Inspire DVM

24/03/2024

Trigger warning: Domestic abuse, addiction, leaving my marriage. Part II to the post I added last week.
Spoiler alert, 2 years later we're all doing really well.

Two Years Ago, Today
Part II
Two years ago, today, I woke up in a hotel room, where I was staying under an assumed name. I was physically safe, my loved ones were physically safe, and only a handful of people who were 100% in my camp knew where to find me, but it would be quite a while before I felt that sense of safety in my brain and body and heart.
24 hours prior, I got out of bed in the morning on the scariest day of my entire life, and went down stairs to have an early cup of coffee with one of my ride or die besties—she’d flown in from out of town to help me do what felt like a literal ride or die. After we caffienated, we started bagging up the last of the kids’ special items that I hadn’t been able to move out yet, things they would have missed if they could never get them back. Because, two years ago, I didn’t know whether I’d ever see the inside of my house again. In anticipation of this possibility, I’d moved out many of my and the kids’ personal belongings, things that were special to us and that we’d probably miss. At the end of the day, it was just stuff, but it felt like we were already losing so much, if I could keep the quilt my friend had made and that I’d rocked my babies to sleep under for the first years of their lives, or the sleepers each of them had come home from the hospital wearing, or the framed print my parents’ had given me as a gift when I graduated from vet school, I thought it might ease the sense of loss just a little. And, it probably did. It definitely gave me some feeling of security and control to be able to secretly store those things away, in my parents’ garage, covered in tarps so they wouldn’t be seen. Over the previous 6 months, I moved out an entire garage worth of stuff, carload by carload, one week at a time, all completely un-noticed by anyone else living in my house. Everything from clothes, to books, to dishes to paintings on the walls. I even moved my scrubs into my parent’s garage, I didn’t want to have to buy a whole new work wardrobe if I couldn’t get back into my house. It seems ridiculous now, but the financial strain of the coming year and a half would make me glad I didn’t have to replace them. I’d leave every morning in my sweatpants, drop off the kids at daycare, drive to my parents’ house and change, go to work, and then do it all in reverse on my way home. How this went unobserved, I’ll never know, but I’m glad it did (though, I had a story ready, just in case). I guess this is just another example of how addiction can leave someone completely unaware of their present surroundings.
Once we’d bagged up a few remaining items and loaded them into the car, my friend did a walk around to make sure all looked clear, I messaged the kids’ daycare saying they wouldn’t be attending that day, so that nobody would call anyone looking for them, then I powered off my phone and we loaded up the most important souls we were taking with us that day. I turned the key in the front door lock I’d changed earlier in the week and walked away from my home, not knowing if I’d see it again. And with 2 kids, a cat and a bestie loaded in my Ford Escape, we made our escape.
I took the cat to the clinic I work at, messaged one of my friends and asked her to meet me at the back door. I handed her the cat, gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t cry and said, “don’t ask any questions, Pete needs to board here for a while, the boss knows what’s going on, I’ll see you in a while.” Of course, my friend took the kennel, quietly and calmly, asked no questions and let me go on my way. I ran back to my car, blinking away the tears and putting a smile back on for my kids. One safely stowed away, a few more to go…
We then drove to a hotel in the next city over, I wanted to get far, far away but legally, I couldn’t go too far with our children, so the busy and unlikely adjacent city would have to do. We’d chosen a hotel with a pool for the kids, all they knew, and all they know to this day, is that we were going for a fun hotel stay with a friend. Once there, we met my parents—they needed to be there too, as I wasn’t the only one who’s life had been threatened if I ever left. The hotel gave me an assumed name: Robert Jones. I always think of this now when I ask the techs to put a Robert Jones bandage on a patient, it’s been long enough that the coincidence is kind of funny. We went up to our rooms, played games with the kids to keep them distracted and I pulled out the burner phone my dad had bought for me from the local 7-11 and messaged my besties to let them know I was out and safe. And then we waited, waited while playing with the kids, watching cartoons, taking them to the pool and ordering take-out. Waited to hear from my lawyer about when she would get to go before a judge and whether the protection order she’d apply for would be granted.
I didn’t know whether it would come through or not, but in going to court and applying for it, I was showing my hand, laying all my cards on the table. If it wasn’t granted, I would have no way of keeping my kids or I safe from the rage that was sure to ensue.
And the rage came, but so, thankfully, did the protection order. And the protection order provided a safety buffer, a promise of legal consequences if violated. It gave us all the time and space and physical safety that we needed to do the hard work of healing and rebuilding ourselves and finding a new path forward.

17/03/2024

TW: Alcoholism, addiction, domestic abuse, leaving my marriage. Spoiler alert, it all turns out okay. ❤ .....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Reflecting on where I was 2 years ago, maybe it helps someone to know they're not alone. Maybe it helps me to tell my story. Maybe it helps all of us to talk about the things we don't talk about sometimes.

Two years ago, today, was a Wednesday in the middle of the first week of spring break. I did not know when I woke up two years ago, today, that before the end of the week, I would end my marriage. I knew I needed to end my marriage, and I’d been preparing, for months, to try and secure a safe passage for myself and my children, from the chaos that had become our lives. For weeks, I’d been praying the universe would show me the door. I would lie in bed at night, and picture myself in an endlessly long, dimly lit hallway. It had a concrete floor and cinder block walls, interrupted by heavy, grey, steel doors, all of them closed. I’d be frantically trying door after door, wiggling the door k**b and slamming my body against the cold, hard metal finding it, inevitably, locked like all the ones before, my two little kids clinging to my legs as I swept them along with me from door to door. And I would visualize a bright red EXIT sign, appearing above one of the doors. We would run to it, try the k**b, and, miraculously it would open, and we would step out into an open field, or a beautiful beach or a quaint suburban street lined with cheerful houses and filled with the sounds of kids laughing and playing. I was as ready as I was going to be, and it was time. Time to hand over the reins to fate and my legal team and let go of the things I could not control. Time to put my trust in the system, or God, or the universe, or those who had gone before, or wherever it is that we put our trust when we choose to believe that it’s all going to be okay. It was time to allow myself and my children to be carried on the shoulders of the people supporting us, some of whom were painfully aware they were carrying us, and some of whom were oblivious to our struggles and simply supported us by being their beautiful selves and serving as a constant reminder that people are good. It was time for the exit door to appear, for me to grab my kids and my cat, and escape in my Escape. It was time to get the eff out.

For the 18 months leading up to two years ago today, I’d been building up myself and my support system, making safety plans and working through what-ifs. I’d been trying to forgive myself for ending up in such a situation and for not wanting to stay in it. And, I’d been getting a handle on the absolutely paralyzing fear I’d felt around leaving. It took time, tears, and so much effort. I’d sit in my car, across the street from my work place, labouring in secret moments of privacy and safety when nobody knew where I was. My kids were safe in their wonderful daycare, work thought I was home, home thought I was at work. But I was in my car, wearing my scrubs, working on my lap top until it ran out of batteries or I ran out of strength for the day or it was time to shift back to happy mommy mode and go pick up my kids. During those times in my car, I was dropping photos I’d taken in unobserved moments at home. Photos of dozens of binged empty beer cans in our kitchen recycling bin and broken lamps, plates, railings and vacuums, all casualties of the addiction that lived in our home. I was dropping these photos into the factual recounting of events that I’d been tracking as a way to try and ensure that my children would be safe and would never, ever have to be around such things again after we made our exit. Because I had come to learn that it wasn’t enough to shield them from it in the moment. I tried, oh, I tried. I did not want to leave my marriage. I did everything I could to stay. I begged, I cried, I threatened, I yelled, I ignored, I put up hard boundaries and flexible boundaries, I went to counselling alone and as a couple. But, in the end, I could not see a way to stay AND keep my children safe. Because, even though I never left them alone with the addiction that lived in our home, I could not shield them from it either. My presence did not stop them from witnessing the dysfunction that was the relationships between the two most important adults in their lives. And I had lost touch with myself, nearly completely. There was a tiny little vestige of the real me still present inside me, but years of walking on egg shells and keeping secrets and putting on a brave face had made me almost unrecognizable to myself. I was at risk of losing that tiny little kernel of me that remained and then, who would I be?

Two years ago, today, I knew, as I do now, that leaving was the only possible course of action. It wasn’t so much a choice, as the path I was set on. In order to save myself and my children, I had to walk away from my marriage. Two years ago, today, I chose to trust, as I do now, that l would be supported, by my own skills and strengths, by the people holding me up and by the universe that connects us all. I chose to trust that it would all turn out okay. The universe had my back, and, though I didn’t know it two years ago, today, she was about to show me the exit door I had been praying for.

26/07/2023

www.inspiredvm.ca/blog/im-back

I’m back, which means InspireDVM is back… I’ve been ruminating on ways to make our work life, as veterinarians in clinical practice, better. Because, if you generally like your job, it’s easier to go back to that job every day for a good many years and it’s also easier to generally like yo...