the most horrific things to me. He would yell, “Why doesn’t anyone like you? What's wrong with you? Why doesn’t your family like you? Why don’t you have a job? Why can’t you [insert some positive attribute]? 

I pleaded with Son2 to stop. Day after day. I tried to reason with him: I calmly explained to him that I had health conditions: chronic fatigue and migraines that made managing stress almost impossible. Son2 saw that after his outbursts I would be bedridden, for days. My body ached even more, which prevented me from sleeping, which prevented me from handling stress appropriately… I was getting worse by the day. 

I couldn’t to help Son2 figure out his Zoom video class schedule, nor wake him for it. I was in horrible pain and unable to find any rest. I became angry at Son2's abuse. I drank wine to calm down and keep me from crying out, in the house that wasn’t ours. I finally told Son2 that his words were incredibly hurtful, and he needed to go stay with their dad if he couldn’t stop the toxic abuse. I called it what it was. 

The landlord of the shared home let me know that he was very uncomfortable with how Son2 would treat me. But mainly, the landlord was not happy that I couldn’t take the dogs outside, and they would poop and pee in his house. 

Both my sons had concluded that I deserved no respect. It was obvious that they had been convinced that I didn’t deserve help when requested and didn’t deserve their empathy[1]. I thought that they had cemented this mindset while talking with my brother or my mother-in-law. But it wasn’t them. 

Every time I asked for anything, Son1 would respond, ‘I love you’ and leave.

Son2 would say, “No. That’s why nobody likes you. You always play the victim. Nobody believes you.” 

I would pray. But I was so much in spiritual debt that my prayers went unanswered. 

Son2 couldn’t stop the abuse. I was honest and told Son2 that I wasn’t able to take care of him until I got better. I told Son2 that he was being a bully. Nothing worked.

I called their dad and arranged a meeting time. A friend of mine drove us, in my car, to meet my ex as I was physically unable to drive us safely.

On the way to meet the boys’ father, my ex spoke with Son2 over my car’s Bluetooth speaker. Son's dad was asking Son2 loaded questions, pushing Son2 into an impossible situation, because there was literally no right way to respond. 

I was stunned by what his dad asked next. I couldn’t stay silent. I interrupted his litany of accusations. “Do you remember I told him why Son2 can’t stay with me right now? That Son2's words were so hurtful, and the resulting stress was so overwhelming that it was preventing me from functioning?” 

(Both) Son's dad responded: “Of course. That is why Son2 can’t live with you right now.” 

I continued: “Son2 was asking me the exact same loaded questions that you are now asking him.”

My ex started seething. He expressed anger and resentment that he was on Bluetooth speaker, and that I had heard what he said to our son. There was nothing more to be said. We agreed to meet at our spot in 30 minutes and hung up. 

Son2 begged to stay with me. 

‘I just… can’t.’ I meekly said. I felt a hot dagger go straight into my heart. 

 My heart was broken for Son2. He was not thriving while living with his dad and future stepmom. Son2 was not sleeping, not talking, losing weight, playing video games all night, and not attending any of his Zoom classes. 

Within a week my long-term disability insurance cut my benefits, again. Son1 and I had to find a new place to live. But first I found a good home for my beloved but neglected big dogs. Yes, the same ones I promised to care for forever when I adopted them. I felt like a loser. 

I experienced the deepest anguish I had ever known. An utter emptiness in my soul, as I pinned for Son1's own soul. I couldn’t stop thinking that Son2 was forced to live in a toxic environment, one that I myself couldn’t endure for 2 short weeks. I thought about calling CPS (child protective services), but chances were good that wherever he ended up would be worse than where he was. It wasn’t fair. My heart was broken. My chest hurt constantly, and I couldn’t breathe normally. I would go to bed in severe emotional pain and wake up with severe emotional pain. I wanted the pain to stop so I could focus on getting better and then be able to be a mother to my beloved sons.  

So, one fine day, I unleashed holy hell on my ex. In my self-righteous indignation, I demanded that he treat Son2 as if he is one of his beloved children. I should have expected the consequences. Son2 was subject to the wrath of his dad and stepmom. Punishment by narcissists is always harsher than a non-sociopath can imagine. My ex instructed Son2 that he was not to tell me anything that happened to Son2 while living under their roof. 

Son2 was angry at me because he was punished severely as only a narcissist can punish. Neither Son2, nor Son1, nor my ex would text or call me back for several months. 

Yeah… it was a lot. Daily I begged God to let me "learn my lesson fast" because I knew I was being tested and refined… by fire. 

Meanwhile, I was looking for a safe place to live. I moved in with a Christian landlord and was paying $750 per month for a tiny bedroom in his 3-bedroom home. It wasn’t even a week later that he asked me to leave because I went out on a date. I was able to stay in an Airbnb home but was quickly running out of money. 

The only redeeming quality I seemed to have maintained was my sense of humor. I began filming daily selfie videos, each one capturing a fresh disaster story all while laughing at the drama and chaos of my new horrific life. Brutal. Holy. Comedy. 

[1] I’m not saying I disagree.