Molly’s Listener Essay | Betrayal Weekly — BONUS

00:00:46
Speaker 1: Hey guys, it's Andre Gunning. A few weeks ago, we put a call out for your listener essays. We wanted to hear from you about resilience after a devastating betrayal, and we received so many incredible essays missions. For this episode, we're going to feature the second of two essays that really moved me. It's written and read by a listener named Molly.

00:01:14
Speaker 2: The willow tree bends, but it does not break. It weathers storms by swaying with the wind, its roots gripping the earth with quiet determination. I didn't know I had that kind of strength until the night I left, with my seven and a half month old baby in my arms and a carry on suitcase packed for a nine day trip. I thought I'd be gone for a short while, but life had other plans. Then again, when I got married, I didn't think i'd have to flee from him in fear for my safety and that of my child. Over the next year, I would cross eight states, learning to bend, adapt, and survive with nothing but determination, hope, and my baby. The breaking point the night I knew I had to leave. The conflict started almost immediately after saying I do before marriage, I had noticed differences in how we handled stress, how quickly he became worked up, But I convinced myself it was manageable. Then, within months of being married, he became someone else. The man who had once written me cards each month and planned thoughtful dates now picked fights over the smallest things. How I ate my apples, whether I let my coffee get cold, Things that shouldn't have mattered to anyone, but somehow mattered enough to him to start an argument. I was exhausted, constantly trying to recapture the person I had married when I got pregnant. The shift was undeniable. The first time he left bruises on my arms, it was because I wouldn't sit on the couch when ordered to, in a voice that sent chills down my spine. It wasn't a request, it was a demand, and when I refused, his grip tightened. That was the first time, but it wasn't the last. The final night was the worst of my life. I wasn't allowed to sleep. He berated me for hours, his voice drilling into my skull, his words cutting deeper than the bruises. He left behind, Bruises on my arms, my legs, knuckle prints on my ribcage, a giant bruise across my jaw. I didn't realize you could even bruise from repeated slaps across the face. I don't remember how many times he hit me, but I do remember the moment that changed everything. He had been holding our baby when he put her down just so he could slap me. I watched helpless as she fell off the bed. That was it. That was the moment I knew there was no more trying, no more hoping he would change. The only thing that mattered now was getting out Storm one California, carrying the weight California was supposed to a temporary stop. I worked forty hour weeks with my baby strapped to my chest, sharing a room with my sister, her two dogs, and the whirlwind of uncertainty that had become my life. The stress of filing for divorce and obtaining a restraining order was relentless, but somehow we still found moments of joy. We laughed, We played, We made memories that softened the sharp edges of my reality. Adaptation wasn't a choice, it was survival. The wounds were fresh, but laughter made me remember who I was before. Roots that travel that tree tattoo. In the midst of all the moving from state to state, carrying only what I could manage, I felt completely unanchored. Safety meant staying in motion, never lingering too long in one place, never feeling truly settled. The instability weighed on me, but I clung to one truth. Even if I wasn't planted, my roots still went with me. That's why, during my time in cal I got the tree tattoo, a tree with strong roots but at the same time empty barren leaves. It was a reminder that no matter where I had to go, I wasn't lost. I carried my strength, my history, and my identity within me, even when everything around me felt uncertain. Another step toward wholeness stormed too, Texas, the in between. In Texas, I lived in three different places, the last being with the family I'd never met before we moved in. I was able to continue working remotely and feel a bit of freedom, to fill our days with park visits, time with my friends who lived in the area, and began to think and maybe even dream a little about the future. The divorce was final in June. As I hung up the film with my lawyer, I wiped my tears and high fived the baby in the high chair and said, we've got this, girly. We're going to be okay, better than okay. I had begun counselor and went twice a week in Texas, learning what had happened to me, figuring out red flags I missed, discovering myself again. Storm three, Mississippi an unplanned gift. Texas had been my plan as I just wanted to stay put for a little while, but when my housing fell through and I couldn't yet afford rent, Mississippi became my unexpected refuge. What felt like another setback turned out to be exactly where I needed to be. My father had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer, and being there meant I could help care for him, cook for my grandmother, and have a stable place with my baby. But the greatest gift was the time spent with my grandma. More importantly, she and my baby got to know each other, not just in passing visits, but in the quiet, everyday moments that make up a life. We went to library story time together, made meals side by side, and at night, after the baby was asleep, we shared bowls of coffee, ice cream, talking in the kind of unhurried way that only happens when you live under the same roof. For two months, I had the privilege of knowing her not just as my grandmother, but as a woman, and she got to love my daughter in that same way. Mississippi was never part of my plan, but it became a balm for my heart, an unexpected pause where I could catch my breath and be surrounded by love. Storm four Indiana, My hometown was a wonderful place to grow up, but I never imagined living there as an adult. Life is funny that way. For eight months, we shared a two bedroom apartment with my mom, planning our next steps, maybe even a place to stay for good. The three of us became a team. In my mother, I finally found the space to thrive in motherhood. He had made that impossible, but she had always modeled love and support. Now, for the first time, I had the chance to parent with someone not alone. I found a support group to attend each Wednesday. There, I found perspective and growth, and started to realize how much stronger I was than when I first went to counseling, fresh from the abuse, numb and damage by all that I'd experienced, I was starting to trust myself again. I started to believe people were still good and loving and kind in the world. I remembered I was loved just as I was, and that I was enough just for being me. In Indiana, I was able to even participate in a fundraising event for the local woman's shelter, telling my story before a five k voicing for the first time that going through abuse doesn't make you weak, and that healing from abuse is true strength. The end of the bend North Carolina. North Carolina became more than just another stop. It became home. After years of bending with the storms, I had finally found solid ground. To mark the journey. I went to a new tattoo artist to complete what had begun in California. The tree on my skin, once bare, now had green leaves. As the ink settled, I felt the weight of the past few years, the fear, the exhaustion, the moments I thought I wouldn't make it. But I had. I had not only survived, I had grown, and life kept growing with me. In time, I fell in love again, love that was steady and safe. I built a new life, a family, and welcomed another baby, proof that healing isn't just moving on from pain, but making room for joy. The fear never fully disappeared. He tried to find us while I was pregnant with my second daughter, but he did not win. We are safe, we are free, we are strong. Now I give back offering the kind of support I once needed. I share my story so others know they aren't alone. Healing is not a straight path. We never returned to who we were before the storm. But like the willow, we can root ourselves in resilience, bend without breaking, and when the time is right, grow fresh leaves once more. When we come back.

00:10:17
Speaker 1: Our producer talks with Molly about her writing process, and stay tuned until the end of the episode, but we'll be sharing our next listener sa theme.

00:10:38
Speaker 2: I'm going to hand.

00:10:38
Speaker 1: It over to our producer Mo, who talked with Molly for this episode.

00:10:43
Speaker 3: Can you just tell me a little bit about what the process of writing this was like for you?

00:10:48
Speaker 2: Yeah, I mean I have had a lot of distance and time for healing, and so I think looking back and seeing the journey was important to me and trying to weave that through. Just because anyone that leaves abuse it can be chaotic, especially at first. There's just a lot of upheaval, and people think leaving is it, that's it, and it's just the start. It's the first step, and there's so much that comes after that. So I just really wanted to emphasize and hopefully have people relate to just that journey that is leaving and how much that becomes its own story.

00:11:27
Speaker 3: Really, I want to talk about the headings you'd used and why you chose to title some of these headings. You know, Storm one, Storm two, What does storm mean? And why did you title the headings that way?

00:11:40
Speaker 2: There was just so much upheaval. I mean when I left, legitimately, I had a trip planned. It's a yearly trip I do with my college girlfriends, and he had been threatening me and saying I wasn't going to go. He had hid my suitcase, he'd taken my phone. I didn't know if I was going. So that night before, when I literally slept forty five minutes and I had a three hour drive to the airport and he was going to drive us, I didn't know if it was happening. So he woke me up, I took a shower, we drove to the airport. I was in shock, honestly, that we were leaving. I had a nine day carry on, like I had packed for me and a baby for nine days going to Florida. This was not me leaving. This was not me packing up my life, taking any documents I needed, you know, anything important. It was just some clothes for nine days. And we never went back, not one time. So I guess the storm was really just each step was unplanned. I went to la I was supposed to be there for a birthday, for my daughter's first birthday. Stayed for two months, and it just kept being things like that where I had a plan and then everything else happened around me. You know, I had a place to live in Texas that fell through. My dad got diagnosed with cancer. That seemed the next logical step. Go be with family and then go back to you're a hometown, figure out next steps. And so each time it was a storm, but storms cannot kind of be peaceful. And ironically now I listen to a thunderstorm to sleep, so it's actually calming to the system. And when I look back, they all had such purpose.

00:13:18
Speaker 3: How did it feel for you putting this down on paper and then reading it out loud.

00:13:23
Speaker 2: I mean the process was fairly seamless, I would say, just because I've thought of it so often since, and I've you know, I've journaled, and I've done things like that. It's not been obviously in this sort of structure as an essay or anything like that, but I think it's always a little bit therapeutic to take ownership of it. And I kind of describe it to other people as it almost happened to someone else, because I'm now someone else. So when I look back, it's almost it's not dissociation, but it's not emotional as far as like I'm not I'm not emotionally affected by telling it. I'm empowered by telling it because I remember what I've gone through and who I am now, and I don't remember that girl that left because she was just such a different version of me. But I was not fully destroyed. And that's something I hope people remember, is even if it's you know, day one, you just left yesterday, you will become something else, I promise.

00:14:28
Speaker 1: Thank you so much for listening, and thank you to the incredible listeners who wrote in to share their essays on the theme of resilience. We were so moved by your submissions that were bringing you more of these listener essays and our next theme will be the moment everything changed. Set the scene, take us back to that memory. Describe the feelings and thoughts you had in the moment when everything changed for you. The limit is a thousand words. If your story stands out, it might be featured in a bonus episode. Please save your submission as a PDF an email to Betrayalpod at gmail dot com. If you would like to reach out to the Betrayal team or want to tell us your Betrayal story, email us at Betrayal pod at gmail dot com. That's Betrayal Pod at gmail dot com.

00:15:19
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00:15:21
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00:15:28
Speaker 2: A long way. A big thank you to all of our listeners.

00:15:32
Speaker 1: Betrayal is a production of Glass Podcasts, a division of Glass Entertainment Group and partnership with iHeart Podcasts. The show is executive produced by Nancy Glass and Jennifer Fason, hosted and produced by me Andrea Gunning, Written and produced by Monique Leboard, also produced by Ben Fetterman. Associate producers are Christin Melcuriy and Caitlin Golden. Our iHeart team is Ali Perry and Jessica Krincheck. Audio editing and mixing by mattelv Yo, additional editing support.

00:16:02
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00:16:04
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