Finding my voice
Less than six months into my marriage I found myself at a lawyer’s office asking about options to end the marriage. If I said it was the hardest thing I have ever done it wouldn’t be true. There was a voice inside that prodded me on. A voice that had been subdued for a long time and had been found again.
It had been hard to put an end to the marriage but it had been harder to find the will to pull myself together, to find the will to live, not just survive but flourish and thrive. It is an ongoing struggle, each day is different. But in the process I have begun to recognize my inner voice — unfaltering, unapologetic. And that has been the toughest thing.
I come from a family where giving or accepting dowry is considered an absolute sacrilege. During the preps for my wedding, an intercultural one, I saw negotiations on what had to be gifted to the groom’s extended family and what arrangements made for them for the wedding day. “Oh, but this is common in the guy’s community”. “You have to be sensitive in handling these matters”, these were common refrains. Once a staunch feminist I found myself willing to comply with what was a pared down list of requirements after several rounds of negotiations — gifts were required only for the immediate family. “It’s their culture. They are giving you gifts too, it only makes sense to get things for them.” I silenced my voice with this rationale.
A week after the wedding, I saw a card addressed to my husband, an indication of the looming disaster. It was the day when we were leaving my in-laws’ home for our marital home. When I tried to broach the subject, my husband started abusing me and left to pack the car. In another room his entire family sat having breakfast. And I chose to remain silent before them instead of demanding answers as to what was going on. I wasn’t sure of the voice that wavered, “Watch out!”.
Three months into the marriage, my husband finally admitted he had been pressurized to go through the wedding. I confronted his parents and they asked me to ignore it. “Treat him like a child”, they chimed. When I put my foot down about all the bizarre events that had taken place over the three months, they tried to shame me for being a “modern woman”. Once again my voice, unsure, was silenced. My husband and in-laws tried to use my history of depression stating that I was mentally ill and conjuring up things. Shocked by what was going on and dejected that the guy I had loved with all my heart had wanted a marriage of convenience, I became suicidal.
One month later, the day we separated I sat on the edge of my bed, with tablets and a bottle of water, trying to read about the dosage that would help me pull the plug. But that was finally the moment when the realization kicked in. I was ready to end my life for a guy for whom our marriage was meaningless and my life had no value. For whom I had been a mere object of convenience, an instrument for a lavender marriage. And I was downright stupid to want to throw my life away for someone like that. That’s when things began to change.
I chose to be defiantly positive. Yes, there were days of anger and hopelessness but I refused to let them stick. My parents’ support saw me through it all, even though every now and then they would remind me how they had warned this marriage was a bad idea. I discovered whom I could count on as there was harsh judgement from some folks stating I was hasty to end the marriage, how lavender marriages did not occur in this day and age. But my voice, now certain, told me to ignore them. Talking to experts and others in my situation, my voice found strength.
I found help through a counsellor, two support groups and people I could actually count on. I had to cut toxic relationships loose. I chose to respect the voice that asked me to be leery of people or situations. I decided to honour the higher consciousness that had been trying to guide me even though I had ignored it for a long time.
The voice that told me that someone or something is wrong for me. The voice that told me not to believe that I am not good enough or that I should take crap quietly. The voice that encouraged me to do well. The voice that wanted me to take care of myself. The voice that was wise and knew best.
The voice that was drowned by years of conditioning that it was somehow wrong to be assertive and that an assertive woman is often considered to be aggressive.
And for having found that voice again, I am grateful.
