Journey Towards the Light

Journey Towards The Light

By Suzanne Haslam

Edited by Chris Newton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©Suzanne Haslam, June 2011

MEMOIRS Cirencester

Published by Memoirs

Memoirs Books

25 Market Place, Cirencester, Gloucestershire, GL7 2NX

info@memoirsbooks.co.uk

www.memoirsbooks.co.uk

First published in England, June 2011

ISBN 978-1-908223-20-3

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of Memoirs.

Contents

CHAPTER 1 The end of a marriage

CHAPTER 2 Leaving

CHAPTER 3 Spiritual Awakenings

CHAPTER 4 Aftermath

CHAPTER 5 Majorcan sanctuary

CHAPTER 6 The Puig

CHAPTER 7 A helping hand from Spirit

CHAPTER 8 Making contact

CHAPTER 9 Positive and negative

CHAPTER 10 Escaping from the past

CHAPTER 11 A fresh start

CHAPTER 12 The journey home

About Suzanne Haslam

Suzanne Haslam lives in Cheshire with her partner George and young son Jacob, Billy the dog and Annie the cat. Apart from working as a part-time midwife and inspirational speaker on issues surrounding domestic violence, most of Suzanne’s time is devoted to caring for Jacob, who was diagnosed with cerebral palsy in May 2011. She is currently writing a further book inspired by Spirit and her son for parents whose children have additional needs, which will deal with how, as parents and citizens, we can help them to reach their full potential.

If you would like to share your experiences with Suzanne please email her at Suzannehaslam@hotmail.com.

Acknowledgments

I would like to give a special ‘thank you’ to the following for inspiring or supporting me:

George, Ursula Harding and Lilian, Debbie and Emma Hartell, Jane Francis and family, my late grandmother Molly Bramhall, Sally Parkinson and family, Beatrice Talma, Helene and Lynda, Derek and Gwen Acorah, Sally Sharpley, Lorraine Perry & family.

I would also like to thank Chris Newton and Tony Tingle at Memoirs Books for all their time and effort in helping in the production of the book. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the healers and helpers of the spirit world. In the bleakest of times you were always there for me – a massive thank you.

I would like to make a special dedication to my late grandmother Marion Emery, who has always been there for me and who unfailingly continues to support me – you are simply my special ‘guardian angel’ – thank you.

Chapter 1

The end of a marriage

As I sat in the waiting room listening for the call to see my GP, I was trying desperately to stay calm and controlled. It was no use. My body was shaking uncontrollably and sweat was pouring off me.

The doctor will see you now, Suzanne, said the receptionist, and I made my way unsteadily into the room. I had brought my friend Andrea from work with me, but now I asked her to stay in the waiting room so that I could talk to the doctor in confidence. He had always been a wonderful doctor to me and my family, the old-fashioned type who always had the time for us and knew each of us personally. But as I sat on the chair, I could barely get the words out.

I’m leaving my husband, I mumbled.

I could tell that he was horrified at the state I was in. I was seriously ill, emotionally and mentally.

You need some time off he said. I’ll give you a sick note.

Thank you I replied. That was all. I got to my feet and walked out. I can tell you the exact date and time when my life changed forever; 5

pm on March 19, 1998. That was the moment when I took the first step towards leaving the husband who had been abusing me for the past nine years. They call it domestic abuse these days, the one-in-four statistic. I had become that one in four, that cold statistic. I had been on an emotional and mental meltdown for quite some time, but just hadn’t realised it.

As I walked home, thoughts were flooding into my head. How was I going to do this? Where would I go? Where would I stay? How would I live? One thing was certain – I knew I would have do it very carefully to prevent any more damage to myself and my health. I would have to do it as safely and quietly as possible.

Oddly enough, some six hours previously I had felt fine. I had known that morning that I had to leave him, could sense that if I didn’t it would get physical. I had arranged to meet Andrea at her home that afternoon. I trusted her and knew she would be able to advise me.

She asked me whether I was frightened of him, and I told her I was terrified. Leave him, she said. You have to go.

That was all I needed – a few words of strength, a glimmer of hope and support, to tell me I was doing the right thing, to enable me to leave the situation behind forever.

I had rung my mother straight after the appointment, telling her of my decision and explaining that the relationship had not been what she might have imagined. On the way back I stopped at my parent’s house, went in and sat on the sofa. I was feeling a rising sense of panic. I was terrified. My pulse was running at 160 and I was sweating profusely. I began to feel the onset of the first of many panic attacks. I couldn’t breathe. I just kept saying over and over I don’t feel well, please help me.

My mum didn’t really know what to say or do; she just said Oh well, if you’re happier without him.

Looking back, the onset of my breakdown was like a lid being taken off a giant pressure cooker. It had been simmering and bubbling away for some time. Telling those close to me about the abuse had somehow allowed it to lift right off. Now it was all in the open, and I was no longer hiding from the truth about my marriage. My mind and my body had had as much as they could take. I had to get out – just to survive.

The night before seeing the doctor I had told John that I was going to take a break from the relationship for a few days. In reality I was slowly edging out of it altogether. He seemed taken aback and a bit confused, as if like he didn’t know what was happening. I had then left to spend the evening with a friend. So it was with a sense of dread that I walked back home that day after seeing the doctor.

John was waiting for me. He said nothing, but his body language spoke volumes. The silence felt even worse than the barrage of abuse I’d been getting. At least with verbal abuse it’s out in the open – you know where you stand, what they are thinking, how bad it’s going to be.

I crept into the spare bedroom and put myself to bed. I don’t think I had more than an hour’s sleep that night. Most of the time I just lay there, praying he would leave me alone. I stayed still and quiet as I had done so many times before – a survival technique, you might call it.

I didn’t leave straight away; I needed to do it slowly. I suppose I was managing the situation, managing him, managing myself. I was also trying to hang on to what was left of my health. I later learned that for survivors of domestic abuse the point of exit is the most dangerous time. That’s the moment when the abuser’s controlling behaviour can suddenly go over the top. At all costs I had to avoid a sudden crisis.

How far would he go? What further damage could he do to me? I felt absolutely terrified.

We had got married on October 21, 1988, with all the hopes and dreams of every married couple. We’d been happy, at first. We had been together a good two years before we tied the knot, and he had been respectful and courteous. I had no reason to worry about having a relationship with him, no seeds of doubt, no misgivings.

Over the next five years, that all changed.

We married fairly young – I was 20, he was 24 – but it felt right. We got hitched at the local registry office with just a handful of guests – money was scarce and I didn’t want anything elaborate anyway. I’ve never liked a big fuss. I had just entered my second year as a student nurse, and he was out of work. But we were happy, and he treated me well.

We weren’t in a position to buy our own place, so we moved into a flat above my parents’ shop and he started working for them. They had built up a thriving retail business through sheer hard graft, and looking back I suppose they felt obliged to give him work to help both of us out. He was to carry on working for them for the next 16 years.

We bought our first home a couple of years later, a little two-bedroomed house on a new estate. My parents were so impressed by it that they bought their own home there a year later, so by the time we split they were living round the corner from us.

John got on well with my folks – he liked them and they liked him. His family lived abroad, and I think my parents made more of an effort because he didn’t have the support of his own family around him. They took him under their wing, in effect.

His parents were decent hardworking people with a lot of time for me, and for us as a couple. We would try and visit them in his home country at least twice a year and his mum would always make a big fuss of us and go out of her way to make me feel part of the family. He had a sister, who was married and was also living abroad. I met her only twice. She was a decent, quiet, unassuming person, and we got on well together.

His dad, however, had quite a temper, and I would sometimes witness violent rows between his parents, both at their home and in the shop they ran. It must have been normal for them. His mum always looked sullen and unhappy, as if she was putting up with a great deal from him. I was there once when his father called her a ‘fucking shit’ to her face. I just kept my head down and made myself scarce. I never saw John defend his mother.

His sister came to visit us once, not long after we got married. I had noticed that she was taking an extraordinary amount of medication, so much that she needed a seven-day pill reminder case. She must have been on around 10 pills a day. I never knew what they were for. She didn’t have any medical disability or condition as far as I could see, although I did overhear something about a depression and anxiety-related illness. It wasn’t my business to ask, so I didn’t. I was just concerned with