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I spoke to my reflection in the mirror, listing all of the things I would probably never do again. The young woman looking back at me had lifeless eyes that stared in disbelief at the reality of what life had become. That was my wake up call.

The sad truth of it was that my marriage had gone off track, right into the ditch. And the things that I loved about my life and about myself seemed to be slipping into that ditch, too. It had to stop and I had to do something about it.

My husband was not a mean man; he was just an inflexible chauvinist who would not hear me. He really, firmly believed that a man should be king in his castle, the sole decision-maker for the family and that the wife's duty was to submit and agree. There was a time when infatuation clouded my judgment causing me to mistake these qualities for strength, leadership, and confidence. Experience taught me differently.

Could a baby be the answer? Would fatherhood magically transform my husband into the man I wanted him to be? I know better now, of course, but I was young and nave when my son was born. Changing diapers, feeding and caring for an infant was woman's work, not the shared responsibility and joy of both parents as I'd hoped. Frustration, disappointment, acceptance, denial, sadness, and anger because it was not supposed to be this way marked the early months of my life as a new mother.

The approach of fall in New England and our drafty apartment raised new concerns. I wanted something better for my child; so when a friend told me about the evening classes for adults at the high school, I knew what I wanted to do. I figured that if I could learn typing and shorthand, I could get a good job and we could afford to move to a nicer apartment. That night when my husband came home from work, I told him excitedly about my wonderful idea!

His reaction was crushing. Instead of sharing my enthusiasm and offering his support and encouragement, he said I couldn't go! My place, he said, was at home taking care of our baby and so on and so on. I had stopped hearing him; the pounding in my ears drowned out his words.

Disappointment can be both a fog-like, damp cloud and a clarifying beam of daylight. And in that moment, I knew that I would have to make the choice to leave, not only for myself but for my son as well. I could not justify postponing that decision any longer.

Looking in the mirror, I asked my reflection, "Should I stay or should I go?" The answer came clearly. I knew where my son and I would be welcomed. It was time to go home.

Learn more about this author, Vicki Vannoy.
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